Make It Taboo, Girl

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Make It Taboo, Girl Page 8

by Jones, EB


  “Do you think I'm attractive?”

  Oh shit.

  She seems to sense my discomfort. “I mean, I have a boyfriend back home, and we get along pretty well, but we haven't – ”

  “You sure you want to talk about this with me?” I look over her shoulder nervously at the clock on the wall. It's 10:15. I want the conversation to end before she catches on to my desire. I don't want her to see the color rise in my cheeks, or the bulge growing in my pants.

  “Dad and I talk about this stuff all the time,” she says nonchalantly. “Anyway, he always says what a good friend you are. How he can count on you for anything. And I'm just kind of confused. My boyfriend, Tom – he hasn't tried to sleep with me yet, and we've been together two years. Do you think there's something wrong with me?”

  I'm well aware that two years when you're eighteen is pretty damn close to eternity. Especially when it comes to flavor of the month relationships. It sounds like Tom needs to strap on a pair and get some. For her sake.

  “Are you sure Tom...likes girls?” It's the best I can do, and I'm trying to be helpful without starting to gush about her looks. I also can't imagine a teenage boy who wouldn't have his hands all over Steph if he had the chance (unless he was gay, of course. Not that there's anything wrong with that).

  She laughs, then gives me a kind smile. Apparently I struck the right note. Close one, I think.

  “Thanks,” she says. “That does make me feel better. I never thought it might be that. But come to think of it, he does dress better than the other boys, and he seems to notice hot guys before I do.”

  “Does he stomach watching Sex in the City re-runs with you?”

  “I'm the one who has to turn them off!” she exclaims. “He always wants to see one more episode.” She laughs again. I can't help looking at her eyes – they draw me in like a tide pulls a boat that's adrift.

  “Well, sounds like you have yourself a good friend in Tom. You should keep him around. He sounds like a nice boy to spend time with.” Now go and find yourself a hard, fat cock to satisfy those other desires, I think. And sorry it can't be mine.

  “Thanks,” she says. “I guess I shouldn't have doubted myself. Looks like I'll be shopping for a new boyfriend soon.” She reaches across the table and puts her hand on mine. Her fingers rest gently on my hand. I feel my heart thump and take a breath.

  End this now. You need to put a stop to this before anything happens. “You two have a long day ahead tomorrow, and I'm going to get some shut-eye myself. You like bacon in the morning?”

  “I'm more of a sausage gal.” She winks and smiles. I suddenly become aware of the straining, hard cock in my pants, as though it's a misbehaving animal trying to escape from a cage. I don't dare look down at my crotch, but I feel like I did as a freshman in high school when I had to walk down the hall from English class to my locker with the world's most prominent erection (in my mind) and just wanted the damn thing to calm down.

  “I might have some in the freezer,” I mumble. “Good night.”

  “Night night,” she says. She still has that damn smile on her face, and if my eyes aren't fooling me, she's even pouting with those sweet red lips of hers.

  Phew, I think. Just barely got out of that one.

  I'm hoping that I'll just be able to go to my room and fall asleep. Forget that I have a gorgeous woman, a young woman, sleeping in the guest room next to mine. That would make life easier. Then I'd wake up in the morning, and her dad Mark would be there too, and I'd fry up some eggs and bacon (sausage too?) and we'd all eat breakfast and talk about road trips and college and what it was like to set out on your own, away from home for the first time.

  I'm hoping that's how things go – but my desire isn't going away. I look down at my pants as I walk upstairs, and my cock is straining hard to let itself free from its prison inside my pants. There's no way I'll be able to fall asleep with a hard-on like this. I'll need to stroke it into submission. No harm in that, either. And so easy, nowadays, with all the porn I can get on my high speed Internet connection.

  Ten minutes in front of the computer, tops, and I'll be able to tame this maddening urge to fuck my friend's daughter.

  ***

  I close the door to my bedroom and put my Macbook on my bed. The screen glows whitish blue in the darkness. I enter in the URL for my favorite Tumblr video site and watch as the thumbnails load. This site specializes in young women (exactly Steph's age, I tell myself) and I begin to scroll through the list.

  I pull off my pants and boxers and put my hand on my cock. It feels good to be able to stroke it. I start slowly, the first squeeze making my breathing deepen again. I find a video that looks promising, a brunette wearing glasses and a schoolgirl uniform, and click on it.

  The first minute is always the setup. It's not much, for most porn flicks, but I need to watch it. I like the seduction. The coy looks and the undressing. That's as important as the fucking, in my book. If not more.

  A man enters the scene (Is he supposed to be the girl's teacher?) and I feel a twinge of disappointment. He's too obviously from the canned porn school, too interested in showcasing his abs and his monstrous cock. That doesn't do it for me. It's like getting used to eating New York steak, then having to switch to SPAM.

  I close the web browser window, leaving only the glow of the screen. There is one fantasy that I know would work right about now. And she's sleeping in the next room.

  I close my eyes, and then I can see her. Already asleep, her dark hair falling on her shoulders. The way her tits show through her thin cotton night shirt. Wearing a pair of panties, her ass curving like a tight bend in a river.

  I open my eyes and feel the ache in my cock as I stroke it. And a crazy idea comes to mind. I already know I should stop myself. But it falls into the category of things you know you shouldn't do but can't help trying anyway.

  And just what is this thought, you might ask?

  It's downright treasonous to my friend. If I go through with it, I won't ever be able to look him in the eye the same way again. And it's a terrible way for me to treat Steph. But the thought keeps rolling, like the snowball that rolls downhill and gets bigger and bigger until it just about knocks you out when it rolls over you.

  I want to use her. While she's sleeping.

  Maybe I am a Bad Man. But maybe it's more subtle than that. Maybe I'm going to be a Bad Man just this once. Maybe it's possible to be a Bad Man only with her, and nowhere else. It's not cut and dried, is it? After tonight, I can still help old ladies cross the street. I can still volunteer at the church kitchen on Saturday morning when we serve a hot breakfast for the less fortunate.

  You're still going straight to Hell for this.

  But I don't know if I believe in Hell. Same thing with Heaven. Which is why I think the only show we've got is the one right in front of us. This one life. And I can't bring myself to waste it. To let go of this...opportunity.

  I close the lid of my Macbook. The night in my bedroom is complete. I listen for sounds and only hear the light tang tang tang of the hot water running through the baseboard. I take off my shirt, so that I'm completely naked. Then I climb off my bed and walk out my bedroom door, into the hallway.

  Her door isn't completely shut. I push it open, slowly, and walk softly inside.

  ***

  Her breathing is soft. I stand just a few feet inside the guest room. I can see that she's laid herself out on her belly. She's wearing a black thong and a white t-shirt that's too big for her. The sheets are crumpled underneath her, and the comforter is off to one side of the bed.

  She seems fast asleep.

  I move my hand to my cock and stroke it slowly. It's a measured agony, willful torture. I want to stretch out the experience, if only because it may be the only time I ever get to do this in my life. She doesn't stir, and I focus on the details of her body. The way her lips look when they're still. The graceful, lithe bend of a shoulder into her upper arm. The way her hair falls down her back and sho
ulders, like sand arranged into a pattern on the beach because of waves. I notice all these things.

  I continue stroking myself, moving my grip up and down my shaft to vary the sensations. The head of my cock becomes more and more sensitive to the touch. More hungry. I feel the hunger spread throughout my body, until I'm consumed by it. It's a need now.

  I need you, Steph.

  I don't know what I was thinking when I walked into her room. Was I going to just watch, from her door, while I satisfied myself? Did I have anything else planned? Am I going to allow myself to improvise?

  She looks...willing.

  That's hard to know for sure, isn't it? How can she be willing when she's fast asleep? But I remember our conversation in the kitchen. The way she smiled and pursed her lips at me. Her inappropriate comment about sausage.

  So in my mind she's willing. And so am I.

  I approach the side of her bed, careful to walk quietly. I don't want to make the floorboards creak, or kick something that might make noise. There's just enough light, from the moonlight coming in the window, to see that there's a clear path. As I near her, I become aware of her smell. It's a mix of lotion and shampoo and...something else, a woman smell. I notice that, on the other side of her bed, her hand is tucked under her. Under her crotch.

  Were you being a naughty girl, Steph?

  I smile. It looks like the situation might be even better than I'd hoped. She still isn't moving, except for her steady, shallow breathing. I bend down, very softly, and stroke the side of her face with my hand, moving a wisp of hair off her cheek. I hear her take a slightly deeper breath. She's fast asleep.

  Does that mean I could –

  No, I don't dare. But if she's really asleep, and if this is my only chance to ever do this...maybe I should try. I take my rigid cock and slowly, ever so slowly, work it toward her lips. I feel the way her lips touch the head of it – the delicate, unknowing touch. I push it in just a bit further, so that her lips wrap completely around my cock, and then I hear a sound.

  “Mmm,” she says quietly.

  I freeze. I look at her face, and her eyes are still closed. She must be dreaming. I can't believe it, but I've had the good fortune of walking straight into her sexual fantasy. And she doesn't even know it's me.

  I feel her lips squeeze now, then a slow circling of her tongue. I don't dare thrust any further into her mouth. I stand next to hear, my knees bent, my cock immobile in her mouth, allowing her to draw her slow circles. It's an elevation of my sexual torture. I try hard not to moan out loud, and I realize that I need to be very careful to pull out before I come in her mouth. That would definitely wake her up, and then everything would go to Hell.

  There's a pulsing, hot feeling building at the base of my cock. It's a tremor that I recognize as the precursor to my orgasm. I slowly pull out of her mouth, waiting for her eyes to open and recognize my treachery. But they stay closed.

  I can't believe my luck so far this evening. I should go back to my room and finish the job with my own hand. This experience is beyond anything I could have ever imagined possible. It would be so easy, just a few firm strokes of my hand and tissues at the ready. I know I'd come hard.

  But I feel like Steph has only whet my appetite with her quite capable demonstration of sleep cock sucking (or was is cock circling?). I need more – I want more of her. And I'm willing to take a risk to get it.

  ***

  I climb onto her bed now. There's a slight creak, and again, my breathing stops as I stop and watch and listen for any signs that she might be waking up. There's no explaining this away if she finds me here. The only question is whether she would tell her dad now or in the morning. Either way, I'd find myself in pretty hot water.

  She doesn't move, and I let myself exhale.

  Good. Now show me those tits.

  Very gently, I move next to her, then slowly roll her from her side to her back. She tilts her head from one side to another, but her eyes remain closed and her breathing still has that easy, shallow rhythm of sleep. I can see where her hand is clearly down her thong, where she was almost certainly touching her little pink clit before she went to sleep.

  I slide my hands underneath her too-big t-shirt, feeling her soft, warm skin as I move up her belly. I reach the curves of her tits and gently squeeze them, just enough to feel their perfection, their shape, with my hands.

  Do I dare touch her nipples? I've gone this far, haven't I?

  The risk/reward part of my brain seems to have completely shut down now. I ignore risk, turn it off. It's all about pleasure now. I feel for her nipples and massage each one gently between a thumb and a forefinger. I hear her moan quietly, but when I look at her face, it still looks like she's dreaming.

  I've gone far enough, you might think. I should get the fuck out of her room as soon as I can before anything bad does happen. But I already know that's not in the cards. I'm like a ballistic missile, homing in on my target, impossible to stop once launched.

  I know what I want, and I'm going to take it.

  Now that she's on her back, I have much easier access to everything down there. I slowly lift her thong and look at her pussy. It's shaved smooth, and that alone gives me a pang of desire. I slide a finger, just one, down her slit. Feeling for her state of mind, you might say.

  She's wet. God she's wet. Can this get any better?

  I could finish this now, inside her. That would be the pinnacle of my night. Of my life, maybe. But I enjoy the agony of waiting too much. Of teasing. Of being teased.

  I move carefully around her until I'm kneeling on the bed by her feet. In the moonlight, I see her toes are perfectly painted. Suckable, even. I put a hand inside each leg, against her ankles, and begin to spread her legs. I don't need to go very far, mind you, just enough for what I aim to do next. As I move her legs, I look at her face, as always, looking for signs of her being awake. She doesn't stir.

  When I have enough room, I lean forward, moving my tongue toward her inner thighs. Toward the musky, slightly vulgar smell of her pussy. I lick my lips as I approach. My cock throbs now. She's mine...but she isn't.

  I put my nose closer to her thong and take a deeper smell of her. She hasn't tried to cover up her woman scent with the smell of rose petals. It's a pussy – a delicious, tender, wet pussy. I take a finger and move aside the thong, exposing her slit to the moonlight. I take my tongue and run it from the bottom of her slit up to the top, to the clitoral hood. Just one soft movement of my tongue, trying to see a reaction from her. I feel her writhe under me, push her hips up slightly, toward my face.

  Good. She likes it.

  I focus on her wet slit once more, tasting her again, this time not stopping after I reach her clit, but drawing circles around it with my tongue before running along the wetness of her delicate labia. She moans, and I look up. Her eyes are still closed.

  Good girl.

  I continue pleasuring her with my tongue, sucking on her juices, flicking her clit until I see her hips begin a more urgent, more needy movement toward my face. I realize that I'm taking her in her sleep, but she's as immersed in the fantasy as I am. Except that her eyes are closed, and mine are open.

  I hear her begin to whimper, and I watch as she brings her hands up to her tits, massaging them herself through the t-shirt, scrunching up the coarse cotton fabric between her hands. I'm driving her mad with desire now. And I'm getting impatient myself. I don't know how much longer I can stand this torture, this waiting.

  I push a thick finger into her tight, dark pussy and begin to thrust it in and out, coating the finger with her slick juices. It makes a wet sound as I slide it in back and forth, and I hear her moaning grow imperceptibly louder. I'm bringing her closer, still fighting the urge to defile her with my engorged cock.

  I am fully aware that, at least right now, I am a Bad Man. The knowledge hasn't escaped me. I know what I'm about to do, but it's as though I am two men. One of them is standing aside, shaking his head, watching. The other one, perhaps
with a forked tail swinging behind him, small horns sprouting from his head where the hair is thinner than it was in his youth, teeth growing sharper as his hunger grows, is taking. And Steph is the innocent girl, the symbolic virgin of my once-locked desire. She's wet, ready to receive me in her tight, dark hole.

  She's willing.

  Her inner thighs are milky white. I place two strong hands on her thighs, then push outward, gently, spreading her just enough. She moans a quiet note of approval. I'm feeling my heart beat in great thumps, the beating of a warrior's heart before he takes his rightfully earned prize.

  Don't try to fool yourself. There's nothing noble here.

  I am entranced by her form, by the softness of her finely shaped thighs, by the way they lead me upward toward her sweet treasure of flesh and shaved pubic hair and hot wetness; a road that passes through both ruin and pleasure, if I've ever seen one.

 

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