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“Please…” she whimpered. “Please, Mr Roberts. I want… I want you… please. Please touch me…”
I kissed her slowly, my tongue tasting hers so gently, savouring everything. My fingers slipped inside her blazer to seek out her breasts, but all I could feel was fabric.
“I want to see,” I whispered. “Let me see you.”
I pressed my lips back to hers as my fingers worked down her blouse buttons, and she moaned against my mouth as I pulled down her bra cups and her breasts came free. I pulled away to admire the sight, and she closed her eyes and pinched her lip between her teeth.
She was wearing white, but it was padded, hiding away her most precious treasures. She had the softest creamy white skin, and her breasts were small and sweet, with the palest pink nipples, not even a handful, and I loved them.
“Beautiful,” I said. I stroked my fingers down her soft flesh, catching her nipples with just the slightest touch. “You like that?”
She nodded.
“Tell me.”
“Yes…” she murmured. “Yes… I like that…”
I teased her pretty nipples with the lightest of strokes, loving the way they puckered before my eyes, then pushed her further into her seat as I lowered my mouth, tracing a path with my tongue. She knew what was coming. She arched her back, and I sucked one into my mouth, relishing the taste of her gorgeous young flesh. I scraped my teeth so softly as I sucked, breathing on her skin as my fingers sought out her other nipple. Just a feather of a touch, but she took a breath, a ragged breath. I sucked until she could hear my mouth, hear the low grunts of pleasure from my throat, and until I felt her squirming in her seat. Her fingers found my hair and buried themselves against my scalp, and she held me there, held my hungry mouth to her breast.
“Mr Roberts…” she said. “Oh, God, Mr Roberts… please…”
I stopped sucking and pulled from her grip, just to see her face. Her lips were puffy and tender, and they wanted mine. Her tongue was waiting, seeking out more, more, more. Our mouths tasted and licked and sucked, and I squeezed at her sweet breasts, stroking her nipples with my thumbs until I felt her rocking her hips in time with her breath. She let her thighs fall open, slowly, so slowly, and I pulled away, far enough to see how her skirt had ridden. My fingers encouraged hers to show me more, and she coaxed the pleats higher, inching the fabric up her thighs until I could see her white panties and the darkening of wetness she’d soaked them with.
My God, she looked divine… her breath heavy, chest rising and falling… her blouse open, hanging limp at her sides… her little breasts resting on her bra cups, pale pink nipples taut and puckered. Her legs open… open for me.
“Please…” she said. “Please touch me…”
And fuck, how I nearly came in my pants. My cock jerked, and my balls ached with the need to come, but I couldn’t.
Helen was a beautiful siren, a beautiful young girl in my passenger seat. A beautiful girl in her school uniform.
And it was all wrong.
I’d fucked up.
I’d really fucked up.
I sat back in the seat with my hands in my hair, and I couldn’t breathe anymore. The car was full of Helen Palmer and her beautiful mouth and her beautiful little breasts. I wound down the window and lit up a cigarette, and Helen pulled her skirt back down over her knees, adjusting herself back in her seat.
“Mr Roberts…?”
“Shit, Helen. I’m sorry.”
“But… but it’s ok… I want it…”
And so did I.
But the twilight air and the nicotine and the guilt and the fear and the self-disgust won out, and I turned the key in the ignition.
The expression on Helen’s face broke my heart, sad and nervous as she buttoned her blouse with shaky fingers.
“I’m sorry…” she said. “Was I bad?”
“No,” I said. “You weren’t bad at all. You were wonderful.”
“So… what… what’s going on?” she whispered, and I could hear the tremble in her voice.
It took all of my resolve to put the car in gear.
***
Helen
Mr Roberts didn’t say a word as he drove us back towards town, and it felt horrible. My body still tingled, trapped in what had been, and I was still so excited that I could feel my heartbeat between my legs, and it fluttered and tickled down there. My tummy tickled, too, but not in a good way. I burned up at the thought of his eyes on my tiny tits and my silly plain white panties. Maybe Lizzie had been right; I should’ve been more sexy. I should have worn the pink frillies and one of those lacy push-up bras.
But he’d wanted me.
He’d wanted my tiny tits, and he’d wanted me in stupid white panties. I’d seen it in his eyes. I’d felt it in his kisses.
