It was Saturday night when I drove to her house. I went in and spoke with her parents. They were happy to see me as always, willing to let me spend the night. I was such a good influence on their daughter.
We drove away in my pick up truck, wearing our modest clothing and headed to the convenient store. We walked back out with a new lighter, a pack of Marlboro Menthol Lights 100’s, two cans of red bull, and working our “I need a good fuck” clothes. We were off to join the rest of the teens on the strip. Cranking Disturbed’s new album we sped down the street.
Arriving at the strip we drove slow checking out the boys and their fancy toys. They were uninspiring. I have no idea why we bothered. So we drove to a subdivision in development out past the city limits. We got into the bed of my truck and sat and watched the stars talking about anything and everything. She reached over and took my hand. When her fingers began to knead my hand, I looked at her in wonder, and then in want. Who knew a hand massage could be so fucking hot.
We headed back to her house. As soon as we entered the house and ensured her family was asleep I took her in my arms and kissed her. Exploring her mouth with my tongue. Grabbing a fistful of hair pulling her closer to me. When I knew she was willing, I led her to her bedroom. I locked her door. I Watched her, watching me and told her to take her off her clothes. My panties instantly damp as I gazed upon her supple breast. Her pink nipples erect begging to be touched.
I walked to her and reached out to touch them. Rubbing my finger up and down against one and then the other. Watching her lips part and her chest begin to rise and fall quickly. I wanted her to feel the way I felt as she massaged my hand. So I began kneading her breast. Pulling, pushing, squeezing, massaging, filling my palms with her softness. Keeping my eyes on her as she started to moan ever so softly.
I asked her to lay on her bed. Turned on the radio to drown out her coming moans, and allowed her to watch me undress. I looked around her room and spotted the small decorative broom hanging on her wall. I grabbed her a thin red scarf that hanging over her chair, folded it multiple times, and then climbed on top of her, straddling her. Her eyes locked on mine, I instructed her to sit up, and secured the scarf over her eyes.
Standing I retrieved the broom from wall, turned the music up just a little more and walked back towards her.
“Don’t move” I said.
The gasp that escaped her was more invigorating, as I looked down at her flawlessness. My new playground.