Aaron's Lolita
Aaron moaned, head rolling from side to side on his pillow. His jaw was tightly clenched, as were
his fists. He thought hazily that he must be bruising the soft, perfect pear
curves of her hips, but he couldn't help it. He was dying. His cock was wedged
tight in the hot clench of her no-longer virgin cunt and she was riding him,
tits bouncing prettily, long red corkscrew curls springing and sliding over her
lightly freckled shoulders. Her mouth was a lush rose bed of pleasure, lips wet
and parted on harsh, hard, eager moans.
He watched her astride him, lithe
body wringing and squeezing and massaging his cock while she rode up and down,
and he was writhing and groaning under her, complete captive to her
enchantment.
So fucking close to erupting inside her...
Leaning
forward, she put her pretty face close to his. Her hot-sauce colored curls
curtained around his face; his nose was suddenly filled with her, the
woman-child sweetness of honey, strawberries, and rose. So perfect. So
innocent....
"C'mon Mister Wagner," she whispered, that same innocence in
her smile even as she squeezed her slick cunt around him. His hips and upper
thighs were her saddle as she rode astride him mercilessly. She was sweet and
wild, a newly ruined virgin, his Lolita temptress, now his sweet little
cumslut.
"C'mon Mister Wagner," she breathed again, this time over his
lips. "You want to. Come on. Do it. Cum inside me."
He
exploded.
His body snapped upward in a hard arc and he made a wild, open
mouthed cry of pleasure that bordered on a howl. He shook while molten blasts of
orgasm flashed through his blood.
"Baby--" he gasped.
"Sweet....sweet...baby--"
Aaron Wagner woke from his erotic dream gasping
those words and shaking. He lay on his back; cock spurting a few last drops of
warm cum onto his belly; the final, shredded remnants of yet another wild wet
dream.
And, as always, inspired by the same incredible female. His
neighbor. His Lolita.
His best friend's daughter.
Groaning, Aaron
raised up on one elbow, dragging a hand through his hair before reaching across
the bed to the nightstand for a tissue. Lying back on his pillow, he found
himself looking at the breeze punching the curtains inward. Cleaning himself
off, he caught brief glimpses of the second story window of John McAlton's house
next door.
He'd known John, a widower, since college. While he was still
married and his own boys were off to college, John's only child, Leila, had just
turned 18 and was finishing her last few months of high school.
And
driving him totally insane.
Watching the curtains, catching brief
glimpses of Leila's open window, he sighed, thinking of the night his obsession
had begun.
Mid October had been uncomfortably warm, the nights deep and
dark and heavy with humidity. He'd been feeling restless for several months;
they'd just sent their youngest son off to college weeks before and his wife had
been gone for nearly a week, on the first of what would prove to be many
frequent business responsibilities out of town. He and Maggie had always had a
good, stable marriage he supposed, but he'd been restless in the bedroom for
several years now and she'd been less than interested in spicing things
up.
A week before Halloween, he'd been sitting on the far side of their
bedroom nursing a beer after a long, cool shower and sporting a very stiff cock.
He'd leaned back, unbelting and opening his robe in an attempt to allow what
little breeze existed to cool him off, sipping beer in the dark.
When
Leila's bedroom light suddenly poured out her open window he'd been surprised,
glancing up automatically. It had been well after midnight, but she was, after
all, 18 and pretty as a doll and it had been a Saturday night. With a tiny nudge
of something that felt like jealousy (but he attributed at the time to nothing
more than an almost fatherly concern since he was, after all, like her second
father) he was relieved to see her home, and apparently happy.
He
couldn't have said if, before that event, he'd noticed the things he did that
night: the ethereal gold-red halo that seemed to shimmer about her hair; the way
her shoulders shifted--gently, with catlike grace; the sweet, almost
invitational curves of her calves. She'd been wearing a short white sleeveless
dress with a little matching jacket, stockings and strappy white heels. He'd
been transfixed at the moment she snapped off the harsh overhead light, turning
her back to him and slipping off that little jacket, baring shoulders of creamy,
pale skin luminous in the moonlight.
She bent forward at the waist to
snap on a little table lamp, surrounding herself with soft, low light. And while
she was bent down, his cock throbbed suddenly and hard at the quick glimpse of
that short dress riding up over gorgeous, delicately plumped thighs encased in
pretty lace topped stockings, and the shadowy lower curves of an ass that made
his palms itch.
He sat there in the dark, feeling incredible guilt for
the purely sexual thoughts he was having about pretty little Leila and on the
other hand, his cock was standing at proud attention and shouting hallelujah at
the mere thought of those thighs.
She switched on the stereo next to the
lamp. Rather than being irritated as he sometimes was with her bass-pounding
choice of something unintelligible, he found himself thanking the unintelligible
band for their pure unadulterated genius, because Leila started moving her hips
in a way that made his fingers twitch, dropping the nearly empty bottle of beer
onto the carpet.
She lifted her slender arms, taking something from her
hair and letting it shower down her back, glimmering copper and fire against the
stark white of the dress. Hips rolling in sensuous rhythm she stood there, her
back to him, beginning a striptease that made him groan aloud in the
dark.
She unzipped the dress; shimmied out of it, hips
wriggling.
Aaron had seen her in a bikini a thousand times, but there was
definitely something different about watching her dance in a skimpy white bra
and panties.
She reached behind her and unhooked the bra; turned to face
him. In an instant, the filmy scrap hit the ground.
So did Aaron Wagner's
good sense.
She lifted her hair off the back of her neck, hips rotating
to the beat.
He had to open his mouth to breathe.
She slid her
hands down her neck and caressingly over her high, tight breasts; the tip of her
pretty tongue slid over her bottom lip.
Aaron was stroking his cock at
the thought of that sweet, kittenish tongue; warm, wet and slightly rough, on
his tightly stretched shaft.
He'd been held in an aroused thrall, filling
the bedroom with his throaty, grinding moans and the scent of hot skin and salty
precum. The wet sound of his fist masturbating his cock was raw and
rhythmic.
She'd disappeared into her bathroom, but it didn't matter then.
Aaron sat staring into that room, the sight of a sweet, young, red-haired siren
stripping for him lingering, bringing him to a spattering, teeth-grinding
orgasm.
Since then he'd watched her, shamelessly. Walking to school with
a friend, her ass and thighs hugged tight by the jeans she loved to wear.
Sitting on her front porch, a sunny yellow T-shirt skimming over her belly and
pulled taut over her breasts. And very occasionally, a glimpse of her in
bubble-gum pink babydoll pajamas or panties and bra, moving past her open
window.
And in some of those moments, his hunger imagined that when she
looked back over her shoulder, the saucy smiles she smiled were for just for
him; that every extra little wriggle of her hips was designed to entice him.
Each time she waggled her fingers in passing, grinning and saying in her near
Southern drawl, "Hey, Mister Wagner" he imagined a shot of hundred proof naughty
in her voice.
Groaning at the idea, he dragged himself out of bed before
his cock had him at the mercy of his fantasies.
Again.
The next
few weeks seemed to drag. All Aaron could think about was Leila; she seeped into
his skin, invaded his thoughts, monopolized his dreams. Maggie was working more
hours than she was home and Aaron found himself with plenty of time to
fantasize. It also gave him plenty of excuses to sit in the dark in their
bedroom, stroking his cock, hoping for a glimpse of his red-haired
angel.
And every day, the guilt grew. Leila was no longer a child, but he
was married, for cripe's sake! He had no business thinking how badly he wanted
to sneak into her bedroom late at night and get his fill of her. She was the
daughter of his best friend. He shouldn't be imagining how tight the fit of her
cunt would be grasping his cock, or how slick the roof of her mouth would be if
he could push the swollen head of his cock back and forth against it.
How
she would look, hair mussed, naked, on her knees, swallowing his thick
cum.
With only a month left in the school year, Leila was getting ready
for prom and graduation. Several nights, Aaron sat watching her parading in
front of a full-length mirror trying on different outfits, each one better than
the last. Despite John's obvious disapproval, she settled on a green spandex
dress that hit her mid thigh and high green heels.
Early the evening of
the prom, Aaron was in his room, repairing one of the hinges on a closet
door--one of the myriad little chores Maggie had listed on a "honey do" list on
the fridge. A thousand things to keep him busy on all the evenings she was away.
She'd left the house hours before, dressed to the nines, for yet another out of
town business dinner and "intolerably stuffy" meetings. As his obsession with
Leila grew, her increasing absences felt somehow like a slap in the
face.
He thought about those two things and how they might be--or
were--connected: the continuation of their lack of enthusiasm for their
marriage, and his increasing desire for his best friend's daughter. As he
worked, he caught glimpses of Leila sprinting excitedly around her room, getting
ready for the prom. She'd obviously had her hair done professionally; it was a
beautiful mess of soft red curls atop her head and trailing down to tickle her
throat and shoulders. She pranced, danced and sang, in her happiness clearly not
caring that she was only wearing a light pink-peach bra and silky matching
panties and that her curtains were wide open.
And that a grown man, his
cock throbbing hard and his mind projecting dream films of her riding his
swollen manhood, lived next door.
Aaron had ten minutes worth of work to
do on the hinge. At 5:30 he sat down with his tools to repair the
hinge.
At 5:45 she was smoothing some luscious cream that he imagined
smelled of roses and sugar all over her delectable body and the hinge was still
broken.
At 6:06 she threw on a robe to answer her door and hug her dad,
who Aaron heard drive off a few minutes later. He wondered why on earth John
would leave at a time like this. Hell, if she were his daughter, he'd want to
embarrass her silly by doing the
"yeah-I'm-the-parent-and-yes-I-have-to-take-pictures" routine and have a few
minutes with the boy who had the nerve to think himself worthy of his princess,
just to set the boy's ego straight about who the man in her life really
was.
And the hinge was unrepaired.
At 6:18, after she'd thrown off
the robe again, she proceeded to dance to something that surely was too erotic
to come out of the throat of anyone as sweet as Brittany Spears. The hinge had
one of six screws as loose as all of his were and his hand was on his thigh, his
thumb arcing back and forth over the fly of his jeans. The denim was nearly
groaning with the effort to restrain his erection.
At 6:26 she bent over
to smooth on a pair of iridescent gray stockings and he moaned so loudly that he
was afraid she'd turn her head to look out her window and jam the curtains
closed in disgust.
John had mentioned that the prom was at seven, so at
6:30 when the date was no doubt close to arriving, Aaron ignored his agonizing
desire to cum, grabbed his car keys from the bureau, and ran down the stairs and
out to his car.
Five minutes to the hardware store wasn't enough time to
get his swelling down and come up with a good excuse for going to the hardware
store, so he drove out into the country for an extra fifteen minutes before
heading back to town from the direction opposite his house. He jacked up the
volume on the radio, drank half of a stale can of cola in the drink holder, and
generally gave himself hell for ever having thought the kinds of things he was
thinking about sweet, innocent Leila.
By the time he was pulling into
the more developed end of town and heading back toward his own house, he'd
decided that he really didn't need anything from the hardware store except a big
chunk of common sense, and he doubted Maggie left enough on the Visa to pick up
one of those. So he breathed deeply, and tried to relax in the knowledge that
when he got back to the house he could finish his hinge because Leila was gone.
He'd jump on the net and get off to something he didn't have to feel guilty
about, and then spend the rest of his evening being responsible and husbandly.
He had to admit that the ideas weren't as arousing as the thought of teaching
his best friend's 18 year old daughter how to use her mouth to make a man cum,
but hey, it was his life.
He pulled into his driveway and the first thing
he noticed was that only the porch light was on next door. His own house looked
equally unappealing and empty. Locking up the car, he headed in the kitchen door
at the back of the house, ignoring the lights and heading toward the front hall
stairs. He needed a damn shower, but he couldn't figure out a way past the laws
of physics to get the water cold enough before it froze.
It was the smell
that stopped him.
Halfway down the hall to the living room, it drifted
into his lungs, a potent paralyzing agent despite its delicacy.
Lilacs.
Roses? Sugar. A tiny waft of spice.
"Leila." He said the name aloud,
instantly recognizing her in the scent, then cursed and went forward, certain he
had lost his mind. Emerging from the dark hall, he froze.
She was
standing in a halo of a small lamp left burning in the far corner, innocently
sexy and sweetly sophisticated in her womanly hairdo and thoroughly modern prom
dress: a perfect tube of emerald green hung over her slender shoulders by two
thin rhinestone straps and swaging dangerously low between her exquisite
breasts. Her legs, encased lovingly in the shimmering pale pearl-gray stockings
were perfect as far as he could see them--halfway up her thighs--and her high
heels glimmered soft green and made her look tall and mature, and her legs
mouth-wateringly sexy.
His best friend's daughter. His best friend's
daughter....his best friend's daughter.....his best friend's
daughter......
"L--Leila," he managed to choke out again, this time
instead of thinking he'd lost his mind, wondering if his incredibly painful
erection was noticeable in the half light.
She smiled, and the world
wobbled. It was innocent, and sweet and so fucking erotic he wanted to groan.
But he had to stay cool...she was probably here for some perfectly reasonable
explanation.
"You shouldn't leave your doors unlocked," she said
teasingly. "Just anybody could walk in."
He nodded, feeling like his
tongue was on permanent vacation. "I'll try to remember that, honey,
thanks."
Her smile widened a two almost imperceptible dimples appeared in
her creamy pale cheeks. "You knew I was here," she murmured. "You said my name.
In the hall."
"Perfume," he managed, finally feeling his breathing even
out....but not much.
Leila nodded, setting those pretty fiery curls
dancing on her throat. "Maybe I wore too much?"
"Oh, no!" he said
quickly. "You're perfect."
She looked at him, clearly flattered by the
outburst, while he was sure he blushed.
"You think so?"
He nodded.
No reason not to agree, right? She was perfect. "Yeah. I do."
"Well, "
she almost whispered, blushing herself, "that will make this a whole lot
easier."
"T--this?" Oh, god...what was "this"? His fists clenched; his
body tightened. He wasn't sure if he was awake, or dead on the side of the road.
Yes, that was it...he'd had an accident and he was dreaming.
"Yeah," she
smiled again, taking a few steps toward him, then a few more. "This." Then she
was standing in front of him, the scent of her so hot and sweet he did groan
aloud, but apparently that didn't bother her, as she looked up at him and smiled
while her hands took one of his, lifting it between them and smoothing his
fingers away from his palm. "You're tense," she murmured. "Is that what I do to
you?"
"Tense?" Was he tense? All he could think about was her hands
holding his, her fingers smoothing his palm, his fingers curled naturally and so
close to the swell of her breast....
"Yeah," she chuckled, lifting his
hand to press it to her cheek. "You're tense. Is that because of me?"
He
nodded. Apparently, he was incapable of lying to her, heaven help
him.
Her smile tilted to one side, making her so adorable he had to smile
a little, too. She was still a little girl...he was going to be okay, right? It
was all just a dream.
Then she rubbed her cheek into the back of his
hand, lost the smile in favor of a look so hot the soles of his shoes melted to
the floor, and slid his knuckles down her throat...toward her
cleavage....
He jerked his hand away.
"Lol--um....Leila," he
croaked, stepping back shakily. "Did you--" Why was she here?? What was the
reasonable explanation? "Did you need something?"
Oh, lord...wrong thing
to say.
She looked painfully unsure of herself for a fleeting instant in
which he wanted to wrap her up in his arms and baby her; soothe her. Then she
got a look of determination again and stepped toward him, leaving less space
between them than before but, thank heavens, not touching him.
"Yeah,
Mister Wagner. I do."
"D--don't you...have a date?" he tried to ask
casually, sidestepping and walking around the long coffee table in a foggy
attempt to remember where the light switches were. "You'll be late for the prom,
won't you?" He glanced at the grandfather clock; it both reminded him that the
prom started 20 minutes before and that he was ancient compared to her. What on
earth was she doing??
"I'm not going to the prom," she informed him
almost casually. "I don't have a date. Well...not from school, anyway." And she
grinned at him while he nearly stumbled over the edge of a table. "Is something
wrong, Mister Wagner?"
"W-wrong? No....no, nothing's wrong. Why on earth
would anything be wrong?"
"You seem nervous," she replied. "You never
seemed nervous around me before." Lowering her chin, she looked up at him
through her lashes and pouted her lower lip just a tiny fraction, looking
innocent and fragile. "You don't like me anymore?" she whispered.
His
heart broke. Moving back to her, he put his hands on her shoulders in an effort
to soothe away her distress, hating that he'd made her feel that way. He was
imagining shadows where none existed. He'd known this child all her life, for
goodness sake. His thumbs arced up and down the soft inner skin of her upper
arms; she was creamy warm in his hands. But he mustn't think about
that.
"Oh, honey, of course I still like you," he managed evenly. "You
just startled me, that's all." He needed a drink. "Why don't you have a date?
You're all dressed up." Good lord, where was the brandy? In the corner cabinet,
next to the grandfather clock. Releasing her, he went to pour himself a generous
glassful.
"Can I have some too?" she practically purred, somehow managing
to slip up behind him and lay her cheek against his shoulder from
behind.
Aaron jumped; brandy tilted over the side of the glass and
spilled all over his nervous hand.
"Oh, look what I did," she said in an
I'm-innocent-but-oh-so-naughty voice, coming around him, taking his hand,
complete with brandy snifter, back into both of hers. Removing the crystal from
his nerveless grip, she set it down on the liquor cabinet, giving him an
apologetic look. "Too bad," she whispered, glancing around them. "No towels. And
I have this little mess to clean up."
Aaron's Lolita
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