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Becca is more than just a cute face, with her rosy lips and eyes as bright as a summer sky. Becca can mean more than that, if I let her. But right now, my more assertive side, the one I can't seem to quiet down, keeps wondering if her pussy is as rosy as the soles of her feet, which I've developed a wild fetish for.
“If you'd like me to come to your room again, maybe you could pick some better hours,” Becca's voice, getting ready to come in through the window, startles me, and I yank my hand out of my pants, then sit up on the edge of the bed, hastily grabbing a pillow to shield myself.
I swear under my breath. I can't help myself. She's ethereal... until she starts talking.
The air seems too thin as Becca lifts her leg over the windowsill. In that split second, I catch a glimpse of her pristine white panties, igniting a painful throb in my cock, so I have to bite down on my lower lip, so hard I feel like I’m bleeding.
Her blue pleated schoolgirl skirt peeks out just enough from under the oversized hoodie, allowing me to see there's something more underneath. Becca is that type of girl who wears a hoodie over everything, and it annoys me because it makes me wonder about how her shirt molds over her small, rounded breasts, just enough to fit in my palm, or whether my hands are large enough to encircle her slender waist.
I gulp and force that stupid thought of whether she's wearing a bra out of my mind. Instead, I focus on her hair, casually tied up in a loose braid. Playful strands frame her adorable face, with blue eyes and long lashes and full rosy lips. Her skin stays fair whether it's summer or winter, like tan refuses to catch on her goddess-like body. These traits give her an aura of innocence and grace, yet I can sense another throb below my pelvis, and this time, I startle painfully.
It’s not good. If I don't stand still, she’ll figure out why I have the pillow, and the last thing on my list is to scare her. She’s fifteen, I remind myself and facepalm, but when did age ever stop me from anything? I don’t even remember how many fifteen and sixteen year old girls I’ve been with. I don’t think I’ve ever knew their age, or their name for all that matters. I haven’t been with many seventeen year olds, but not too few. The age gap isn't significant, so there's no need for me to worry about legal problems as long as we're both minors and everything is consensual.
I take a deep breath as I see her coming closer. A huge mistake, as I inhale her sweet scent that makes me wonder if her skin is just as sweet. I want to press the tip of my tongue against her pulse line and trail down to her collarbone, where I'd gently bite, enough to leave a few marks. I need to leave my mark on her, make her panties tremble when she thinks of me.
“Take off your shoes!” I scowl, noticing the new mud tracks left by the window.
Becca sighs and kicks off her shoes, rolling her eyes. She leaves them by the window and walks across the room.
“So, what was so important you made me come here at this hour?” She straightens her skirt, looking around.
“You're right. It's late. You better head back,” I continue to clutch the pillow tightly, waiting for my nerves to settle, even though I won't stand a chance until I release the tension building up because of her.
I need a quickie.
NOW!
“Do you think I came all this way for nothing? I risked getting caught, even took off my shoes, all for nothing? Delete five photos just ‘cause I came while it’s raining,” I watch her pick up a Jason Voorhees figurine from my cramped bookshelf, turning it over in her hands.
I glance at her delicate bare feet as they walk around my bedroom to the bookshelf, and swallow.
“I'll delete them,” I utter hypnotically, taking advantage of the moment when she's not paying attention. I set the pillow aside and move over to the window. “The thing is, I’ve been thinking about something,” I say as I pull a cigarette from the pack.
“About what?” she raises an eyebrow impatiently.
I carefully scan around to see if anyone might have seen her enter. Now, the earlier idea seems extremely dumb, and just when I'm about to abandon it and send her home, Becca sits down on my bed, one leg over the other, and the little devil on my left shoulder comes to life.
She's not wearing socks, and her relaxed position gives me a delightful view. Slim, short legs with delicate, rounded knees and plump thighs, with small toes that make me wonder if she wears size 34 shoes. And those soles... oh! Those pink soles that lead my thoughts there, down, between her perfect legs, to the delicate softness I bet hasn’t been touched by anyone.
Is her pussy as rosy as her small, delicate soles?
Is her pubic hair as blond as her golden locks, or does she shave?
Even though pubic hair disgusts me on most girls, I would prefer Becca to be natural, embracing her God-given attributes. I would stick my nose between those silky folds of hers and take a deep breath, enough to fill my lungs with her sweet scent, then lick her up and down until her tight juicy pussy would swell with pleasure.
I take a deep breath and I see that my erection is about to burst through my pants. I put the cigarette between my lips again and drag desperately. It's not good, Becca has to go.
“I hope it won't take long. For some dumb reason, my mom started checking up on me all the time,” Becca's voice breaks through, pulling me away from the inappropriate thoughts playing in my mind.
I should feel guilty for them, but there's no twinge of remorse as I imagine her half-dressed while engaging in what seems like an ordinary conversation, with no sexual innuendos.
“What reason?” I raise an eyebrow, the cigarette hanging between my lips as I turn toward the window.
“Well...” I see her rubbing her hands on her thighs, looking bothered by the question. “It doesn't matter anymore. Just tell me what you want.”
Could her reason be Samael Morgenstern?
That drives me insane.
