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By Wollstonecraft

I'd known even before I moved in that Betty's step-dad was a good man. I didn't find out just how good he really was until my eighteenth birthday. That was the night he gave me my best birthday present ever, even though he didn't know at first just what his gift really was.
I met Betty through the youth group at church. She was the sweetest of all the group members. She was always nice and never had a bad word about anyone. Even though she was two years younger than me, there was a lot we had in common, not the least of which was our bodies. We were both "big girls" with fuller bosoms and hips than most of the girls, and we both hated the way guys would fall all over themselves staring and drooling like pigs and how girls would snub us because, Betty said, they were jealous. We quickly became close friends.
I saw a lot of Betty, her little brother, Jimmy and her mom and step-dad. They were like this family off TV or something. Betty talked about her step-dad like he was a god. According to her, he was the perfect father. I guess she was right. He let her do almost whatever she wanted and always gave her enough money. Except when he was taking care of her sick mom, he was at her beck and call. He was always driving us around to different places whenever Betty asked him.
He seemed like the perfect dad to me, too, especially when compared to the guys my mom hooked up with. The one she was with now didn't even work. He just sat around the house and drank all day. I didn't like him from the first time I met him.
One night I got woken up by all the grunting and moaning coming from my mom's bedroom. The walls of the little apartment we lived in were paper-thin, so it was something I was used to. Mom went out that night and I expected it, but this time she was really loud. So was he. There was a lot of shouting and cursing and I couldn't get back to sleep, so I tip-toed into the living room to get the book I'd left there.
I should have know that the noise would stop the moment I got into the other room. I grabbed the book and tried to get back to my room as quickly and as quietly as I could. I wasn't fast enough, though. Just before I reach the door to my room, a short, skinny man came out of my mom's room -totally naked.
He stood in front of me in the narrow hallway. He reminded me of a plucked chicken. Even though I was wearing a long flannel nightgown, he leered at my breasts. I stared at his cock, the first one I'd ever seen, sticking out of the thick hair that covered his belly. In the second we stood facing each other, it started to puff up.
He said, "Mm, it's the daughter. Like what you see? I sure like what I'm seeing."
I quickly looked down at the floor. "H'lo," I mumbled and tried to slip past him to get to my room. As I turned sideways, facing the wall to squeeze by, he turned and leaned toward me. I felt his member brush up against my rear and poke in between my buttocks. I let out a little gasp and my hips shuddered, more from disgust than anything else, and he said, "Oh, you like that, do you? Maybe some day, sugar. Maybe soon."
I rushed into my room and slammed the door. Ugly, horrid little man! He didn't scare me too very much because he really wasn't very big and didn't seem too strong, but he made me so angry! How dare that repulsive jerk poke that filthy thing at me! And my own mother let him do that to her. The thought made me sick!
My mom spent more and more time with that gross little chicken-man, and eventually he moved in. I spent less and less time at home. I'd either be at the church or staying over at a friend's house. I'd stay over at Betty's a lot. Her parents were fun to be with. They were always joking with us, especially Betty's step-dad, Tom. Sometimes her mom, Margaret, would get a bit cranky, but Betty said that was because of her illness. The thing I liked the most was that they always had dinner at the same time every night, and they all sat together at the dining room table with the TV off. They were the only people I knew that did that.
Still, I had to go home sometime. Usually when I got home the chicken-man was either passed out on the sofa or already in bed with Mom, so I didn't have to put up with his filthy mouth and lewd staring. Sometimes, tho, he was still awake and drunk. Then I'd just go to my room and lock the door, but if I had to go to the kitchen or to the bathroom, he'd always make some kind of crude remark about my tits. My mom thought it was funny.
When it happened, I thought it was the worst night of my life, but it really turned out to be one of the best. I was asleep in my room and I was having a real weird dream. I was lying on the sofa in Betty's living room and Tom was over me, tickling my breasts and thighs with chicken feathers. I was laughing and squirming underneath him, trying to get away, but not real hard because it felt really good, especially when he rubbed a stiff feather along the lips of my pussy. My hips were rocking up and down and I got real wet down there, which made the chicken feathers smell nasty.
Then I felt something poking into me. I awoke with a start and there was the chicken-man kneeling between my legs! He'd slid my nightgown up above my breasts, pushed my panties aside and was trying to stick his finger up into my pussy! I pulled my leg up and, screaming, I kicked him off the bed and across the room. With a grunt he hit the full-length mirror on the wall, cracking it, and collapsed in a heap on the floor.
Groaning, he crawled toward the door. My mom appeared and without a word pulled him up and dragged him out. When they were gone, I quickly got up and locked the door just as the yelling began. It went on and on. I knew I wasn't going to get any sleep that night, so I called Betty and begged her to let me come over. Of course I'd woken her and she groggily asked what was wrong. I said I couldn't say over the phone. She said she was pretty sure that if it was important her parents wouldn't mind too much.
When I got there, I told Betty what had happened and asked her not to tell her parents. She wasn't sure they'd be okay with that, but they were, though I think Tom had an pretty good idea what had happened because he kept on asking me if I was all right and did I want to go to a hospital and if I needed anything to just say so and he'd make sure I got it. "Except a new CD player," he said, "you can't have that." That made me laugh, and I was able to relax again. I fell asleep in Betty's room. I felt so safe there.
The next day I called home to make sure Mom was home. We had to talk about what had happened. She answered the phone and before I could say two words, she told me that she and chicken-man had decided that I was old enough to take care of myself and it was best for all of us if I was out on my own. I was just eighteen years old and not even out of high school and she was kicking me out! I cried, but she said her mind was made up and she hung up the phone.
I ran into Betty's room and just laid down and cried. A little while later, Betty came in and she said her family had talked it over and decided that if I wanted to I could stay with them! I was still real hurt by what my mom had done, but Betty telling me that made me feel a lot better.
So I moved in with Betty and her family. Nobody made a real big deal about it. The only real hassle was when Tom took me to get my stuff and to have Mom sign a paper so if I got hurt or sick, he could take me to the hospital. Tom kept on staring at chicken-man like he wanted to hit him. It would have been cool if he did, but he didn't.
It may sound kind of strange, but from the first day I never felt like I was a guest or I was imposing or anything. I just felt like one of the family. Betty and I started acting more like sisters than friends. Sometimes we'd get mad at each other and fight, but we always agreed that Jimmy was really annoying most of the time. Margaret could be strict, but she was always fair, even when she was feeling bad. Besides, if Margaret said no, you could always ask Tom. He usually never overruled her, but at least he'd always explain why.
They certainly didn't change the way they lived because of me. After dinner, if nobody was expecting company, everybody usually put on pajamas or nightgowns and sat around in the living room to watch TV. At first, I guess for my benefit, Tom used to put on a robe as well, but he stopped doing that after a while. There wasn't anything sexual about it, either. It was just a family being comfortable with each other, and I was one of the family.
I learned a lot. I guess it's not good to say so, but the stuff Tom and Margaret taught me made a lot more sense than some of the stuff I learned at church. Tom didn't go to church, but he was real religious in his own way. Once we came home from church, talking about something or other, and he said, "Don't do stuff just because somebody told you it's 'right'. Everybody's smart enough to know what's right and what's wrong. Don't hurt other people and don't hurt yourself -in that order." That made sense to me.
It also made sense to me what he said about homosexuality. Tom and Margaret had a lot of gay friends, but I didn't know that at first. Once a couple of guys named Ron and Kerry came over to see how Margaret was doing. I didn't think much about it until Betty started talking about how much fun she'd had at their 20th anniversary party.
"Anniversary of what?", I asked.
"Of their wedding," Betty replied.
"They both got married on the same day?"
Betty giggled. "Of course, silly! What do you think, that they'd get married to each other on different days?"
"They're married to each other?! Eeuwh, that's gross!"
Betty looked at me as if I was from Mars. "Why is it gross?"
"Because-Well, because-Well, it just is."
She just frowned and said, "I don't think it's gross; I think it's really sweet that two people care about each other so much that they'll stay together for twenty years even though some people think it's 'gross' that they care about each other." Then she got up and walked out of the room.
I was confused. Homosexuality was wrong, wasn't it?
Tom had overheard the conversation, and he saw the confusion in my face. He said, "Remember what I said? Just because someone tells you something's wrong, it doesn't mean it's wrong."
"But everybody says homosexuality is wrong," I said.
"No, dear," he replied. "Only the people who don't understand it. They love each other. What's wrong with that? Are they hurting each other? Are they hurting themselves?"
"It's unnatural."
"It's unnatural for someone to love someone else? It's not 'unnatural' for me to love Margaret or for Margaret to love me, is it? Why should it be okay for us but not them?"
"I don't' know. It's just gross is all."
"Let me ask you a personal question," Tom said. "Are you attracted to girls or to guys?"
I almost blushed. "Guys, of course."
"And it'd be 'gross'," Tom continued, "if you were attracted to girls, right?"
"I guess," I replied.
"And there's nothing 'unnatural' about being attracted just to guys, right?"
"Uh-huh."
"Kerry feels exactly the same way you do. If it's not okay for him, why should it be okay for you? And what difference should it make to anyone who you or he are attracted to? Don't answer now. Just think about it and remember that it really doesn't matter who you love as long as you love, right?"
thought about it, and I decided he was right. Why should it make any difference who anyone was with? Ron and Kerry, once I got to know them, were really nice guys, and were just as devoted to each other as Tom and Margaret were. I learned something else about gay people, too. I was told that they used to watch Betty and Jimmy a lot when the kids were little, and if they ever tried to "enlist" Jimmy into the gay lifestyle (which I'd been told homosexuals tried to do), it sure didn't work. Not with those magazines I found in his room.
One afternoon Betty and I were cleaning the kitchen. Betty asked me to go see if there were any dirty dishes in Jimmy's room. I went in there and I found a glass under the bookcase that looked like it was a hotel for dust bunnies. So I rummaged around looking for more science experiments and that's when I found them. They were filled with pictures of big-breasted naked women, most of them with their hands between their legs, or couples having sex.
I threw them back under the bed, took the dirty glass back into the kitchen and didn't say anything about it until that night, when Betty and I were in our room getting ready for bed. She laughed. "So they're in his room again, eh? It's so cute. He takes them from under Tom and Mom's bed and Tom takes them back, but somehow they always end up back in Jimmy's room."
My mouth dropped open. "You know about them? Tom knows about them? Those filthy things are Tom's?"
Betty frowned, just like she did when we were talking about Ron and Kerry. "There's nothing 'filthy' about them. They're all adult models who get paid well enough to just sit naked or have sex. And there's nothing in them that's ugly or violent."
"You've looked at them, too?"
"Oh, sure. They're kind of interesting. I guess guys don't fantasize as well as girls do when they masturbate."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I thought this was the perfect family. What kind of strange things were they into?
Betty looked at me sternly. "Are you trying to make me believe you've never masturbated? C'mon, everybody masturbates. When you don't, you get frustrated and short-tempered. After a while, it'll get so bad that you'll fall for any good-looking guy that comes along whether you really love him or not. I want to fall in love with my head and not my crotch. So, hey, if you hear me whimpering in bed some nights, you'll know what going on. Seriously, you've never?"
I blushed deeply. "Uh, well, I, uh--".
Betty giggled at my discomfort. "It's nothing to be ashamed of, silly. I told you, everybody does it. They just don't talk about it. Especially guys. Those magazines go back and forth, but Tom has never once even mentioned it to Jimmy."
Suddenly I got the image in my head of Tom lying naked on his bed, his cock rising stiffly up from his groin. I started feeling a tingling between my legs and my blush deepened.
"Anyway, I don't think much about it," Betty concluded, "it's just a part of life. D'you mind if we turned off the light? I got a test in the morning, and I've got to get some sleep."
I switched off the lamp, and lay in my bed, trying to get the image of Tom masturbating out of my head. After a while, though, I heard Betty's sheets start rustling and her breathing started getting heavier. I knew what she was doing, and the thought of her getting herself off made my pussy itch something awful.
The faster her breathing became, the clearer the image in my head was of Tom. I'd never thought about Tom in a sexual way before, but now I couldn't get him out of my mind. I thought about him making love to Margaret. I could see them together, Tom lying atop her, Margaret's leg wrapped around his thrusting hips. My own breathing became short, and my hand wandered down across my belly.
Then I thought about how sick Margaret was. It occurred to me that she probably wasn't well enough to make love. That was probably why Tom had those magazines. It made me sad to think of Tom lying with Margaret next to him but not being able to make love to her.
I imagined him alone in his bed masturbating, his cock thrusting into the empty air. Then I saw myself lying down next to him and pulling him on top of me. I pressed the palm of my against my stomach, pretending that it was his cock pushing down at me. I moved my hand lower, running my fingers through my pubic hair, then down along the lips of my pussy, as if his cock was poking itself into me. My fingers pushed into the slippery wetness, rubbing up and down, brushing against my clitoris again and again. I imagined the fullness of him within me, and suddenly my breath caught in my throat as waves of pleasure washed over me.
As the waves subsided and my breathing came back to normal, I realized that I had no idea how noisy I'd been. I guess I'd gotten loud enough, because I heard Betty whisper, "Mmm-hmn," under her breath. I rolled over and fell asleep almost instantly.
The next six months was like I was in paradise. I went to school and was able to concentrate on my studies and when I got home I didn't have to worry about if there'd be food in the house. I always knew where my family was. Margaret was usually too sick to help around the house, but the rest of us shared the cooking and cleaning and laundry and stuff. It sounds like a typical family, but it was the first time I'd had that kind of life since my dad left.
Most nights I'd dream about Tom. I couldn't help it. Usually, Tom would put his pajamas on right after dinner. They really weren't much more than boxer shorts and a T-shirt. I'm sure he didn't intend it, but it really showed off his body. I started wearing thinner and tighter nightgowns. Nothing obscene, just sheer enough to make it obvious that I wasn't wearing a bra or panties. Sometimes I'd try to tease him by bending over so he'd have a clear view down the front of my top, or I'd stick my butt up in his direction. I never caught him staring at me, but I know I had some effect because sometimes I saw a bit of a bulge in his shorts and he'd switch the TV to ESPN. By the time bedtime came around, I was aching to turn the light off, get under the covers and fantasize about him making love to me. I wondered if he ever fantasized about me.
It all came crashing down when Margaret died. She finally got too sick and had to go into the hospital, and she left us a few days after that. It was a sad time, especially for Tom. He cried a lot.
That was bad enough, but then the worst happened. Betty and Jimmy weren't Tom's kids. With Margaret gone, they'd have to go back to their father, who lived on the other side of the country. Tom tried to keep custody, but his lawyer said it probably wouldn't have worked.
Betty was eighteen and old enough to stay wherever she wanted to, but Jimmy was thirteen and he'd have to go back, so Betty decided it was better for Jimmy if she stayed with him.
Tom was shattered. His entire life was his family, and now it was gone.
The first night after he sent Betty and Jimmy back to their dad, it was just me and him alone in the house. Tom sat silent in front of the TV, drinking beer after beer. I'd never seen him drink like that and before long he passed out in the chair. When he started to snore, I woke him up and helped him out of the chair and into bed.
I held him steady as we staggered down the hallway to his bedroom. He wrapped his arm around me for support, and his hand pressed against the side of my breast. It was all I could do to keep from moaning. I sat him on the edge of his bed and kneeled down in front of him, bending to take his slippers off. The way he was sitting, the opening in the front of his shorts was wide open and I could see just the base of his fleshy cock surrounded by his thick pubic hair. I looked up and saw his eyes peering glassily at my exposed breasts through the loose opening at the top of my nightgown.
"'Ur verr' pretty, know th't?", he slurred, putting his hand on my shoulder to keep from falling over.
"Nm-hmm," I said, my body shivering at his touch. As I straightened up to lift his legs, his hand slipped down along my breast and for a brief moment it stopped to press against the stiff nipple before falling limp into his lap. He fell back onto the pillow and, even as I put his feet on the bed and switched off the light, he was out.
For a long while I just stayed there kneeling next to the bed, listening to his shallow breathing. There he was in the darkness lying on his back, in the position I always imagined when I fantasized about him. Here I was in the darkness, burning with desire, aching to press myself against him.
Without thinking, I reached out and pressed my hand against his hip, thrilling at the heat of his body even through the thin fabric of his pajamas. I moved up under his pajama top to touch the warmth of the bare skin just above his belly. I gasped as I fondled him, his wiry hair sending sparks through me as they dug into my palm. Then I slid my hand down his belly and under the worn elastic of his shorts.
As my fingers slowly threaded through the thick hairs on his belly, his body began to react to my caresses, his breathing quickening. His hips began to faintly spasm up and down and his fingers began to slightly twitch. With my other hand, I pressed his palm to my breast. I sighed as he rhythmically clenched at my soft flesh.
As my fingers crept toward the base of his penis, his movements became more distinct. His breath came faster, his hips were spasming deeper and his hand squeezed tighter against my breast. Finally I reach the soft flesh of his limp cock and I ran a fingertip along it length. As I did, I felt it twitch. His hips shuddered and his fingers pressed into my skin.
I gasped as his cock began to pulse and grow under my touch. I quickly slipped my hand out from under the waistband of his shorts and boldly pulled the rising shaft out through the opening in front. My other hand slipped down between my damp thighs and pressed against the slick lips of my pussy. As I wrapped my fingers around his thickening flesh, his hand clutched tight on my breast and he moaned deeply. I thrust my fingers into my dripping pussy, grinding deep against my clit.
Almost instantly the orgasm flashed through me. I was consumed by the flames of ecstasy, my body shuddering, my fingers pulling and tugging at his semi-erect cock. In response, his hips jerked stiffly upward and, moaning softly, his cock convulsed and out from it's tip began to gush the thick cream that was his seed. It spurted over and over, coating my fingers and fanning the flames of my own orgasm.
As the burning within me subsided and my awareness returned, I felt his cock shrinking in my grasp. His breathing again become regular and his hand fell away from my breast to lay limply at his side. For the first time since Margaret died, he seemed at peace. I took a tissue from his bedside table, wiped his cock and tenderly placed it back within his shorts, covered him with the bedsheet and kissed him gently on the cheek.
As I went to my bedroom, I dried my hand with the damp tissue. I was about to throw it into the wastebasket when I thought better of it. As I lay on my bed, I pressed the sperm-soaked tissue up between my pussy lips and rubbed up and down within the folds. As my outpourings merged with his and my orgasm overtook me, I swore no one would ever take Tom's family away ever again.
I'd give Tom a new family. I would give Tom a baby.
I had to have a plan. Tom still saw me more as a daughter than as a lover, but I knew now I could change that. I knew I could seduce him, but I had to figure out the best way to do it. I decided that the night of my eighteenth birthday, less than a week away, would be the night we'd become lovers, the night he'd plant his baby inside me. The timing was perfect, because then I'd be at my most fertile point in my cycle.
My plan was pretty simple. I'd make Tom ache to make love to me. I already knew I could arouse him, but I had to keep him aroused for the entire week. The whole key was to make sure he didn't masturbate. That would be the hard part.
I started to work the first thing Sunday morning. With the amount of beer Tom drank the night before, I knew it'd be some time before he dragged himself out of bed. I had a lot to do before my birthday on Saturday.
The first thing I did was switch the regular and decaf coffee. Tom's a coffee drinker, and I didn't need him overstimulated. After I made a pot, I rearranged my room. My bedroom was right across from his, so I put up a full-length mirror so he could see into my room, and, more importantly, I'd have a direct view of his bed.
Then I fixed my door. That was simple. I knew that if it wasn't closed, it would swing open, so I got the top of it wet and when it dried the wood swelled up so it wouldn't fit the door jamb. After Tom went to work on Monday, I'd fix his, too. Then I put on a sheer white blouse and my thinnest skirt and waited for Tom to arise.
Around noon, Tom lumbered into the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee, then staggered into the living room, which I'd kept darkened by leaving the shades drawn. He was still wearing the pajamas he had on the night before and I could see the faint stain on his shorts from his ejaculation last night. I was sitting across the sofa with a book in my lap. I pulled my knees slightly up so he could see, if he looked hard enough, that I wasn't wearing panties. Even in his hungover state, he noticed right away. His bloodshot eyes were riveted to my crotch.
I slid my legs down and smiled up at him. "Good morning," I said, "or is it afternoon? How're you feeling?"
"Ask me tomorrow," he grumbled. "I think my head is about to fall off."
"I know what you need," I offered, "Did you take any aspirin?"
"Uh-uh. You know I hardly ever take pills."
"Let me get you some. Then I'll make you something to eat. Do you want breakfast or lunch?"
"I'd better have lunch," he said. "I don't think I could even look at an egg."
This couldn't have been better. I went to his bathroom, got a washcloth and some water and soaked down the top of his bedroom door. Then I went to the medicine cabinet. Sure enough, Margaret's tranquilizers were still there. I took a handful and wrapped all but two in a piece of tissue paper. I got the aspirin, dropped the tissue pack in my bedroom and went back through the living room into the kitchen. I put the two tranquilizers behind the toaster and got a glass of water.
"Here you go," I said as I came back to the living room. I bent over him to give him the aspirin and water, practically pushing my breasts into his face. The blouse was perfect; my stiff nipples were clearly outlined by the flimsy, practically see-through material.
His eyes lingered on my chest before looking up at my face. "Thank you. You're wonderful," he said. I looked down. It was working like a charm. There was a growing bulge in his shorts.
We sat and watched movies on TV all that day. I waited on him hand and foot, being sure to show off my body at every opportunity. In the late afternoon I told him that since he hadn't gotten dressed that day, I wanted to be comfortable, too, so I went to my bedroom and changed into the skimpiest nightgown I owned.
As I started out of my bedroom, I caught a glimpse of myself. My breasts were clearly visible and I could see ever hair on my pussy. I realized that if I went out like this I'd go too far, so I put on a bra and a pair of red panties. That was better because it looked ever sexier, but didn't look as obvious. When I walked back to the living room the effect was immediate. If I kept on like this, he probably wouldn't even last until Saturday.
We had a late dinner. I made sandwiches. I crushed up the two tranquilizers I'd hidden earlier and put them into the mayo on his bread. As we ate, I mentioned in passing that I had an appointment the next day with the school psychologist.
"What for?", Tom asked.
"Oh, I think it's something everybody has to do. You got to admit, though, that my home life ain't exactly normal, living with an older man and all." I grinned.
"Not exactly the typical high-schooler's lifestyle, eh?', Tom said.
"Actually, it wouldn't surprise me if it didn't happen more often than we think," I replied. I smiled and stared deep into his eyes.
Tom pulled his eyes away and stared down at his sandwich. "Well," he said, clearing his throat, "if you need anything from me, let me know. But you know that, right?"
"Yes... I do." I said quietly.
We finished the sandwiches, then sat down to watch another movie. About an hour after dinner, Tom started fading.
"I think I'm going to bed," he said, his voice getting thick.
"This early? But the movie's not over yet. Why don't you just lie down here on the sofa?"
"Uh, yeah... I guess..."
"Good." I got up and let him lay down. "Is that comfortable?"
"Mm-hmm." He was already almost out. It was too early. I had to remember to dose him later in the evening. I didn't feel good about drugging him, but it was the only way I could keep him from masturbating after keeping him hot all day.
Right after he passed out, I sat on the floor in front of the sofa and, being sure not to wake him, pulled his cock from his shorts, put in my mouth and began sucking. It grew in my mouth, but before it became hard enough for him to ejaculate I stopped and put it back. If I had my way, by Saturday he'd have enough sperm in him to impregnate a women's softball team.
Just to be safe, I decided to let Tom sleep on the sofa that night. While he was asleep, I checked the doors to the bedrooms, and, sure enough, there was no way they'd close. Then I sat in the chair next to the sofa and stared at his tenting shorts while I fantasized about his cock inside me. I fondled myself to orgasm four or five times before I fell asleep.
The next morning I was awake before he was. I waited to wake him so he'd have only enough time to shower and shave before he had to go to work. When he went to his room to change, I heard him curse softly as he found that the door wouldn't close. I made him coffee, and he gulped it down, then grabbed his briefcase and kissed me on the cheek.
"Oh," he said, stopping suddenly. "Sorry. Habit, I guess."
"Don't be sorry," I replied, "it was nice."
I went to school, but I was much too excited to keep my mind on schoolwork, so I skipped my last two classes. I got home and started thinking about what I was going to wear that night. I hoped I didn't wear out my most enticing outfits too early, but I really didn't have to worry, because I knew that guys usually didn't notice if you wore the same outfit twice in the same week. I decided tonight to wear a tight tank-top and a thin but loose pair of shorts, without panties or a bra, of course. I started dinner and made tranquilizer-laced Jell-O for dessert.
He got home and it was pretty much a normal night, the first one we'd really had since the kids left. Except that I kept on sliding my bottom around on the sofa so that the crotch of my shorts would slip to the side, giving Tom a open view of my damp pussy lips. When he went to his bedroom to change, he was so hot he was sweating. I quietly followed behind and went to my room. I sat on the bed and slyly glanced at the mirror so I could see what he was doing, turning my head so he couldn't tell I was watching him. I picked up the phone and waited.
Sure enough, he was sitting on the bed in his pajamas and was rubbing his crotch. I started loudly talking into the phone as if I was talking to one of my girlfriends. He saw me in the mirror's reflection, quickly pulled his hand away from himself and, sighing, got up and started to the living room, his cock clearly sticking up under his shorts.
Before he moved out of the range of the mirror, I turned my back to the mirror and removed my shorts so he got a shot of my full bottom. I think I heard him moan. I changed into the same outfit I did Sunday night, except I wore a pair of sheer light panties so that the dark hair on my pussy was faintly visible.
When I entered the living room, he moaned again.
"What's the matter?", I asked.
"Uh, nothing," he lied, "it's this show. It's sad."
"What," I said, "something's sad on 'Murphy Brown'?
"No, uh, I mean, uh," he stuttered, "it's so predictable, you know?"
"Yes." I smiled. "I know. What're you reading?"
He had a magazine in his lap that didn't quite lay flat. He looked down at it. "Oh, just an article about the deficit."
I went to take it. "Can I see it?"
The magazine twitched in his lap. "No," he said, grabbing it, "not until I'm done with it."
"Okay, fine. Be that way." I said, feigning a sulk. I plopped down on the sofa and crossed my legs under me. He sighed yet again.
"I went to see that psychologist today," I said. "She wants to see me again tomorrow."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. I just started talking and talking and the time was up and still didn't say everything I wanted to."
Tom looked concerned. "What'd you talk about? Is there something bothering you?"
"Not really. At least I didn't think so, but we started talking about what happened just before I moved here. I never told you my mom's boyfriend tried to rape me, did I?"
"No, but I thought that was why you were upset."
I reached over to him to touch his arm, purposely leaning so my loose top was gapped open. His eyes went right where I wanted them. "And you took such good care of me then. And I'm going to make it up to you. Let me get you dessert."
I got up and brushed in front of him, practically pushing my ass in his face. When I brought the Jell-O, I gave it to him from behind his chair, and I brushed my breast against his shoulder. He jumped. "I'm sorry," I said. "Did I scare you?"
"N-no," he said. "W-Well, yeah. A bit."
"I'm really sorry," I said, breathing the words into his neck.
"T-that's okay. Really." His breathing was getting really shallow.
He was never going to make it until Saturday.
After about an hour, just like the night before, Tom started getting groggy in his chair. When his eyes started fluttering closed, I told him he shouldn't sleep in the living room two nights in a row and he ought to go to bed.
"Mm-hmm," he replied.