2 comments/ 15086 views/ 3 favorites One Rainy Afternoon By: BlueStarGrrrl If you're looking for great plotlines, I'm not your lady - more erotica than lit, this is purely a fantasy fragment meant as inspiration:) So the rain is locked outside, where it should always have been, and the storm, such as it is, lashes its subdued British fury about us, so that we stumble into the foyer, damp, wet to the core, but alive and somewhat invigorated by the freshness of the torrent we've left behind. You, you put the bags down by the counter, having insisted on carrying mine, and me not exhibiting more than a feeble protest. You shake your head like a soaked puppy, not so oblivious as to affect those around you, heavens, no, not rude. But a genuine gesture for sure and one that makes me smile, more in than out, as I turn to the receptionist and explain that we have a booking. You, looking around, soaking it in, the original art deco fixtures, features, quite stunning, and I'm glad of my choice. But I just want to be warm and dry, and I'm so in need of a bit of cosy, wrapped-up-ness, in a blanket, I think... in you, maybe... And it seems natural, despite my check-in, for you to pick up the plastic card that serves as a key and lead the way to room 225. Second floor and you head for the lift. I take a gamble that it won't be too small, built with the building, and it pays off. Large mirror greets us as we walk in, wet, us, and we look it... hell, certainly no obvious pairing... but comfortable...and we stand, alone in the lift, back to the mirror, as the lift plods upwards, not talking. You gesture for me to step out first and then we follow the signs to the room. Inside, I look around, fairly standard but nice, and too in need of warmth, dryness, even to check out the bathroom, I crawl, fully dressed, leopard-coat and all, under the blankets and into bed. I kick my shoes out the bottom, lie on my side, and simply enjoy. I am just starting to drift off, when I feel you crawl in behind me. An itch... no, no itch this, just a gentle warmth, and a feeling of relaxed inevitability that takes away anything resembling pressure, nervousness. And a desire now, like the moment before unwrapping a pile of birthday, Christmas gifts, when you want to start peeling, ripping, away at the layers, but in the knowledge that the beginning will lead to the end, and a hope that postponement will keep that feeling alive. A slow, no rush situation. I think back to that first night, with your wife asleep upstairs, late, dark, hushed, and not. How drunk - not an unfamiliar situation for either of us - and talking and talking, quiet-quiet, we went quieter still, where you reached over on that couch and kissed me, leaning me back, head up on the armrest, your hand softly across my mouth, while the other raised a finger to your own lips. Shhhh. Lights out. Now there, there, babe, was an itch. And if anyone can scratch an itch, that anyone would be you. And how that first time, with a closed door and a silent house, and, frankly, no preamble at all, because, what, truly, was needed. You kissed me, me all shhh and used to saying your name in the dark, so quiet, less than a whisper. I fucking did, I wanted you so fucking badly, you, that those jeans of mine were gone already (I know, because I pulled them off). I think of your one hand and how it conducted a pretty thorough reconnaissance mission, while your other hand unbuttoned, unzipped, un-fucking-tethered, and on top of, you slipped inside me, filling me up, me all gaspy, all lip-bitey and don't give a shit, but I had to. Your hand was back over my mouth, and you kind of looked at me, but neither of us really looking or seeing. But all I could feel was you, and those hard, deliberate strokes, that made my head bang slightly against the arm, and I just willed you to come (yes, with an o and an e), more than anything, that, babe, was what I wanted. I wanted that for you, so I could know that fucking smile in the dark, and I wanted that for me, so I could feel those last few thrusts and push right on up to meet you, and know how that felt. So you did, and oh-but it was all hmmm-ing smiles but not a time for postcoital bliss, and you pulled out of me, me with a little protest moan that I didn't really mean, because in essence that was all that itch needed and the rest is just icing on the top. We straightened out and sit up and lights on. Aware, again, of the family sleeping upstairs. And now, here, back in the hotel, you crawl in behind me, all wrapping-up and holding, just still and still and still, you and me. Waiting waiting, because this is no itch, my friend. Not quick, not frantic, not nothing; by this point, unlike so far, it's not an itch that needs scratching, you, but a long and slow and loving afternoon, where we can pull out those tongues of ours and just ex-pul-ore. One Rainy Afternoon Prologue: 21st April 2013 My name is Jim Baines. Born in Nottingham, England, October, 1978. White. Male. Thirty-four years old. Eleven stone, six pounds as of last Saturday. Five-feet eleven. And honest, with it. Could have said six feet and, well, it's not like you'd have ever known, is it? But I've always had a thing about accuracy. A bit OCD maybe. Like to get the details right, you know? Bear that in mind for later. When I'm telling you shit that you're going to have a much harder time believing. Look at me and you'd probably think; average guy. Not bad looking. Keeps himself in shape. Look a bit harder and maybe you'd think; actually, you know what, he's better-looking than I thought. Definitely looks good for his age, anyway. I guess not drinking, not smoking, not fucking myself up with drugs and working out regularly means I can still pass for late-twenties. Maybe even younger. And somebody had the right genes somewhere along the line for me to inherit a pretty good masculine shape. Forty-inch chest. Thirty-two-inch waist. Oh, and a thick mop of brown hair, with a hairline that hasn't shifted since my teens. But I'm no movie star. On first glance I wouldn't catch your eye. So yeah, you'd think; average guy. You'd be wrong, though. But, well, more on that later. Much more. For now, I guess there's other stuff you need to know about me. Actually, no, scratch that. There's other stuff that I need you to know about me. Because I know, later on you're going to judge me harshly. Perhaps rightly so. But I need you to make that judgement at least being in possession of, well, the key facts. The background. The mitigating circumstances. The... yeah, okay, the lame attempts to justify the unjustifiable. Whatever. It's stuff I need to tell you before we get on to... well, the reason you're reading this shit in the first place. So, here goes nothing. At age twenty-four, I'd thought I was the luckiest man alive. I'd finally married Katie, who'd been with me since I was fifteen and who was so lithe; so elegant; so classically beautiful that I'd never understood how we ever came to be together. I doubt anyone else could work it out either. Probably thought I was hung like a horse. I'm not, as it happens. See, that honesty thing again? But, well, in their eyes there had to be some reason why such a stunning beauty would be with an average chump like me. Yet there we still were. The business I'd inherited was finally taking off, after years of hard graft. Katie was about to land a publishing deal for the children's stories she'd always loved to write. And our beautiful daughter Kiera - who had arrived entirely unexpectedly and turned our world completely upside-down eight years earlier - was growing into a clever, funny, confident child who seemed ready to take on anything the world could throw at her. Yeah, you read that right. Eight years earlier. I really was a father at sixteen. That's not exactly average, is it? Still, it isn't the only reason I'm not an average guy. As you'll find out soon enough. So, yes, Katie and I had been teenage parents. I can't begin to describe the chaos that had caused for two well-educated kids from respectable families; the utter destruction of best-laid plans wrought by nothing more than a split prophylactic. It was a traumatic time. My mother had been taken by cancer when I was fourteen and my father had only just started to recover when I hit him with the news that he'd be a granddad. He didn't take it well. In fact, he never really recovered and was dead before Kiera's second birthday from a massive stroke. Yeah, like I said: Traumatic. Katie hadn't had it much better; a termination had been unconscionable for her - and me - but her parents were obsessed with her future and the consequences a baby would have. The wedge that argument had driven between them was huge. She'd got her way; Kiera was born. But the anger and resentment had lingered on long afterwards. In the end her parents moved away, down to the south coast, and left us to bring our daughter up alone. It was tough. Somehow, within mere months, Katie and I had gone from revising for GCSEs to raising a child, only to then be hit with my father's death just at the point when we'd thought we were starting to get used to our new lives. All that had pushed us right to the precipice. Right to the edge. But we'd looked over that edge; held on to each other and got through. Those hard, dark, confusing times were behind us. The future might have looked a lot different from that which our pre-Kiera selves - university-bound, high-flying careers ahead, blithely oblivious to fate - would have imagined. But, right then, at twenty-four, it felt brighter than ever. And I wouldn't have changed a thing. You'll have guessed by now that it wasn't going to last. Of course, you're right. A freak failure in the steering of an oncoming HGV on the motorway one night and my beautiful, precious wife was taken from me, for ever. Her parents, too. They'd been sat in the back as she'd ferried them up to stay with us for what was to have been a first reconciliatory visit; to finally spend some time with the grand-daughter they'd barely seen. It had been quick, at least; the impact so severe that all three were killed instantly. And it had been a genuine accident; the investigators on the scene had found the truck was well-maintained. The lorry driver wasn't drunk, tired or on drugs. It was simply a mechanical failure nobody could have planned for. One in a million. Pure chance. The driver survived; badly injured and crushed by guilt. I remember going to visit him days later in hospital; driven by a strange compulsion to tell him that I didn't blame him. Maybe as much to convince myself of that as to convince him. The two of us ended up crying openly together. His words, such as they were, offered some comfort; it had happened so quickly that Katie would barely even have seen it coming. But still I tortured myself with thoughts of the terror; the sheer certainty of death that Katie must have known in those last few seconds of her life as she saw the truck crashing through the central reservation in front of her; utterly powerless to avoid the collision. For years afterwards I woke up, shaking with fear, from my own imagined nightmares of that moment. Even now I couldn't really tell you what happened in the days and weeks which followed the accident. Rage, anguish, despair; tempered only by the faintest sense of gratitude that I still had my daughter who, struck down with tonsillitis at just the right moment, had been too ill to make the return journey with Katie. Pure chance had spared her, just as pure chance had taken my wife. Pure chance was going to be visiting me again, years later. I just didn't know that, then. Eventually I emerged the other side; the funerals conducted, the meagre handful of remaining relatives returning to their lives. I attempted to find normality but after only a few weeks I was unable to bear the ache of the memories, still wrapped up in the fabric of the house we'd shared as a family. I knew it was slowly killing Kiera, too. My gorgeous, carefree little daughter - still just eight years old - had been crushed into a haunted shadow, lost in a child's guilt-driven grief; unable to fathom the mystery of what she had done to cause her Mummy and Granny and Grandpa to be taken from her. It was unbearable to watch her withering under the weight of loss. I felt so helpless; so hopeless. Yet I had to carry on for her. She was my world now. So, I sold everything. As an only child I'd inherited my dad's house and his engineering business when he'd passed. Even before then, fatherhood had changed me; I'd given up my dreams of university. I had wanted to be earning - needed to be earning - right then to support my beautiful little baby daughter. So I'd gone straight to work at the family firm instead of staying at school. And when dad died, I'd worked hard to keep everything together. More recently I'd got lucky with a few ideas that had taken the business into new territory. It was doing better than ever. But, for Kiera's sake, it all had to go, along with the house, to give us a proper fresh start. I chucked the proceeds all in with Katie's life insurance and bought a big, comfortable house in a quiet, leafy suburb on the very edge of Chelmsford; a hundred miles away from everything in our past life. With enough left over to invest in getting a new business off the ground without the risk of needing to mortgage the house, I felt I could give Kiera the security and consistency she'd need to start rebuilding her life; to have a chance of rebuilding herself. It would be hard, for both of us. But it was better than any of the alternatives I could think of. Pay attention, because this next bit's important. You're going to wonder why I'm telling you about our new neighbours. Seems a bit odd, right, given all the other things I could be telling you about? But stick with it. If you really pay attention, you'll get a head start on what's going to happen later. So yeah, pure chance came back for another shot at my life. It turned out that the house I'd found was next-door to a couple, Keith and Sarah, who were a good ten years older than me but had two young children; Josh and Jadie. They were everything you could want from new neighbours; welcoming but not overbearing, friendly but not intrusive. For Kiera's sake, I told them early on about Katie's death and the reason for our relocation. They were compassionate and understanding, gently letting Josh and Jadie know so that they wouldn't ask Kiera awkward questions. Good people. Decent people. Kind people. That didn't stop me from betraying them pretty horribly. But that was years later. I'll get to that. Kiera and I settled in to our new life as best we could. And the kids next door certainly played their part in helping my daughter to feel welcome. I didn't see much of nine-year-old Josh but his little sister Jadie - who, it turned out, was just a few months older than Kiera - soon became a regular visitor to our house. With Keith working overseas much of the time and Sarah a busy accountant, I was only too happy to look after their daughter as it meant company for Kiera. Before long I found myself juggling my own work hours to maximise the time the girls could spend together. I desperately wanted my broken little angel to make new friends who could help her put herself back together. And a playmate who lived next door and went to the same school seemed like an ideal companion; someone who might just bring some childish joy back into her world and make her forget, if only momentarily, what had brought her here. As it happened, Jadie turned out to be an utter delight. Ferociously intelligent and insatiably curious; it wasn't long at all before she took Kiera under her wing. I think she saw it as her own personal challenge; to fix Kiera and make her happy again. If that sounds trite, well, so be it. But I will never forget finding myself speechless, eyes welling up, when one afternoon - just a couple of months after we had arrived - Jadie had left Kiera playing outside to come and find me indoors. Looking up at me from under her fringe with her big green eyes, she'd said, "I know it's really sad what happened with Kiera's Mummy but I'm here to look after her now. I'll make her happy, I promise, Mr Baines." She'd held my gaze for a moment before skipping off again. But she was true to her word. Always positive, always smiling; her infectious enthusiasm for life slowly rubbed off on Kiera as the months went by. And me? Well, for my own part, the best I can say is that I just about coped in those early days. Barely. Sure, it made it easier to see some hope for Kiera but still, I would often descend into black depression for days on end. And whilst I was glad that Kiera had new friends in her life, for me it seemed like nobody could replace my beautiful Katie. I couldn't let go. I didn't want to let go. So whilst I slowly made new acquaintances and built a new social circle, I never really committed to it. My free time was taken up with the challenges of being a father and mother to Kiera. What about sex? I mean, let's be honest that's why you're reading this shit, right? Well, it just didn't feature in my life at all in those first years after Katie's passing. A desultory one off the wrist in the shower now and again to relieve the tension but, really, nothing more. As time went on there were 'opportunities' - friends of friends; casual acquaintances; even the wife of one of my top clients. But I never took any of them. I still couldn't shake the sense of betrayal. And even when finally the memories of Katie began to dim and I felt my appetite begin to re-awaken, I found that I couldn't bring myself to disrupt the delicate balance in Kiera's life by bringing another woman onto the scene. Or, even worse, a string of different women. So I resigned myself to a sex life which involved nothing more complicated than an internet connection and a box of tissues. It wasn't difficult. Routines, habits; they take the sting out of so much. I thought it would be enough for me, at least until Kiera left home. I thought wrong. Still, I did grow used to the absence of a relationship. There were other sources of joy. As weeks turned into months turned into years I saw my beautiful, fragile, damaged daughter slowly but steadily begin to regain her lust for life, thanks almost entirely to her friendship with the amazing little girl from next door. An amazing little girl who quickly became an important part of my life as well as Kiera's. Jadie spent so much time with us over the years, it soon felt like she was as much part of our family as she was her own. To be brutally honest; probably more so. Keith's job in some global IT outsourcing firm kept him away from home for weeks on end and Sarah worked punishing hours travelling around to her clients. Most weeks I saw their daughter more than they did. We did so much together, just the three of us. Homework. Shopping. Playing games. Days out. Just sitting round the kitchen table chatting about nonsense... Perhaps missing her virtually-absent father, Jadie delighted in demonstrating to me her amazing capacity for remembering stuff. She had a real gift; she soaked up every bit of trivia I could tell her like a sponge. Kiera was a clever little thing but she like to hide her ability, whereas Jadie loved showing off. As the girls grew up, their humour developed as well. And whilst Kiera would rapidly tire of my banter - I was, after all, her boring dad and therefore not worthy of continued attention - Jadie seemed to love the verbal sparring, gradually becoming better able to defend herself from my comic barbs. Sure, there were difficult times. Those tweenie years, which actually seemed to go on well into the girls' mid-teens, were full of hormones and confusion. They were hard for all of us. Kiera had to deal with my clumsy attempts to talk her through the 'changes'. I saw her slip again into dark places - fearful places - as the world once more became a bizarre, threatening maelstrom of confusion. Even Jadie succumbed for a long while; her bright personality seeming to flatten into two dimensions, sucked into a vortex of strange new feelings which she, like every other pubescent girl before her, struggled to make sense of. But they both came through it. And finally, ten years since Kiera and I had moved, it looked like the tricky times were all behind us. They were, until I complicated matters again. Which brings us to the present day. At eighteen, Kiera and Jadie are both well out of those difficult years and have, somehow, managed to transform themselves into remarkably well-balanced, conscientious, highly-motivated individuals who - nearing the end of their final year in school - show the sort of commitment to their work that I could only have dreamed of at that age. Had I not already been a father by then, of course. I guess that's a girl thing, maybe? Who knows. Whatever it is, they never cease to amaze me with their efforts. They both bagged a string of A's and A-stars when they did their GCSEs; they now look set to repeat that success at A-Level. And they think ahead, constantly, about their future; both are taking a year out before applying for university, so they can earn some money and minimise the debt they'll end up with. Forward planning, right there. And, yeah, I'll say it here, right now. Might as well get it out there. They are both seriously attractive now. I mean, of course I'd think my own daughter was beautiful, right? All fathers do, don't they? But really, honestly, my Kiera is something special. Don't get me wrong; I'm not saying that I find her attractive - this isn't that kind of story, believe me. If you want to read that sort of shit, best leave now. I might be a man of low morals but, well... incest isn't my thing. At all. No, what I'm saying is that my daughter is now a genuinely beautiful young girl. Tall, at five-nine and lithely elegant with it; she's clearly inherited her mother's grace and poise, along with her fine features. Long, dark, straight hair. Blue eyes. Alabaster skin. I can barely believe my little girl has, almost overnight, blossomed into this slim, willowy beauty. She looks so... grown up; she could easily pass for twenty-something. She talks like a grown woman too; her voice has lost its childlike sound and gently deepened into a rich, soft tone. And Jadie? She's like Kiera's perfectly-matched opposite. Blonde, vibrant hair against Kiera's gorgeous dark tresses. Lightly tanned, healthy skin against Kiera's porcelain white. Magical green, sparkling eyes to Kiera's calm, deep blue. A lighter, more girly voice which fabulously contradicts her immense vocabulary and intellect when she talks. Which she does, a lot. So, yeah, Jadie's equally stunning in her own way; she's just down at the other end of beautiful. You know; the cute end. The sexy end. She somehow looks younger, too; maybe because she's shorter than Kiera by a considerable margin. At maybe five-two or five-three at most - and carrying rather more weight - she doesn't have my daughter's elegance. But, by means of compensation, she has been blessed with the right sort of curves, everywhere. The sort which make it seriously hard not to lose your gaze in, if you're not paying attention. Not good if you're her best friend's dad, right? Yeah, exactly. Awkward moments, there've been a few... And if you do manage to avoid looking at that amazing chest - 36D, maybe, at a dirty-old-man's guess - or those wondrous legs or that fabulous behind? Well, you just end up looking at a face so achingly pretty - especially when she smiles - that you sometimes still end up lost for words, stumbling and mumbling like you're a clumsy teenager all over again. So, yeah, they're a pair of stunners. And, somehow, their friendship remains as strong as ever. There's none of that catty rivalry between them that you can get with girls. No bitchiness. No jealousy. To be fair, when I think about it, their friendship has never really faltered; I can't recall them ever falling out properly. But then, Kiera doesn't know the truth. Not yet, anyway. I reckon you probably do, though. I mean, it's not so hard to guess, especially after what I've just told you. So, yeah, let's get it over with then. I'm not an average guy. Average guys don't betray their kind-hearted neighbours. Average guys don't allow their baser instincts to override their love for friends and family. One Rainy Afternoon Average guys - unless I'm very much mistaken - don't end up, one rainy afternoon, in bed with their teenage daughter's gorgeous best friend, fucking like the world was about to end. There, it's said. Did you guess right? I bet you did. Which means all that's left are the sordid, messy details. But hey, that's why you're here anyway, right? Don't worry. We're nearly there. You're about to read a true and accurate account of the events which took place on Thursday 12th April, 2013. Well, accurate inasmuch as any account could be accurate when it originally started as a set of sprawling, hastily-written, barely-sensible notes typed in desperation in the hours and days after the event by a half-crazed man struggling to comprehend the magnitude of how far he's fucked up his life and those of everyone around him, yet still burning; aching with the desire not to forget a single delicious moment. So yeah, maybe there's a few bits missing. Maybe some of the dialogue isn't word-perfect - at least the parts which weren't completely un-fucking-forgettable, that is. That bothers me, with my OCD. But for you it'll be like, whatever. You'll get the picture, don't worry. I'll make sure of that. And I doubt you'll believe a word of it. To be honest, a small part of me actually hopes you don't. At least then the worst you can think of me is that I'm a charlatan; a liar; a pathetic fantasist with nothing better to do than waste your time with a story which stretches the boundaries of feasibility so far that it could, surely, only be the imaginary product of a dirty old man's dirty old mind. And you know what? Maybe I'd rather you thought that than what you might actually think of me if you do believe what you're going to read. Which will not be good. Not good at all. Still, whatever you might think; however bad it might be, I can guarantee one thing. It won't be as bad as what I think of myself, right now. Which rather begs the question of why - even in the face of such shame and guilt - I simply cannot bring myself to regret what I've done. The answer, as it happens, is simple. It's because Jadie really was - no, is - that special. As you're about to find out... One Rainy Afternoon "Uh, there is a bit of a problem, Mr Baines." There was a strange shuffling noise and she appeared at the top of the stairs. When I looked up, I nearly stopped breathing and had to force myself to look away. Her hair was still wet but she'd taken it out of the hairband and done it in pigtail braids either side to keep it out of her face. Bizarrely, it looked like she'd been in Kiera's make-up drawer too, as there was a hint of her usual eyeliner now back in place enhancing her green almond eyes, which I swear wasn't there when she came in. The wet jumper was gone and she had on a white buttoned shirt which was, I figured, at least technically in line with the school dress code. It was 'smart' certainly. However, it had a very tight feminine cut that highlighted her amazing curvy figure. Which meant, of course, that my eyes were drawn to what I already - guiltily - knew were an impressive pair of breasts. Right then they seemed to be straining the shirt buttons, pushed together by a hot-pink bra which was bright enough to clearly show through the shirt. I wondered what her teachers had to say about her approach to the sixth-form dress code. Not a lot, I guessed; I wouldn't want to be the poor chap who had to take her to task about wearing brightly-coloured underwear and a shirt cut to accentuate breasts which did a good enough job of emphasising themselves without any help from her clothing. Still, her top half - alluring as it was - wasn't actually what made me feel the need turn my head away. No, it was what was happening further down which was causing this particular problem. Jadie had evidently tried getting on a pair of Kiera's skinny jeans but, being a bigger girl than Kiera in every way, they hadn't really got very far. The waistband of the trousers came half way up Jadie's bare thighs, which, I noted were really rather special even being squeezed together as they were by the too-small trousers. And then, beneath the shirt which barely extended below her delicious little midriff, her panties were clearly visible. They were a matching hot pink colour, just like her bra. White detailing lined the edges and, from what I could tell, they were cut in a bikini style. No more guessing needed there, then. "I'm just too fat to fit in any of her stuff!" Jadie said, laughing awkwardly, as she shuffled at the top of the stairs. She put a hand to her mouth and began to chew on a nail, before catching herself and letting the hand drop again. She looked so young, stood there nervously; embarrassed and uncertain. Yet not uncertain enough to be stood there in front of me with her underwear visible. Before I could help myself, I blurted, "Jadie, don't be silly, you're not fat." Realising that made it look like I had an opinion on something which I really shouldn't be thinking about, I tried to backtrack a bit. "I mean, uh, well, those trousers... Kiera's a skinny little thing. You know I'm always on at her that she doesn't eat enough, but she doesn't listen." "Uh, thanks, I guess, Mr Baines. But you don't have to be nice about it. I know I'm a bit on the chunky side." I'd heard her make comments about her weight and size before and just passed them off as typical teenage-girl false modesty. I had seriously never considered that she could honestly think she was too fat. She just wasn't. For sure, she would never be described as skinny in this day and age, given that 'emaciated' seemed to be the modern requirement for such a description. She was soft and curvy rather than sharp and bony but no way was she ever... chunky. And yes, I know that word curvy has been misappropriated by women who are approaching obesity in a pathetic attempt to re-brand their unattractiveness but, with Jadie, that wasn't what it meant at all. For her, it meant quite simply, that she possessed a proper female body that was, unfortunately, incredibly alluring to me. And to any other red-blooded male, I suspected. Not fat. No way. But now... she sounded so... earnest. She might be eighteen but maybe she hadn't moved on quite as far from those early-teen hormone-driven body-image-crisis days after all. I felt a pang of guilt for assuming that her confidence ran more than skin-deep. Or maybe she was just fishing. It didn't seem to be the case but, again, my daughter loved to be told how great she looked - to the point where she would deliberately goad me into telling her so. Was this what was happening here? I had no idea. Whatever, I just wished Jadie wasn't doing it whilst stood there with her knickers on show. My brain was really struggling; half of it wanted to look up and take in the view whilst the other half didn't dare for fear of looking like a dirty old man. "Uh, Jadie, I don't think chunky is quite the word I'd use," I sort of mumbled, still not looking. As soon as the words were out of my mouth I realised that I'd set myself up again. "Really? So what word would you use then?" It wasn't a confident challenge. She said it quietly. Still nervous. Like she actually... cared about what I was going to say. She was tying me up in knots, here. But by this point the illicit excitement at having a conversation with a partially-clothed teenage girl had begun to overcome my embarrassment at being thought a dirty old perv. So, I looked up. She was now leaning against the balustrade for balance and seemed to wiggle a bit when she saw me look up, which caused her chest to move visibly beneath the shirt. Did she have any idea what she was doing? "Well, I don't know about exact words," I said, the awkwardness clearly evident in my voice. We'd bantered back and forth a thousand times over the years but this time I was eager to draw this particular conversation to a close. "Let's just say you're a very attractive young lady who will make a lucky boy very happy one day." "Yeah, right," she said, with a look that I could only describe as wistful briefly flashing over her face. But then, she seemed to brighten a little. "Anyway that doesn't help me fit into these jeans, does it?" She laughed, shyly, looking embarrassed. "In fact, never mind fitting in to them, I can't even get them off now. My legs were still wet when I put them on and they're stuck like glue." She made a show of trying to peel the tight stretch denim further down her legs and looked down at me. I was staring. I knew I was staring. I tore my gaze away again. "Er, Mr Baines. Um... Do you think you can maybe... give me a hand, or I could be stuck in these things forever!" she said, laughing uncertainly again. Jesus Christ. Was she serious? I had to look up at her again. She was looking right at me, with a look I was really struggling to make sense of. The self-conscious teenager was still there but, really, was that a glint in her eye? Surely not. My imagination was starting to get the better of me again and it needed to stop. Fast. She smiled sweetly, her confidence appearing to grow a little. "Seriously, I am actually stuck in these things. You'd better come up. I think if I try coming down the stairs like this, I'll end up breaking something." My head was spinning. Within ten minutes my afternoon had gone from dull and boring to downright dangerous. This was my daughter's best friend. In my house. Okay, nothing unusual about that in itself, except, well, my daughter wasn't with us. And Jadie, despite whatever hang-ups she may have about her body, seemed strangely unfazed about me seeing her in her underwear. And was now asking me to help... take her clothes... off... I could have said no. Of course I could. I was a grown man; there were a thousand different ways I could have found to make an excuse. But I didn't. Because... well, truthfully, I realised I didn't want to. So I climbed the stairs whilst Jadie turned round and shuffled back across the landing towards Kiera's room. I nearly tripped over, as I couldn't take my eyes off her gorgeous arse. The bikini-style knickers were thinner and shinier than they first appeared. The sight of the tight, pink material stretched over those fantastically proportioned cheeks, moving as she struggled to walk was intoxicating. There was just the hint of a little crease underneath each buttock as she moved. Christ, I am going to burn in hell, I thought. As I followed her into Kiera's room, Jadie turned round and flopped down onto the bed, laying back and lifting her feet up to me. Her legs were forced together by the restricting jeans, which being those ridiculous skinny-fit ones which girls had to 'pour themselves into' really were clung fast to her. "If you can get my feet out, that would be a start," she said. I gently eased the bottoms of the tight trousers over the heel of each foot, focusing on the task at hand and trying desperately not to stare past the trousers to get another glimpse of those bright pink knickers. Or her chest heaving beneath the shirt. I was succeeding with the trousers but not doing quite so well in diverting my gaze. "Now pull!" she instructed, as the ankles of the trousers finally slipped over her feet. I tugged on the bottom of the trousers, but they still didn't want to budge. I got a firmer grip and pulled again. Jadie braced herself with her arms, pushing against the bed. She wiggled backwards, trying to get free of the material plastered to her legs, whilst I pulled. Finally, there was some movement. The material slid a little further down those beautiful damp thighs and I couldn't deny myself another look. I got rather more than I was expecting. As she'd pushed herself backwards, her panties had caught against the bed linen... which meant they had been tugged downwards slightly as she moved. What I now saw nearly caused me to fall over. The tight pink material had been pulled down her hips, perhaps an inch or so all round, which meant that at the front a delightful fringe of closely-cropped dark pubic fuzz could now be seen poking out the top of the underwear. It ran all the way across; an old-school bikini-line in the truest sense of the word. I was stunned, not least because I'd just assumed that teen girls all shaved completely these days. I knew from my regular internet solo excursions that 'hairy' had become niche-porn; a special interest rather than the default. And I remembered an extremely awkward conversation with Kiera about the issue a couple of years previously when she'd asked me outright whether she should 'shave her kitty' as all the other girls at school were talking about it and said they were going to. I knew it was one of those conversations which only happened because I had to be her mum as well as her dad but still, I'd been shocked that she'd been talking about such matters at all at that age. Utterly embarrassed in front of my daughter, once I'd got my head round her use of a word I'd never before heard used to describe that part of female anatomy, I'd tried to explain that it was a personal preference and that a lot of men didn't like the bald look. I certainly didn't; having grown up on 80s porno I much preferred a nice bit of fuzzy hair, but that wasn't the sort of thing you said to your own kid. Jadie seemed oblivious to her panty situation - and, fortunately, also my interest in it as far as I could tell. She took hold of the top of the jeans and peeled them down further, arching her back and lifting herself off the bed. I was transfixed by her crotch, now waving in the air. The thin material on her knickers moved again, leaving no doubt that there was a full triangle of short-cropped hair under there. Remembering that I should be pulling on the jeans rather than staring at her now not-so-private parts, I yanked hard and the trousers finally came free. I gently pulled them off each of her legs, and then held them in front of me to hide what was rapidly becoming an embarrassing bulge in my own jeans. Jadie sat up on the bed facing me and leaned forward slightly, obscuring her middle but meaning I now had to try to avoid looking down her shirt. Which, I'm certain, had fewer buttons done up than it had when it had been underneath her jumper, given the amount of cleavage on show. This time I didn't manage to avert my gaze quite fast enough. I caught her eye, briefly, and she looked... God, did she really look pleased? Almost like she wanted me to be looking down her top. Was that a momentary shift in her expression; a sense of greater confidence garnered from my attention? Yeah, right. I needed to get a grip. "Thank god for that. Serves me right for being so fat," she laughed, looking up at me with an expression that was partly tease, yet partly transparent hope for another compliment from me. I didn't want to go down that road again. I smiled and wagged a finger. "Uh, uh, we've had that conversation. Not being able to fit into tight cut size eight jeans, does not a fat girl make." She sighed, exaggeratedly. "I'm such a klutz. I should have looked at the size. I'm usually a ten or a twelve so I'm never going to fit into any of Kiera's things..." Klutz? I really wondered about teenage vocabulary sometimes. Another thought passed briefly through the back of my mind - she was Kiera's best friend, surely she would know what size she was? The thought flitted away. I didn't want to pursue it. "Well I can't exactly have you walking round my house in just your shirt and knickers, can I?" I said, before realising that I really didn't want her to answer that. Thinking quickly, I came up with the only possible way out that I could think of which could get her covered up as rapidly as possible. "You'll have to wear something of mine!" She looked at me like I was mental, so I attempted to explain further. "There should be some clean tracksuit bottoms in the chest at the end of my bed. They're not exactly the last word in, ah, style or anything but..." I decided to lighten the moment, for my own sanity more than for her amusement, and continued. "...they've got an elastic waistband that stretches, like really wide," I said, miming an exceptionally large waist. Her eyes widened in shock at my implication until she saw the evil grin I was wearing. "Oh Mr Baines," she said, laughing. "I thought you were such a nice man but you're just... nasty!" I continued to grin at her. "Oh well," she said, "Your sexy sweatpants it is, then." With possibly the sweetest smile I had ever seen, she got up off the bed and - without a hint of self-consciousness - shrugged up the errant panties. There was definitely a greater confidence about her now. Hell. If women were a complete mystery then teenage girls were - what was the phrase - a mystery wrapped up in an enigma, surrounded by a riddle. One minute she was self-conscious and fearful - albeit utterly mistakenly - about her body. Then the next minute she seemed to be flaunting herself in front of me seemingly without a care. She walked across the landing. Again, my eyes were transfixed on her rear, which was now freed from the restrictions of the half-on trousers. It was utterly magnificent. Round, perfectly-proportioned; a real bottom, with a proper shape without being overly large or comically exaggerated. It looked firm, too, underneath the pink material. And smooth, not crinkly. Just... spellbinding. As she disappeared into my room, did she really give another little wiggle, knowing I was watching? My mind was playing games again, and it wasn't going to end well if I carried on. I folded Kiera's jeans and put them back into her closet. My heart was still pounding and I could feel my cock was now rock hard in my jeans. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't help but think the way Jadie was acting was somehow different from how she'd ever been before, especially when she was with Kiera. We'd always enjoyed that banter and she did enjoy impressing me with her feats of recalling useless knowledge but I'd never got a sense that she was ever, well, flirting with me. At all. Did she even know how badly she was teasing me today? I shook my head yet again. Of course she didn't. Because she wasn't. For god's sake, I was the adult here. She was my daughter's best friend. I'd known her for years. Which meant she was just relaxed in my company because she trusted me as completely as she would her own father. And if she caught on to the fact that I was... aroused by her then she would, quite rightly, be disgusted. Yet... she hadn't seemed to mind at all that I was catching a sneaky look at her chest. Shit. I had to stop that train of thought. It would ruin everything. I was placing her discarded wet trousers on the radiator when I heard her calling again. "Mr Baines, you said in the chest, right?" "Yeah, there should be some grey ones in there." "I can't find them. I don't really want to be rooting round through all your stuff. I don't want to stumble on your secret porn stash or anything. Can you come and help me find them?" I couldn't help laughing. This was the girl I'd known for years; always ready for a joke and a laugh. And not afraid to push the boundaries of what might be considered appropriate conversation. "Hey, who told you about my secret porn stash?" I called back, playing along. "Kiera did. She sneaks into your room and reads your dirty mags when you're not in," Jadie shouted. I folded the trousers over the heater and noticed her socks, which she'd also taken off and hung on the floor in typical teenage fashion. "Yeah, right, nice try. Just a couple of decades behind. Haven't you kids heard of the internet?" I replied. I picked up the socks and put them on to dry as well. "Well my dad obviously hasn't, he keeps a load of mags hidden in the garage. Josh found them years ago." Josh, now nineteen, had left for university a few months back. Like Jadie he was a real high-flyer, getting straight A's at school and going straight on to read Law at Cambridge. I chuckled at the thought of him rooting in the garage for his dad's old-school pornos when there was a whole internet out there to explore. Mind you, that wasn't as funny as the idea of Keith hiding porn in the garage at home when he spent all that time away. I might have to mention that one, next time we had a round of golf. I reached down inside my jeans and adjusted my gentleman's area so that my arousal was less obvious. Good job I did, because when I went across the landing into my bedroom I was greeted with another sight which had the blood rushing to where I wished it wouldn't. Facing away from me, Jadie had got down on all fours to lean forward into the storage chest. Her short, tight shirt had ridden up as she bent over, exposing the beautiful curve of her lower back and placing that delicious, round, pink-clad bottom in full view once again. As I came into the room she seemed to subtly change position, sticking that phenomenal behind a little further up in the air so the hot pink panties were stretched tight over her buttocks. With her legs parted slightly I could just see the faintest outline of her most intimate parts underneath, whilst her amazing thighs were displayed in all their glory. From the distance I was looking, they managed to look Photoshop-perfect in real life. Creamy. Smooth. Properly shaped, not two sticks. I stopped dead in my tracks, mouth open. She pushed herself up from the storage chest and sat back, turning right round to sit cross-legged and look up at me. He braids shook prettily either side of her face as she moved and the way she sat looked almost child-like. Although that chest was definitely not child-like. And, again, was that really a glint in her eye? She did have the most stunning green eyes - highlighted perfectly by that little touch of liner and shadow. Her naturally full, long lashes blinked once at me as she looked, eyes wide; her dark, neat little eyebrows raised as if in question. One Rainy Afternoon The way she looked at me really did suggest that she'd known exactly what she'd just been doing, waving her arse in the air for my benefit. But I still didn't know whether this was just some silly teenage game, teasing her best friend's dad or whether...well, I didn't really want to think about the possibility that she really was actually flirting with me. Whatever the case, I was conscious that my rational brain was rapidly losing control of the situation to my dick. Which, despite my adjustments, was still hard and must surely be noticeable. Wanting to divert her attention before she noticed my crotch, I pointed behind her. "Uh, Jadie, maybe they're in the drawer unit then," I said, indicating the chest of drawers by the wall. She got to her feet, but didn't turn to the drawers, instead standing still facing me and not looking away. She wasn't tall; maybe five-feet two stood in her bare feet and certainly a long way from a catwalk-model clothes-hanger. But I'd never really liked height on a woman and Jadie was, well, just perfectly all-in-proportion for her height. Cute as hell. Which was likely to be my destination, given the thoughts clouding my mind right now. Completely unsure of what to do, say or where to look, I felt more than a little uncomfortable. She stood there in her tight-cut shirt and panties, mere feet away, seemingly without a care in the world about the effect that this might have on me. Just... looking at me, again, with that slight questioning look as if she was expecting me to do or say something. God, it was even as if she looked... hopeful. If this was a game it was going too far. I broke eye contact and nodded to the window where the rain was still pouring down outside. "That weather looks like it's set in for the afternoon," I said in a rather pathetic attempt to defuse some of the tension which had definitely appeared in the room. "Uh huh," said Jadie, ignoring my comment and still looking up at me expectantly. That tension suddenly became unbearable. I realised that I desperately wanted to lean forward and... Jesus! I was nearly overcome, right there, with a desire to reach out and kiss her, right on that pretty little mouth with those full lips just parted enough to see the neat white teeth behind. I could nearly feel myself starting to move towards her, hypnotised by her unbroken gaze. Fuck! I could feel my control slipping away. I was about to destroy my entire life. Kiera would never speak to me again. Jadie might be eighteen but Keith and Sarah would probably call the police. Just before Keith beat me to death with my own shoes. Jesus, I know I'd do the same if he did something like that to Kiera. I felt the room start to spin and just managed to wrench myself away over to the window, turning away from Jadie and towards the rain which was hammering against the glass. I took a deep breath, looking out. God, that had been close. Yes, I'd had fantasies about this girl, but they'd never really gone very far because she was so far off-limits. Hell, she was still at school, for God's sake. Whatever was going on here, I couldn't. I mustn't. "Look Mr Baines!" she said. I turned back to her, and without warning she lifted her shirt up at the front, revealing a gorgeous round little tummy. She had a belly piercing with a jewel and a small silver pendant. I remembered her getting it done. After weeks of her begging Keith and Sarah - as well as Kiera endlessly nagging me for her own - I'd taken both girls to have their tummies done in the summer of the previous year. I'd been expecting similar requests for tattoos now that they'd turned eighteen but had been pleased to discover that neither of them were keen on the idea. I suspected this made them pretty unusual, given the ink-covered state of most of Chelmsford's female population. She put her hands either side and wiggled them up and down. With her shirt lifted up, yes, it was clear that she wasn't a stick insect; there was just enough curve for there to be a hint of 'muffin top' at the top of her panties. A long way off a spare tyre but certainly not washboard-flat either. As she moved her hands I saw that, although her middle was curvy, none of it really wobbled when she moved at all - it was still firm and youthful. Which reminded me again how young she really was. God damn, what was I thinking? "That's fat, and don't deny it," she said. But it was said with confidence. With challenge. What the hell was she up to? That nervous girl who'd stood at the top of the stairs really seemed to have slipped into the background. This was a different Jadie. A sexual Jadie. I knew she wanted a reaction but, to be frank, I had run out of responses to all this. My heart was in my mouth; I had an erection which I was starting not to care whether she saw. I had no idea where we were going, and was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain the completely non-sexual role of best-friend's dad. I desperately wanted to touch her; to run my fingers over that smooth skin, to kiss that perfect mouth. The way she was looking at me suggested that she wanted that too. I felt myself giving in, again, as I drank in the sight of her perfect, curvy little body. Once more I felt myself start to take a step forward, my resistance weakening. Fortunately, at that moment the wind blew hard and buffeted the whole house, rattling the window and making a door bang downstairs. The moment was broken. "Uh, Jadie, I think you'd better find those sweatpants now," I stammered, gaining some control again. "Sure, OK, Mr Baines." Her eyes darted, for the briefest moment, to my crotch before she looked back and smiled, either unaware or unconcerned at my state of arousal. "Top drawer," I said, nodding again at the chest of drawers, my voice still wavering. Finally, she turned, opened the drawer and found the sweatpants. She turned to face me, bending down again to put them on and offering me an unrestricted view down the neck of her shirt. I found myself not caring if she noticed me looking again. My eyes roved over a truly impressive cleavage from that push-up bra. She looked up at me, catching my stare. "Well, they fit just fine. Which means if I'm fat then... you must be too," she laughed. "Oh sure, yeah, I'm just huge, me," I said, sarcastically. Was it the unwitting double-entendre which caused her eyes to flick to my crotch again? Whatever, she still seemed completely unconcerned. I was rock hard, and losing control again. I tried desperately to get some normality back in the room, feeling that crackling tension starting to build again. "Now you've got some dry clothes, why don't you go on downstairs and watch the TV. Or, better still, get cracking on that assignment." I needed to buy some time. "I've got a few things to sort out up here first but I can give you a hand when I come down. I'm no expert on the diminutive French dude, but we can throw a few ideas round if it would help. Oh, and help yourself to a drink from the fridge." "Okay, sure." That was definitely a look of disappointment which passed momentarily over her face. Wasn't it? Was I imagining that I sensed a change in her; a move from expectation to... deflation? Resignation? She looked at the floor. The energy dissipated from the room, almost as suddenly as it had appeared. She seemed to be considering her next move. My heart was still pounding, completely unsure of what had just nearly happened. Or seemed to happen. She smiled sweetly again and as she moved to go past me she paused, looking up straight at me. There was a strangely sad look in her eyes, but it was affectionate too. My mind was racing. Oh God no please; don't do this, don't do this. I could barely restrain myself, I so desperately wanted to kiss her. Completely unexpectedly, she said softly, "You're a kind man, Mr Baines. I've always... liked you." She blushed slightly, her pretty little cheeks colouring in a way that was almost impossibly alluring as she looked up at me, just inches away. "Kiera's really lucky to have you as her Dad." I moved back a little, not wanting her to brush against my trousers. She might already have seen the bulge, but feeling it was a different matter. Suddenly, she reached up and kissed me softly on the cheek. A bolt of electricity went through me as her lips touched my face. And she smelled amazing; clean wet hair and some light, airy scent that I vaguely recognised from one of the myriad bottles Kiera had in her room. I closed my eyes, not sure what I'd find when I opened them. And then, she was gone, out of my bedroom, padding quietly downstairs, still in her bare feet. One Rainy Afternoon "I mean... I know I've been teasing you really badly and I know I probably went too far." My brain seemed to unfreeze at that, as the realisation dawned that it hadn't just been my dirty mind reading things into the situation; it had been intentional on her part. God only knew what she must have thought she was doing. Evidently sensing my continued confusion, she continued to explain. "But I liked making you say nice things about me; it made me feel good about myself. And I liked the way you looked at me; it was so cute how you were trying not to look at my knickers but you still did." Shit. I thought I'd got away with that one, but clearly not. "And I liked how gentle you were when you helped me get out of Kiera's jeans. And when we were here in the bedroom... I really thought you were going to, well, I don't know, it felt like you were going to come over and... you know, kiss me or something, but then you turned away and then I sort of realised that what I was doing was wrong and really unfair to you but, well, I just didn't want to stop..." She paused to take a breath. God, it really had been that obvious that I nearly kissed her. "Anyway when I came back upstairs and saw you... you know... doing what you were doing, I thought maybe it was my fault that I'd made you want to... do it." My stupid brain was still struggling to process anything that was happening. In fact, I was more taken by how incongruous her euphemistic language was when we were both half-naked in front of each other. Still, I suppose it was nicer than her just saying "having one off the wrist" or whatever, outright. Aware that my own head wasn't making any sense, I screwed my eyes up and tried to concentrate on what the fuck was actually happening. She paused, again, looking guilty. "The thing is, I know it sounds really wrong and everything but that really made me... well, hot. Just thinking... that you might be thinking of me. So I watched you and you looked so cute, so wrapped up in what you were doing that you didn't even notice me at all. I thought I'd just watch for a bit then it got too much and I just kind of... joined in. And then... I started actually hoping you'd open your eyes and look up and see me..." "Sorry," she said, again, looking down. She started to bite a nail again on her left hand; just that nervous action looked so erotic with her state of undress. Unbelievably, given the power of my recent ejaculation, I felt my cock hardening again. I couldn't stop looking at that gorgeous little area between her legs. She looked over at me, waiting for my reaction, seemingly unsure now of where this was all going to go. With her shirt still in place and her hair in braids, she looked unbearably young. Which, to the mind of the pervert which I apparently had now become, made her even more incredibly sexy... "No Jadie, I'm sorry. I should have had more self control. You're eighteen and you're my daughter's best friend for Christ's sake, I don't know what I was thinking. You were only downstairs..." I paused, acutely aware that I'd somehow already recovered from my epic explosion and my erection was now full-on again. It was attracting Jadie's gaze and rather undermined my attempt to seem contrite. What the hell, I might as well just be honest. After all, I was sat there with my cock in my hand talking to a half-dressed teenager who'd just admitted she'd been masturbating behind my door. I hardly had anything more to lose. "But, you did look utterly gorgeous walking round in those pink knickers..." I said, tentatively. I paused, waiting for her reaction. She smiled slowly, uncertainly. "Really?" she said. "Yes, really. And..." I said, throwing caution to the wind and nodding guiltily towards my erection, "I guess you can probably tell that I think you look even more gorgeous without them." A moment passed and I saw Jadie lower her hand to her crotch again. She looked up at me, another guilty look passing over her face. Then, seemingly regaining her composure she straightened a little. Seriously, softly, she said, "You're not so bad yourself. And... well, I really liked watching." Stunned once again, I saw one finger ease into her groove and move gently up and down, then stop. She frowned slightly, seemingly uncertain of what to say next. "Uh, I know this is going to make me sound like a stupid little girl," she said. "But..." She paused again, composure lost once more, seemingly conflicted as to whether to carry on. I had no idea where this conversation was going; the whole afternoon had already become utterly surreal, with me sat there, cock in hand and her stood bottomless in the doorway. She took a deep breath, as if summoning up the courage to say something. But I still wasn't expecting what came next. "The thing is..." she said, her gaze apparently torn between my crotch and my face. And then, her face flushing, the words all seemed to come tumbling out. "...I've had a crush on you since, like, forever and you're the nicest man I know and you're always really kind to me and I think about you all the time and when we were in the bedroom and I thought you were going to kiss me, well what I didn't say was that I really, really wanted you to kiss me and then you didn't and I just thought maybe you didn't like me but it was confusing because you were looking at me like you did and I could see, you know... your jeans at the front... but I just didn't know what to do... and now it looks like maybe you do like me after all and it's all just really amazing that I'm... stood here and you're... sat there... because..." She took a breath, shaking her head. "I don't know if it's because you're older or what but you just seem to have no idea at all of how hot you really are. And that just makes you even... hotter," she said, almost in exasperation. I shook my head in bemusement. I knew I wasn't unattractive, but equally I was no movie-star. And I was old enough to be her father, as Kiera's existence could demonstrate. Jadie saw my denial. "But you are. It's not just me, either. All the other girls are always on about Kiera's hot dad." What. The. Fuck. That was news to me. I looked up at her, unsure as to whether she was serious. But she was looking at me earnestly. I swallowed hard. "Jadie, I'm nearly twice your age. I don't think 'hot' comes into the equation when I'm thirty-four. And... well, you should be looking at boys your age, not old men like me." She shook her head vigorously, the cute little braids slapping her face. "Uh uh," she said, indicating her disagreement. "I've been with boys my age. I haven't found one who wasn't a complete idiot." She paused. A flash of that uncertain teenager flickered over her face again. I was finding it very difficult to keep up with these sudden changes in personality. She spoke softly again, looking right at me. "I want a real man, Mr Baines. A man who knows what he's doing." She paused again, before continuing. "A man who's not shy about letting me watch him... do his thing." My heart began to beat faster. Did she just say that? Really? She wanted to watch? Again? Softly, shyly, she said, "Mr Baines, do you think you could... make it go off again. For me?" Stepping out of the sweatpants fully, she let the panties drop as well as she came in. Deftly stepping over the pools of come which still lay on the floor in front of me, she stood in front of my bedside armchair, both hands held together in front of her crotch now, head down, demure. And un-fucking-believably sexy. She raised her head and looked at me. "If it would help, I could... take my top off too, if you like." This whole situation was just unreal. Surreal. Insane. Like I'd got sucked into some cheap fantasy teen-porn where the old guy fucks the barely-legal babysitter or whatever. Surely to God I must have fallen asleep on the sofa downstairs and would wake up any minute. I blinked, several times. And... there was Jadie, still there in front of me, asking me if I wanted her to undress. My brain was still fried from the double shock of her catching me and then the shock of her confession to, well, seeing me as something other than her best friend's dad. I could barely process what she was saying and doing but the time for denial had, I think, passed for good. So I just looked at her and nodded dumbly. She quickly unfastened the remaining buttons on the shirt and shrugged it off behind her onto the chair, leaving her in the hot pink bra and nothing else. I couldn't help it; I looked hungrily up and down her beautiful young body. With one deft move, she reached behind and undid the clasp on her bra. Her tits barely moved as she slid the supporting cups away, pulling her arms out of the straps and tossing the bra onto the bed. Oh dear lord, those breasts were epic. Oh. God. Large enough to be eye-catching but, like her gorgeous arse, well off the realms of comical disproportion. D-cup, I guessed, but it wasn't the size; it was the shape which made them so alluring. Utterly defiant of gravity, they stood proud of her chest almost as if they were still supported by the bra. The areolas were large, yet perfectly round. Delicate nipples, just darker than the areolas, stood up slightly. And unlike pretty much every other female I'd ever laid eyes on, each side seemed perfectly symmetrical; both appearing to be exactly the same size and shape. She wiggled them provocatively and they moved in the most amazing, sensual ripple; again, the movement was less pronounced than you would expect, hinting at their potential firmness. Then she stopped, the self-conscious teenager suddenly re-appearing again. "Er, what do you think?" she said, again appearing genuinely uncertain. As if! I looked up and down the full length of Jadie's utterly gorgeous body, settling on her pretty little face. "Uh, on a scale of one to ten I'd say you're about a hundred... million." I paused, looking directly at her. She blinked and smiled. "It still feels so... messed up... so wrong thinking about you in that way but looking at you now, I can't say anything but the truth. You're stunning. Amazing." I paused, again. "Beautiful." With that word, I sensed her insecurities and uncertainties melting away again. "Mr Baines, how can it be wrong? I'm eighteen, it's legal and nobody's forcing me to be here. And I've just taken all my clothes off in front of you. That might give you a clue that I'm kind of happy with this situation." She carried on, smiling. "And, er, now it's your turn to take your top off." I looked at her. "It's only fair. I want to see that buff chest of yours," she said playfully. I tugged my T-Shirt off over my head. "Oh yes," she said. "That's more like it. You are sooo fit..." She paused, looking cheeky for a moment. "For an old man..." she added, laughing. She sat back on the chair, now somehow languidly confident again; draping one leg over the side and showing me everything between her legs. Wow. Her pussy was just so neat; the labia tucked away tidily underneath the delicate covering of hair. The shyness had once again evaporated. She moved her left hand over to her right breast, gently tugging at the nipple. Her right hand returned to her crotch, brushing over the short hair before slipping two fingers this time into her gorgeous groove. Slowly, she started moving the fingers up and down inside the fold. As she pulled herself apart gently I could see how wet she was and could only imagine what it must feel like to slide up inside that beautiful little hole. My cock was straining again as I started to stroke it, watching Jadie play. Jesus, this girl didn't mess about! After just a few gentle strokes she suddenly went at it hard and fast, moving the two fingers up and down that little groove whilst she kneaded both breasts with her left hand. Her eyes were fixed on my cock as I gripped it hard, squeezing up and over the head then back down. I cupped my balls in the other hand and started to move them in rhythm. "Oh, that looks so nice Mr Baines," she whispered. I'd never known a girl who liked to watch like this and I found it almost unbearably exciting. We hadn't even touched, apart from the peck on the cheek she'd given me earlier, yet here we were self-pleasuring in front of each other like it was the most natural thing in the world. She was rubbing herself really hard now with her hand; really working that hairy little mound. I moved harder and faster again, feeling waves of intense pleasure working up from my crotch and up my spine. Minutes passed; both focused intently on watching each other masturbate. I knew I was going to come hard, again, despite having already done so once that afternoon. Jadie was panting now, making little noises of pleasure as she worked her pussy hard, which spurred me on faster still. I was bewitched by the sight of her body as she arched upwards off the chair, jerking slightly as she hit the right spot, her fingers slowing to a crawl as she closed her eyes and whispered, "Yes, yes," before shuddering briefly and resuming an even more frantic pace. I could feel my own orgasm building again, and my breathing intensified. She left those fabulous tits alone, allowing them to jiggle as she started to work her pussy with both hands, one hand holding herself apart whilst the other rubbed her clit hard. The glistening pinkness now on show made me increase my own pace yet further. Her eyes were back on my own efforts, staring hungrily. "Come on, Mr Baines. Make it go off again!" An hour ago I would have been irredeemably shocked by this entire scene. But now I'd completely lost my capacity to be surprised. It felt like anything could happen, and probably would. Suddenly she changed position, sitting up from her reclined pose and shifting forward on the chair to get a better view of what I was almost certainly likely to do now in a matter of seconds. Sat up straight, she kept both hands working between her legs. Her breasts, now slightly pendulous between her arms as she leaned forward, bounced rhythmically with her hand motions. I stared at the hardness of her nipples as they moved, marvelling at how such a magical pair of tits could retain their perfect shape in that position. "Oh make it go off again, please, Mr Baines," As I felt the pressure building inside me, I didn't need a second invitation. I felt myself starting to tip over the edge as I sat just feet away from her. The way she said 'go off' was strangely innocent, like she was talking about a firework. But it was hearing her call me 'Mr Baines' all the time which was really doing it, reinforcing that sense of forbidden pleasure as it made the age difference between us so obvious. I knew how wrong this should feel but it was actually having the opposite effect on me - I found it incredibly erotic. The pleasure spreading out from my engorged cock and through my body felt even more intense than it had been earlier. I tightened my grip and slowed, feeling that familiar tingle start to build. Jadie looked up again. Using her upper arms, she pushed her breasts together as she continued her work with both hands down below. The hard little buds of her nipples stood proud of those gorgeous areolas, darker now as her arousal built. Panting visibly now, she looked me in the eye and said, "Please, now, Mr Baines. I want to see it again." That was all it took. She said it with such breathless intensity, so innocently, that I couldn't hold back. I looked over first at her pretty face; her green eyes wide and sparkling with curiosity; dark eyebrows raised expectantly. My eyes flicked lower, to take in those unfeasibly perfect tits and that gorgeous little tummy and - before I could even try to catch a glimpse of that lovely little dark triangle - I came so hard I could feel the pressure in my ears. I aimed my cock down as it started to jerk for itself, firing a few tiny spits of come at first and then building up to hot, heavy spurts which splashed down onto the floor again, adding to my previous output. "Oh yes, yes!" Jadie gasped, her eyes again fixated on my ejaculation as I spattered the floor. I saw her whole body shake and she pressed her legs tight together, trapping her hands right down where they needed to be. She shuddered violently once, then her legs opened and she leaned back slightly again, revealing both hands still frantically working at her glistening little pussy but still watching my own epic slow-motion explosion. For the second time that afternoon I was utterly lost in orgasm, jerking again and again for longer than I'd even thought possible, especially given the unusually copious nature of my first 'performance' that afternoon. As my balls finally spent their last, I could see Jadie's fingers working furiously on herself below until she bucked violently again, forcing her legs closed once again before opening them wide and crying out, "Ohhhh fuck yes!" I'd never heard her utter even the mildest profanity before now; I had always been strict with Kiera about swearing - at home anyway - and Jadie had always respected those house rules. Still, I figured I'd give her a pass this time. She relaxed, then lay back on the chair, looking down at herself and gently sliding her hands over her body. She looked at my still-throbbing cock and the new mess on the floor, then threw her arms back behind her head and sighed loudly. It was possibly the most erotic image I'd ever seen; legs parted, arms thrown back in complete abandon exposing delightful little shaved pits, letting those glorious breasts hang perfectly and, of course, allowing me to see the glistening wetness between her legs. "Oh. My. God," she panted, lowering her arms and pushing herself a little more upright in the chair. The movement caused her breasts to jiggle once again. "Sorry about swearing, Mr Baines. But that felt soooo nice!" I laughed at her apologising for her language. This really was so fucked up, so wrong, but it felt... so good. She looked up at me, then stood up suddenly. She closed the short distance between us, placing her legs apart so she didn't step in any of the mess on the floor. Without warning, she leaned down to me as I sat on the bed, before putting both hands behind my head, directing my face to hers and kissing me hard on the lips. She never closed her eyes, her gaze intense as she pushed her tongue into my mouth briefly. I felt an electric jolt at her touch - her lips were burning and her darting tongue felt like it was on fire. But almost as quickly as she'd started, she withdrew from the kiss and stood back, still carefully avoiding the slippery bits on the floor. She looked down at me. "Thank you, Mr Baines." I remained speechless, fixated by the sight of her body. Her whole crotch was smeared with her juices. In fact, much of her body was, as she'd run her hands all over herself. I caught a hint of the intense, musky scent. Delicious. I found myself completely incapable of saying anything. "Can I... freshen up a bit?" she asked, shyly indicating her glistening body. I nodded dumbly to the shower room door in the corner. She padded across the room and I got to see those fabulous buttocks again as she walked. Oh dear lord. Again. Was this a dream? As she closed the door, I flopped down backwards on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The wind was still buffeting the house, although the rain had subsided a little. It seemed like another lifetime since I'd sat down in the living room expecting a relaxing afternoon with a book in front of the telly with the storm outside.