by Cassandra Broderick
(07/14/04)

Even though no one was at home, I was tiptoeing. Breaking the taboo of sneaking into a guest's room had me on edge. My parents were out -- Mother at a lunch, Dad at school working up a test. I was poking around my cousin's room, and I had no ready excuse if he came home early from tennis.

Simon wasn't really my cousin. He was the son of my father's best friend. Despite going their separate ways since college -- Dad to a Midwestern university to teach basketball stars the finer points of English lit and Simon's father to Oxford, they had stayed in contact for three decades. After his parents' horrendous divorce in England, Simon had flown to the States to spend the summer with us. I'd been pleased; a dull summer away from college was all I'd had to look forward too, and the idea of a guest made the summer seem less boring.

But I hadn't counted on Simon.

Simon, your un-cousin, he'd joked. I'd been glad that all I had to do was laugh, because I couldn't have said a word that made sense. At the first sight of him my mouth went dry and my palms sweaty; my T-shirt shrank two sizes. Simon made every pretty boy I'd ever admired look like Tiger Beat material. He stood a couple of inches over six feet, with a lean, muscled body nicely defined by Levi's and a Guinness T-shirt. He'd been blessed with that honey-and-cream complexion you find in the British, a lovely hue that promised to take the sun beautifully. His full mouth curved up on one side. Sly brown eyes crinkled with delicious crow's feet when something amused him.

I wanted to do more than amuse him. All he had to do was look at me and my nipples popped up, perfectly visible through the thin cotton of my own T-shirt. The only thing I could be glad of, that first meeting at the airport, was that he couldn't see my hungry cunt moisten.

So what was I doing creeping around his room barely a week after he'd come to stay? Voyeurism, I guess, some naughty thrill at seeing the four-poster bed he slept in. In a corner lay his suitcase. A half-open dresser drawer told me he'd followed Mother's advice and had made himself at home.

Dresser drawers...closed suitcases...wasn't that where a guy would hide porn if he had any? I smoothed my palm over his pillow as if smoothing back his hair. Embarrassed, compelled, I lowered my face to the pillow: I could smell him. As stimulating as that was, it was the cool cotton against my cheek that really got me going. What if it were his hand pressing my head to the pillow? What if he were fucking me from behind, pinning me, telling me how much he liked ramming his cock into my cunt?

I clutched the pillow to me, muffling a groan that was half pleasure, half shame.

Naturally, that was the moment I heard the key in the lock downstairs.

I scampered into the closet, but didn't dare risk the noise of shutting the door all the way. Enough light seeped in to startle me -- with my own image reflected in the mirror on the back of the door. I ducked my head and listened.

Simon's voice, precise, enunciated. Something about losing, about not being able to keep up. And then a woman's voice, teasing. They were walking down the hall toward his room as I heard her say: "We'll need to work on your stamina."

I took a step back, deeper into the closet. His shirts brushed my bare arms, sending gooseflesh along my skin. Oh, God! I dearly hoped he wasn't going to reach in here for something clean. Half-baked excuses skittered through my mind, and then all thought stopped when I heard a thud which could only be Simon's gym bag hitting the hardwood floor.

"You have a problem with my stamina, do you?" A sound of bedsprings. The woman's giggle, followed by a breathy little moan. Silence -- or did I hear the soft liquid sound of a really good kiss? Could I hear the whisper of fabric as clothes were peeled off of sweating skin? But there was no imagining the second whine of the bedsprings, the woman's languorous murmur of Oh, baby, yes, and Simon's voice again.

"Jesus, Nicole, you have the hottest little tits--"

Suckling noises, a good deal louder than the half-imagined kissing. A throaty croon from the woman. I stared at my own tits in the mirror, which by no stretch of imagination could be called little. They nestled like two overripe grapefruits in my tank top. Fear and excitement had stiffened my nipples. And when Simon said, Do you like it when I do that? I cupped my breasts and teased my nipples to make them even harder. How bad of me, hiding, listening to Simon having sex. How bad of me to be getting off on it.

Bad me unbuttoned my jeans and slid my hand to my slippery vulva. My left hand worked one breast while my right middle finger stroked my clit. I closed my eyes, pretending it was Simon's hand, Simon's tongue.

I heard a sudden slithering collapse that must have been the comforter sliding to the floor.The bed spoke, but not in the rhythm I associated with fucking.

Simon murmured: "Open your legs a little wider, love..."

And, accompanied by another zinngg! from the bed, she breathed, "Ooo, yes -- right there, right there. Ah, you're so much better at that than at tennis!"

A muffled chuckle. She let out another moan, followed by, Put another one in, another one, and now I heard faint, moist, squishy sounds, like hurried footfalls in mud.

Oh God, yes, another one. Behind my eyelids I saw Simon's head between my legs, saw him grinning up at me (and of course I averted my eyes modestly). My touch was his as my left hand abandoned my breast and plunged two fingers into my honeyed hole. My clit jumped beneath my scouring fingertip. Orgasm lurked somewhere in my body. My nerves shimmered. My feet spread in a sturdier stance, and I hoped fleetingly that I didn't disgrace myself amongst the hangers.

Even amid my naughty pleasure, a question formed in my dazzled brain. When was she going to ask him to fuck her? Getting eaten out was all very well, but if that had been me on the bed there, I would've been begging for his cock already.

Nicole didn't. In fact, she never did.I heard her coo her way to orgasm, complete with a lot of thrashing and a theatrical, Oh! Oh! Oh! And then silence. After a moment the bed creaked again. I pictured Simon moving up to stretch out beside her, to plant a smiling kiss upon her parted lips. Etiquette now demanded that she move between his legs and suck him up to Kingdom Come, or impale her well-attended pussy on his cock. I realized what I'd been waiting for to tip me over the edge: the sound of his voice. It was all very well to listen how he brought this mystery woman to climax, but I wanted to hear him in the grip of lust. Did he shout when he came? Did he curse? Was he the silent type?

I imagined all of these, conjuring his succulently masculine face contorted with pleasure while he grabbed my hips, pulled my hair. I pushed my shorts further down and prepared to stroke myself to a grand finale.

"Oh, Simon, sweetie. Look at the time!"

My hand stopped.

The thump of feet on the wood floor. "Oh, Simon, I'm so sorry to leave you in the lurch like this..." A loud smacking kiss. "And you were so wonderful, too. Dear God, nobody's made me come like that in ages!"

His stunned voice: "It's only one--"

"Yeah, one-fifteen, and that old bitch Mavis Wallace has her lesson at one-thirty. I'm gonna have to haul ass to get there before she does."

"Nicole...well, sure. You'd better get going."

"Hand me my bra, sugar? Oh, baby, I'm sooo sorry. I'll make it up to you next time, I promise." A jingle of keys. "Okay, sweetie. I'll call you."

Her footsteps, running down the hall. The timber-shaking slam of the front door. One weary syllable from Simon provided the final punctuation. "Christ."

I bit down on a giggle, but I was also angry. On Simon's behalf. Hell, on my behalf. My curly hairs were soaking wet, my fingers well-glazed, almost too slick to get a good grasp on my zipper. My whole body shivered, twisting like burning wire. I ached. I hungered. I stared into my reflection's eyes, blackly brilliant with lust, and made my decision.

As quietly as I could I stepped out of my shorts and underpants and began peeling out of my shirt. When I reached to undo my bra, my elbow struck a couple of hangars. They clashed like alarm bells.

"Who's there?" Languor had dissolved from his voice, but not frustration. It edged his words with an unpleasant sharpness.

I gulped. I threw the bra down and tried to arrange myself in as seductive a pose as I could, for I heard his tread. One step. Two. Three. Oh, God, this was a really bad idea, he'd hate me, he'd--

He opened the door.

Cool air and daylight rushed in. Simon looked tired, startled, and angry. He also looked completely edible. A line of dark hair arrowed down those washboard abs and past his navel, disappearing into the waist of his navy-blue boxers. I averted my eyes, but not before I'd seen the bulge beneath the fabric.

"What the fuck?" he said, not unreasonably.

I don't know how I did it. I cupped my left palm over Simon's crotch. He gasped, and before I knew it -- before he could step back -- my hand closed around his semi-erect cock.

"Jesus Christ, Maia."

I didn't trust my voice. I let my hands do my talking. Slowly I began to stroke his cock, turgid beneath the cotton. His body baked with heat. As I raised my gaze to his I saw the faint sheen of sweat on his skin beneath the dark tangle of hair on his chest.

His made to push me away, but I moved and somehow those dismissing hands brushed against my breasts. As if he couldn't help himself, he squeezed them; and I leaned in and wound my other arm around his neck and pulled his mouth down to mine.

Oh, heavens. Nothing demure about his kiss. It was all hot wet dark appetite, sleek and glorious and tasting of him and another woman's cunt. I snaked my hand past his boxers and grasped his gloriously rampant erection. I couldn't close my fingers completely around it.

He moaned against my mouth."Maia, I can't --"

Still pumping his cock, backing him toward the bed, I pressed my hand to his mouth -- the hand that so recently been scourging my pussy. "Smell what I've been doing," I whispered. His lips parted and he ran his tongue along one finger, then drew it into his mouth. I kissed him again, both my tongue and finger caressing the inside of his mouth.

"God," he said shakily when we both came up for air. "What the hell are we doing? You're Gabriel's daughter, I can't--"

I let go of his cock. Stepped away from him so that he could see me, all of me. "Can't?" I asked. "Or don't want to?"

"Don't want to? What d'you think this is," he said, indicating his boxers, "polite interest?"

I grinned and dropped to my knees, pulled his boxers down before he could protest. His cock was gorgeous. Not overly long, but as thick as my wrist and delicate as silk. A crystal of pre-cum glittered at its tip. I pressed my thumb to it, smeared it around the fat mauve head, and looked up at him. He was gripping the edge of the bed.

"Simon...do you honestly think your body could survive another female abandonment today?"

"Maia --" he rasped, but before he could protest again, I touched the tip of my tongue to that gleaming slit. Hunger overrode caution, and I gulped his cock into my mouth -- or tried, anyway. I felt my lips stretch as I struggled to accommodate him. I couldn't get him past the back of my throat -- he was too thick for that -- but I made up for it by drenching him in saliva while I rocked, fucking him with my face.

I reached between my legs again. My cunt was positively sopping. At the first touch of finger to clit, I couldn't keep silent: my mouth full of meat, I felt my moan reverberate through his swollen flesh. He moaned too; his hand dropped to my hair, but unlike other hands I'd felt on my head in the past, this one didn't push. It stroked. He ran his fingers through my hair, and while I suckled his cock and brought him closer, closer, closer to orgasm, little ripples of delight shivered down from his touch through my whole body.

The muscles of my belly clenched in uncontrollable desire. Another thirty seconds of this and I was going to come. I sucked him harder, frantically, saliva was running down my chin.

I pulled off him with an audible slurp. He was gasping; so was I.

"I have to have you, Simon. I have to have you inside me." I was trembling from scalp to sole with need, but if all he wanted was a suck, I'd give in. "Please, Simon -- will you fuck me?" For a moment I thought he'd deny me. His brown eyes seemed blind; his Adam's apple bobbed with what I suspected was an effort to regain control.

Then he was scooping me up, pulling me onto the bed with him. "I don't think I've ever wanted to fuck anyone so bad in my life," he whispered. He ducked his head to kiss me, reaching for my cunt with that tender, caressing hand. "Christ, you're wet," he said against my mouth.

"Don't." I pushed his hand away. "Touch me like that and I'm going to come." I looked into his eyes, at his beautiful face so close to mine, flushed with need. It clicked in my mind what I wanted -- my most secret fantasy, the one no good girl asks for. "Wait a moment."

He grinned, but I saw reserve hood his eyes.

I leaned down to give his cock a quick kiss before running for the kitchen. I didn't have any lube on hand, and the thought of asking him if he had any sent me into paroxysms of shyness -- but my mother maintained a well-stocked pantry. I flung open a cabinet and grabbed the first thing that came to hand -- olive oil.

If I slowed to a walk, I'd lose my nerve. I charged back into the bedroom, brandishing the heavy bottle like a trophy. "Use this," I ordered breathlessly.

Propped on one elbow, his glorious brown body in stark contrast to the white sheets, Simon took one look at what I held and burst into laughter. What felt to be a spectacularly crimson blush stamped my skin.

"Oh, no, I'm sorry," he said, still chuckling. "It's just not what I was expecting. What do you plan for us?"

"Laundry," I said primly, and lost no time in straddling his thighs. He lay back, still grinning, but when I poured a couple of tablespoons of the golden oil onto his cock, he began to understand. My hand slithered up and down his pole, wiping the smile off his face. The oil shimmered with my saliva in his pubic hair.

"Now that I've whetted your appetite..." I said, rolling off and nudging him to the edge of the bed.

"Madam, I'm your willing slave." Those crow's feet were irresistible.

I took his hand; I poured another dollop of oil into it, sliding my fingers through his, all the while holding his gaze. "Know where I want this?" I whispered, my throat suddenly tight, my heart hammering.

He guessed, with a catch in his breath and a measuring, speculative look that made me whimper. And oh, my God, he was finesse itself, lapping at my cunt, nursing me along while he pushed one, and then two fingers into my anus, working me, stretching me out, preparing me for him. If anyone was a slave at that point, it wasn't him.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he murmured. By that time he was gently pistoning three fingers up my asshole, teasing my clit with his thumb and suckling slowly, torturously, at each nipple.

I couldn't respond coherently. He noticed, and stilled his movements. I felt suspended -- encased in Lucite, on the verge of sexual delirium. "Please," I whispered.

"Please what?" He was enjoying this!

Oh, tiny-titted Nicole, if you only knew how sweet revenge could be! "Please...do it."

"Do what, sweetie? Go on, you have to say it. You have to ask me." His thumb abandoned my clit; his fingers slid out of me. "You have to beg me."

I couldn't look at him. "Please, Simon. Please, please fuck me."

"Go on. Fuck you where?"

I broke."Fuck me in the ass, Simon, please, please, fuck my ass, shove your fat cock in my--"

He stood and dragged my hips to the edge of the bed. I put my feet on his shoulders and he folded me over into a mindless girl-origami. That moment when he rested the head of his cock against my sphincter, I fell in love. I had completely lost my self; I would do anything, anything for him, just as long as he would--

Very slowly, very carefully, very, very calculatingly, he worked his mushroom-cap glans in past the vulnerable ring. I bit the sheets to keep from shouting. A sensation of dull fire suffused me, lifted every nerve to screaming point. And when he had lovingly eased his way all the way in, he fucked me.

He fucked me to jelly. He squashed my tits together and sucked on both nipples at once while his cock invaded my ass. He leaned back and thrust two fingers into my cunt, filling both holes. He told me to masturbate while he watched me, and my third stroke hurtled me into raw, hoarse orgasm. And again. And another time. The more I came the more I came, it seemed, rubbing my snatch with my whole palm.

Just as I cried his name for the nth time, Simon came too, ramming himself into my ass with a choked bellow. "Oh, God -- Maia, Maia--"

It was ineffably sweet to hear my name rasped that way. When he collapsed on the bed next to me, I touched his face and kissed him.

"You looked like the cat...what swallowed the canary..." he said when he could speak.

My smile deepened. "Crime pays," I said.

He looked at me.

"Breaking and entering," I explained.

"So -- if you break in, I get to enter you?"

"Something like that." I licked the sweat from his throat, thinking how that cock would feel from behind in my cunt. I sensed a garden of carnal delight opening up before me.

"One more thing," Simon murmured, indulging in that dizzying caress of my hair.

"What's that, luscious?"

He cleared his throat and looked me straight in the eye. “I don’t think I need any more tennis lessons.”

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