I slammed the door behind me as I walked in the house, getting home from work. My boyfriend, Jason, had called me while I was driving to tell me that he wasn't coming over tonight. I was incredibly angry at him -- my parents hardly ever left me home alone, and I had been looking forward to having him over for most of the weekend. I had planned everything out, and had spent most of the day thinking about taking him into the hot tub, where we would fool around, ending the night with a long session of sex in my room. I had been wet most of the day just thinking about it. But apparently, Jason thought it was more important to go on a road trip with the semi-pro hockey team then to take advantage of a weekend with my parents gone.
He and I had been dating since our junior year of high school, and he was the only guy I had ever slept with. Lately, I had begun to think that whatever had attracted me to him in the first place was completely gone, as I was getting more and more frustrated with him. I didn't ask much -- it wasn't like I got jealous whenever he was with his friends or anything like that. But I did expect him to spend some time with me, and the fact that he would rather chase a hockey team than sleep with me didn't have anything to do with me being possessive or jealous -- it was insulting. I don't understand how he'd rather go on some sausage-fest hockey trip rather than have sex with his girlfriend.
Shortly after I had kicked my shoes at the hall closet, nearly hitting the cat, and dropped my bags in the living room, the doorbell rang. I jumped, thinking that perhaps Jason had changed his mind, and ran to the door, grinning as I opened it.
Mr. Davidson, one of my neighbours, was standing on the front step with a few envelopes in his hand. The smile on my face faded slightly. "Hi Mr. D," I said as pleasantly as I could.
"Hi, Gina," he said. He looked at me knowingly. "Expecting someone else?"
I blushed and shook my head. "No, not really."
He laughed. "I know your parents told you I would be checking up on you, but I don't expect you to be by yourself all weekend. Don't worry, I won't tell."
I sighed. "No, Mr. D. I'm really not expecting anyone."
He frowned. "What about that boyfriend of yours, Jerry or whatever his name was?"
"Jason," I said. "He went on a road trip with the hockey team."
"I'm sorry," said Mr. Davidson. "Well, I just wanted to drop off these letters. The mailman put them in my box again by accident."
I nodded, embarrassed. Mr. Davidson must have thought I was pathetic -- I had the house to myself the whole weekend, and I couldn't get my boyfriend to come over. I took the letters from him and smiled at Mr. Davidson as he turned and walked away. He was a really nice guy, and more than once I had found myself staring at him, wondering what he'd be like in bed. He was much older than I was -- older than my dad, I think, by a couple of years. I'd put him at almost 50, but he didn't look it. I usually saw him jogging in the mornings on my way to work, or when college was in session, school. He was in pretty good shape, not built like some of the guys my age are, but pretty trim. He had broad shoulders, and dark brown hair that was greying mostly around the temples, but sprinkled throughout. A couple years ago, he had been a professor at the college I was going to now. But last year, before I started, he decided to change professions and started working as a researcher for some big company that let him make his own hours, so long as he came up with results. I was a bit disappointed -- I had been looking forward to taking Mr. Davidson's class for a long time.
I closed the door after he had stepped off the porch, though I didn't bother locking it behind me. Whatever I thought about Mr. Davidson was really just fantasy -- I knew he thought I was still just a kid, even though I was already done my first year of college. I couldn't really blame him for that. I was fairly short, and pretty small. I hated how boyish my body looked, sometimes. My breasts weren't that small, but unless I wore an extreme push up bra, I had no cleavage at all. My hips were fairly undefined, and I really wished I had curves. To keep myself from feeling like a boy, I let my blonde hair grow long, but that just made me look younger. No one ever believed that I was 20. When I was in school, people always thought I had skipped a grade, when in actuality, I started school a year late, and was a year older than most of my graduating class. I just looked young. I doubted that Mr. Davidson found me attractive at all. Plus, his wife had left him just a couple months before for a guy who was only a few years older than me. Being with someone my age probably wasn't one of his top priorities right now.
But still, I couldn't help myself from imagining Mr. Davidson coming over and just taking me. There was something intriguing about being with an older man, especially one who looked like Mr. Davidson. I loved the idea that he could show me so much, just the idea that he was older. I wondered if he would treat me like an equal, or like I was some young kid. I had to admit, I would love if Mr. Davidson would treat me kind of like a kid -- telling me what to do, teasing me... I sighed as I walked down the hall, flipping through the letters he had handed me. I must be insane, I thought. I put the letters on the kitchen counter and leaned against it, thinking. I had an image in my head of Mr. Davidson lifting up my skirt and licking my pussy, my fingers tangled in his salt-and-pepper hair as he tongue-fucked me. The thought made me bite my lip. My pussy was wet, and had been fairly slick most of the day as I had thought about Jason, but I was too mad at him now. Mr. Davidson, on the other hand...
I let one of my hands slide up my stomach and start to rub my breast through my shirt. I only had a thin bra on underneath my blouse, and I could feel my nipple poking through. I pinched it through the fabric and cried out softly. Most of the time, I didn't need to wear a bra -- my breasts were small and firm enough that you couldn't really tell in certain shirts - but I felt wrong going to work without one on. Still, they were sensitive, and even through the fabric, touching them was making me even wetter. I kept rubbing my nipple through my blouse as I lifted my skirt slightly, using a single finger to rub against my damp panties. They were so wet that I could feel the juices soaking through onto my finger, and I let myself touch my clit through the wet fabric for a few moments before I took my hand out of my skirt.
I couldn't do this in the kitchen, I thought, and I quickly made my way to my room, which was downstairs. I left the lights in the den off, the light coming through the windows enough to see, and left the door to my room open so it was lit dimly. I started to unbutton my shirt, wanting to get my bra off so I could rub my breasts properly. I glanced in the mirror as I did so, and laughed at myself, shaking my head. I usually didn't have to masturbate -- whenever I wanted anything, Jason was more than willing to give me what I needed. If he wasn't watching hockey, of course. And when I did touch myself, it was usually at night, in bed, before I fell asleep. I don't think I had ever done this before -- purposely gone downstairs and stripped to masturbate. The thought was kind of exciting.
I got my blouse off and dropped it on the floor, my bra soon following it. I started to rub both my tits, sighing as I pinched both my nipples. I let myself enjoy it for a few moments, before I decided I needed more. I unzipped my skirt and slid out of it, wiggling my hips so it fell to the floor. I looked in the mirror again. My nipples were hard, the rosy pink nubs sticking out from my pale breasts. I slid my hands down my stomach and hips, my skin tingling with anticipation as I touched my skin. I still had my panties on. They weren't exactly sexy -- just plain white cotton, though they were bikini cut and had a little pink rose embroidered in the center. Even in the dim lighting, I could see the wet spot between my legs. I stared in the mirror, watching as I slid a hand into my panties, rubbing my neatly shaven mound, and gasping as I started to slide a finger along my slit. I couldn't believe how wet I was for a moment, until I thought again about Mr. Davidson licking my cunt.
The thought excited me even more and I circled my finger around my clit before sliding the tip of it into my tight, dripping wet hole. I sighed softly, pulling it out and circling my clit again before repeating the action. After a few more repetitions, I couldn't take it anymore.
I pulled my hand out of my panties, giggling as I chucked them right out the door of my room. I sat on my bed, swinging my legs up onto the covers as I arranged the pillows so I was propped up just slightly. I started to touch my breasts again, and this time let one hand continue to fondle myself as I rubbed a finger along my slit. It was covered in juices by the time I slide it inside me, and I sighed as I moved it slowly. I closed my eyes, imagining that the hand on my breast was Mr. Davidson's, and that he was whispering in my ear that I had to be a good little girl if I wanted more. I kept moving my finger slowly, just enjoying the feel of my tight walls as I touched myself.
I imagined that Mr. Davidson dipped his head down between my legs and was licking at my clit while he fingered me slowly, and I used my thumb to press down on it lightly. The action made me moan unintentionally, and I gasped at the sudden sound. I laughed again, remembering that I didn't really have to be quiet -- no one was home.
I kept pinching my nipple as I worked my pussy with my other hand. I started to move my finger a little bit faster, before deciding it wasn't enough. I took it out, rubbing two fingers along my slit, collecting my juices on both of them before I slide them back in my pussy. I moaned, this time intentionally, moving my fingers slowly again. I tweaked my nipple as I gently rubbed my clit again. "Fuck," I whispered, tilting my head back.
I was imagining Mr. Davidson licking my nipples as he fingered me, his strong hands on my knees and spreading my legs, when there was a loud bang from above me. I glared at the roof. The stupid cat had probably knocked over his scratching post again, and I was more than annoyed that he had interrupted me. I rolled my eyes, shutting them again as I continued to finger my cunt.
The image in my mind now was of Mr. Davidson, and somehow between my last fantasy and this one, he had lost his clothing. He was lying over top of me, and I could see his cock. I didn't imagine it to be any larger than average -- I was a really small girl, and big cocks kind of made me nervous. Jason had once shown me a picture of a girl not much bigger than me with a cock that must have been thicker than my wrist inside her. I think something like that would just rip me in half, and to tell the truth, they kind of scared me. An average cock was more than enough. I rubbed my hand along my pussy, moaning much louder than was necessary as I imagined Mr. Davidson rubbing his cock along me, asking me if a little girl like me could handle him. I pushed my fingers back inside my cunt, raising my hips just slightly as I pretended they were his cock. I curled my fingers a bit, rubbing them against my g-spot as I started moving them quicker. I was gasping now, still fondling my breast as I imagined Mr. Davidson thrusting into me.
I bit my lip, shuddering as I felt the onset of my orgasm coming on. In my mind, Mr. Davidson was holding my legs over his shoulders, pushing his cock deep inside me with every thrust.
"Fuck, Mr. D," I whispered, squeezing my eyes shut as tight as they would go. I was close, and I moved my fingers as fast as they could, my other hand abandoning my breast so it could pay full attention to my clit. "Oh Mr. D, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck me, Mr. D..."
I don't even know exactly what I was whispering, all I know is that in my mind, Mr. Davidson was thrusting hard into me. I was writhing under my own fingers, imagining everything I could about his cock, when I heard the floor creak outside my room.
The sound terrified me, and I pulled both my hands away from me, though it was absolute torture to do so when I was so close. "Tiger?" I said. I knew it wasn't the cat. The floor only creaked when something about as heavy as a person stood on it -- it was how I knew when my dad was trying to listen in on my phone conversations. I rolled off my bed quickly and grabbed a pair of scissors off my desk, holding them out in front of me as I walked to my bedroom door. I flicked on the light as I stepped out.
"Mr. Davidson!" I shrieked. He was standing right beside my door, a shocked expression on his face, a white envelope in his hand. "Jesus, what are you doing here?!"
I felt my face flush, and I was pretty sure the rest of my body did, too. That was when I remembered the rest of my body was naked, and I shrieked again, using my hands in a lame attempt to cover myself. I was still holding the scissors, and I dropped them onto the floor.
"I forgot to give you one of the letters," he said, looking away from me. "I was just going to leave it on the counter but I heard you... umm... well, groan, and I thought you were hurt or sick, so I came down to..."
I took a few steps back towards my room, trying to find a shirt, a skirt, anything to cover myself. I could see myself in the mirror, my face beet-red, and the colour trailing down my neck. My clothes were on the other side of my room, so I grabbed the blanket off my bed and covered myself with it.
"I... I was just... I didn't..." I stuttered as I walked back into the family room. Mr. Davidson was still staring at the floor, and holding the envelope. I reached out and took the envelope from him, but when I did, something fell out of his hand and to the floor. I looked down to see my panties on the ground in front of me. "Why did you..."
"They were on the floor, I thought... It was kind of dark, I didn't know they were your... uh... panties..." he said.
I buried my head in my hands, humiliated. "Look, Gina, it's okay," he said. "Everyone does... that... and you know, it's just..."
"I'm so embarrassed," I said. Holding up the blanket, I tried to walk past Mr. Davidson so I could run into the bathroom and just hide there until he left. However, the blanket was dragging on the floor, and I had only taken a couple of steps before I tripped.
Mr. Davidson instinctively reached out, catching me before I fell on my face. The angle he caught me at, however, he had to move his foot to balance himself, and it got caught on my blanket. We both fell to the ground, Mr. Davidson's arm around my blanket-covered waist to keep me from falling. I ended up squished between him and the wall, his arm pinned beneath me.
I looked at him for a moment after we fell, trying to figure out why, in God's name, this was happening to me. Mr. Davidson tried to smile, though he was looking at me with a large amount of pity. He couldn't move with his arm pinned under me, and I couldn't get up without my blanket falling down. I was so upset that I just burst into tears.
"Hey, don't cry, honey," he said, his expression changing a bit.
"You must think I'm pathetic," I sobbed, turning my head away from him. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Davidson."
"What happened to Mr. D?" he teased. "And what are you apologizing for? I'm incredibly flattered, Gina."
I sniffled and shook my head. My stomach hurt, I was so embarrassed, and I turned my head away from him. "You think I'm just a stupid little kid, and I should be trying to prove to you that I'm not instead of just crying like a baby." I didn't want him to think of me as a stupid kid -- my fantasy had definitely been a lot sexier than that. I flushed horribly.
He adjusted the blanket around me slightly. "I don't think you're a stupid little kid," he said. "I've never thought that. I think you're a beautiful girl, Gina."
I sniffled, looking at him. "You think I'm pretty?" I whispered.
He laughed, hugging me slightly. "Of course I do. I think you're adorable. And you shouldn't be embarrassed about this, okay? I won't tell anyone."
I sighed, almost forgetting I was naked as I rested my head against his shoulder. "Adorable," I said sadly.
"What's wrong with that?"
I shrugged. "People don't think of 'adorable' people in the way I was just thinking about you, Mr. D."
He was quiet for a moment. "Gina," he said, his voice very soft. "I can't tell you the things I think about you. I'm older than your father. I don't want to be a dirty old man."
I turned my head a bit. "What do you mean?"
He shook his head. "We shouldn't talk about this." He struggled a bit, trying to get up. "Look, I promise I won't say anything to anyone, and we won't talk about this again, okay?"
"Mr. D, what do you mean?" I asked, standing up as he did. He started to walk to the stairs, and I hoisted the bottom of the blanket up as high as I could so I could hurry towards him. "Tell me!" I ordered, as I slipped between him and the stairs.
"Christ, Gina. You're... you..." He stuttered for a moment before he shook his head again. "This isn't right."
"You think about me like that?" I asked, though I already knew the answer -- he was a terrible liar. "Do you?"
"It doesn't matter," he replied, flushing a bit. "What difference does it make?" He tried to move past me, but I climbed a couple of stairs backwards and dropped the blanket.
"It makes a difference," I said, standing naked in front of him.
Mr. Davidson stumbled backwards, almost falling. "Jesus," he whispered.
I walked down the stairs, closer to him. "Mr. D, tell me. If you say that you don't, I'll put the blanket back on."
"I... I..." he stuttered. I bit my lip, realising that our exchange was exciting me, and seeing as I hadn't actually finished my session earlier, I was still incredibly wet. I knew that Mr. Davidson had thought of me like this before -- he wouldn't be so ambiguous if he hadn't. Now all I could think about was having him touch me. Mr. Davidson cleared his throat as he looked away from me. "Gina, you're a great kid. A young, pretty girl like you... if anyone found out that... if I even thought..."
"Have you ever thought about me while you touched yourself, Mr. D?" I interrupted, my voice breathy.
"I can't tell you that," he answered, sounding slightly shocked.
"If you tell me, I'll touch myself for you," I told him, giggling a bit. "Were you watching me earlier? Did you like it? Were you thinking that I was too young for that sort of thing? I bet you were, and I bet you liked that."
"Gina..." he said.
I giggled again, grinning. "You just have to say it, Mr. D, then I'll let you watch me all you want. Come on, I know you want to."
"I..." His jaw twitched a bit as he looked at me.
"Do you think about me when you touch yourself?" I asked again.
He paused for a moment, and I could see him swallow. "Yes," he finally said.
I flushed a bit, though not from embarrassment. "What do you think about?" I asked softly, just the thought of him stroking himself while he thought of me was sending little shocks through my body.
He looked away from me. "I think about you in those little shorts you wear when you're cutting the grass. The way you're young enough to be my daughter, and how absolutely wrong that is. I can't help it, though. I think about how young you are and I hate myself for thinking that it makes you even more attractive, like I could just take care of you. I think about how cute you are, and how I just want to..." He stopped, and shook his head again. "Don't do this to me, Gina. I... we... can't."
"What else?" I asked, feeling a tingle run though my stomach, especially when he said he could take care of me. He sounded protective, caring, like he could show me so much. There were so many things he could take care of for me. I stepped towards him again. Mr. Davidson took another step back, the couch now right behind him.