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My wife, Julie, was disgusted. Apparently the tattoo -of some sort of tribal design- went from Angie’s lower back down to below her panty line. My wife thought it was totally inappropriate and considered the tattoo to be even more evidence that our next-door neighbour’s eighteen year old daughter was a trashy person of the lowest moral character.
“Isn’t she disgusting?”
“I can’t believe her mother puts up with it.”
I always acted like I was horrified by Angie’s exploits. When she had her pregnancy-scare a year before, I agreed with my wife that it was typical of someone like her. When she wore her revealing bikini around their backyard pool, I nodded when my wife, Julie, said that a teenager shouldn’t be allowed to dress so immodestly.
Julie continued her rant. “She’s had three boyfriends this year alone, and she comes home drunk every Friday night. I know she doesn’t help out at all around the house, and who knows if she is even trying to get a job now that she’s graduated.” My wife was building-up steam now. “She really thinks she is god’s gift, you know? I really believe that girl thinks that some guy will come along a buy her everything she wants if she’ll just flash him a little ass. She’s in for a rude awakening.”
“Yes dear. You’re right dear”, I said as my wife went on about her least favorite person in the world. I wonder how Julie would react if she only knew that I was dying to see the tattoo in question. What would my wife have thought if she knew that her devoted husband liked nothing better than to stroke his cock while thinking of his spouse’s teenage nemesis?
I was completely smitten by Angie. The eighteen year-old oozed sex-appeal. I had no doubt that, contrary to what my wife thought, Angie would easily convince a man to take care of her every indulgence. Hell, I would have gladly been that man. She was my dream girl. Her perfect little tits and her tight round ass kept me awake at night. Her jet black hair was cut short and perfectly complimented her olive skin and especially the dark shades of lipstick that she favoured. Those lips! They were puffy and full and seemed to mock me with a little sneer whenever the girl caught me staring just a little too long. I wondered what it would be like to kiss them or to, heaven forbid; feel them on my poor neglected penis.
I lived for the days when Angie hung out at her parent’s backyard pool and I loved nothing more than to lock the bathroom door and to spy at the teenager sunbathing as I stroked myself to completion. She was so petite compared to my wife. Her waist was narrow but over the last couple of years I had watched as her hips began to flare out enticingly. Her breasts remained relatively small and firm. They sat high on her chest and the bumps caused by her nipples were usually visible. She was a b-cup, I would have guessed although, truthfully, I didn’t know enough about girls or women to confidently judge a bra size.
By the time my wife had noticed the girl’s latest (and skimpiest bikini), I had already memorised exactly how the fabric clung to the teens perfect body. I could have vividly described to my wife every inch of Angie’s 5’5″ frame and every strand of the bikini in question. “Yes dear, that bathing suit is completely inappropriate (and that’s why I just had to stroke my cock to the sight of it a few minutes ago).”
I had never in my life had sex with an attractive girl. I was 30 pounds overweight and blessed with a dick that was only four inches in length. I was teased enough in the high school locker room to know that my equipment would be a disappointment compared to other men. The girls like Angie -the attractive teenage sexpots- had never given me a second glance, unless their boyfriends were in the mood to pick on me.
So I married Julie, the first woman to give me any attention. She was a chubby sour-faced prude who was nothing if not a gossip. We were thirty when we met and were married a year later. Sex with Julie was sparse and uninteresting. I was a virgin and was so excited to finally see a pussy that I came before I had fully entered her. She was disappointed, I know, and it was several months later before she let me try again. Again I was too excited and came too quickly. A pattern had been established.
Early in our marriage Julie was happy to let me eat her fat pussy and I enjoyed giving her pleasure. Cunnilingus was by far our most common conjugal act. My wife didn’t mind me licking her but intercourse was rare and unfulfilling.
At one point I tried to save our sex life by buying a vibrator to use on Julie. She liked it well enough, but she preferred to use it while alone. After she had the sex toy to satisfy her, she didn’t seem to need my tongue so much. If anything my plan to kick start our sex had backfired. I realised that in our own little way we were a perfect match: two serial masturbators.
One night my wife came storming out to the kitchen to where I was playing on the computer. “I promised Dana that I would feed the little bitch.” I knew immediately who my wife was talking about. In our house, Angie was known as “the little bitch” and Dana was her mother. “I made her a plate of lasagne, but I’m sure as hell not going over there to give it to her. Here. Go make sure the bitch is fed. Heaven knows she could use some meat on her bones.”
“Where are the Robinson’s, her parents?”
“Bill had some sort of conference in the city and Dana went with him. They’re getting a hotel for the night. How they can trust that girl by herself I’ll never know. Their house will probably be destroyed by morning.”
I dutifully took the plate next door. I rang the doorbell and waited. Thirty seconds. Sixty seconds. Was anyone home? I turned to leave before the door suddenly opened behind me. I had a speech all prepared. “Hey, Angie I…” As I turned around I realized it wasn’t my teenage crush but a large athletic looking shirtless man.
“Can I help you?”
“I, uh…” I was flustered. This guy was big and intimidating. I wondered what he was doing there and where was Angie? My mind raced. He was there to have sex with her. That much was obvious. “Damn,” I thought. “Look at the size of this guy.”
Angie appeared behind the stud before I could compose myself. “Oh, Mr. Dalton. You brought supper. How cute.” She was wearing a short pink robe that kept her considerable charms out of sight but did nothing to hide the black seamed stockings or the spiked heel shoes she was wearing. Her face was freshly made up and the dark red lips that were here trademark set my heart to racing. Angie was dressed for sex.
“Here Rob, put this in the fridge. I’ll see mister Dalton out.” The brawny guy -Rob presumably- walked to the kitchen as Angie asked.
I found myself staring at her calves. They shone under the black nylon stockings. They looked so firm and smooth. My mind raced and I wondered what she looked like in the sexy outfit that was obviously contained under the terry cloth. Even though she was wearing a robe, I could make out Angie’s enticing shape -her small waist and round hips. Shit, I was getting hard as I pictured her in lacy black lingerie to match the stockings. For once I was happy to have such a small dick. Maybe she wouldn’t notice my little erection.
“You’re so sweet Mr. Dalton.” She leaned forward and kissed my cheek just under my earlobe. I knew that her dark red lipstick had left an imprint and my skin seemed to tingle where her lips had touched me. “Mister Dalton, you’re not going to tell anyone about Rob coming over tonight, are you?” Her eyes were mesmerising as she peered at my reddening face. “You know how the gossips in the neighbourhood can be.”
“No, Ma’am”, I said. “I won’t tell anyone”. She giggled. It was strange and awkward that I had called her “Ma’am”. I was old enough to be her father, but I was so flustered by the whole situation that I felt out of my element. My palms were sweating.
Angie looked down and noticed the front of my slacks. A small wet spot was apparent near the fly and my dick made a little tent in the front. My hard penis was small but still evident. “Oh, Mr. Dalton”, she said, “You are just the cutest.”
She pushed my shoulder gently, guiding me out of the threshold to the front steps of her parent’s house. She smiled and said “Your secret is safe if mine is.” She closed the door and I stood there catching my breath.
I walked home with my hands clasped over the hard-on in my pants. I rushed by my wife into the safety of the upstairs bathroom where I locked the door. Fumbling, I undid the clasp on my slacks before quickly stroking myself to orgasm. My cheek still tingled where it had been kissed by my stocking-wearing queen.
That night in bed I reached for my wife. I had spent the evening thinking about my encounter with Angie and imagining her with the shirtless stud, Rob. I was horny. I snaked my arm around my wife’s body and felt for the fat heavy breast. She was only half awake and I felt her stir as my fingers probed for her nipple over the cotton nightshirt. My wife’s large soft tit was so different than the small firm breast of my teenage temptress, but I imagined that the large nipple was Angie’s.
“What are you doing?” My wife was awake now. “George, stop it and go to sleep.” Julie removed my hand from her chest and sighed, exasperated. Soon she was softly snoring, and I crept away to the bathroom to relieve my aching hard-on.
My wife left the next morning to visit her sister. I was lounging around the house in my boxer shorts in the late morning when the doorbell rang. I slipped on some sweat pants and opened the door. It was Angie clutching the empty plate that I had delivered to her the previous night. She was wearing a T-shirt, shorts and flip-flops. She had washed off last night’s make-up and her lips were thinner and paler without the heavy red lipstick. She was gorgeous.
It took me a moment to catch my breath -long enough for the moment to become awkward. She chuckled. “Good morning, Mister Dalton. Did you sleep well?” It was silly but I felt like Angie’s question hinted at my failed sexual escapade with my wife and my masturbation session afterwards. I blushed and didn’t say anything. “Here is your plate. Rob enjoyed the lasagne. I didn’t eat any. I’m on a diet.” She turned a quarter-turn as if to show me her behind. It didn’t look like she needed to lose weight. Her ass was perfection in the tight shorts.
I still hadn’t said a word. She walked by me into the house. “Where is your wife off to this morning?” She asked.
“Uh, sisters,” It was the closest thing to a sentence that I could manage.
“Oh.” She seemed disinterested in my reply. Angie strolled around the living-room absent-mindedly picking up knick-knacks from the curio cabinet and examining them. “I wanted to go to the mall today, but my parents didn’t leave me any shopping money.” She picked up a statuette and turned it over to look at the stamp on the bottom. “My mom is such a bitch.”
Angie looked over to where I was standing. I hadn’t moved at all since she entered the house. “Can I call you George, Mister Dalton?”
“Uh, sure.” My mouth was dry. I was shaking slightly.
“Well, George” she began, “Do you think you could give me some mall money? I’d really appreciate it.” She strutted towards me with her shoulders drawn back a little. Her pert breasts were prominently displayed and I could sense her smile as my eyes dropped to her chest. She was bra less and I could make out the shape of her nipples under the T-shirt. I was a deer caught in the headlights.
“Angie, I, uh, I don’t have any money. My wife took the cash with her.”
She was disappointed, I could tell. She squirmed and fidgeted as she thought. God, she was so cute and sexy. “Do you think you could run to the bank machine for me?”
I was still unabashedly looking at her body. My eyes moved between her tits, the strip of skin showing at her midriff and the form fitting shorts. “Well, um…” I hesitated.
“I know”, she interrupted. “You could just loan me your credit card. That’s a good idea, huh? I could bring it over later. I know you’d like me to visit you later.”
My mouth was dry. I could feel my cock stir as I watched her. Damn, I told myself, I was starting to get hard again just talking to this young girl. I willed myself not to let it happen this time. Not while wearing sweat pants. I had to get it together.
She took my hesitation for reluctance. It was preposterous, me loaning her a credit card to take to the mall. “I won’t spend too much Mister Dalton. George.” She walked closer to me. Close enough for me to feel the warmth of her breath and smell her perfume. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy my purchases too. I’ll buy a new bikini just for you. You can look at me from your window when I sunbathe in it and know that you bought it for me. Doesn’t that excite you? When you stare at the cloth covering my pussy, you’ll know that you paid for it.”
I was horrified and excited at the same time. I had lost the mental battle with my dick, which was now fully-hard. She swivelled her body and lightly brushed against the tent in my pants with her hip. Angie laughed. “Come on, George. Don’t you want to spoil me? Wouldn’t you like see my new outfits, and to know that you bought them for me. Just give me your credit card, Sweetie. It would make me so happy.”
I nodded and she smiled wickedly. She backed up a step and looked at me impatiently. I snapped out of my daze and realised that she was waiting for me to get my wallet. I turned and walked up the stairs to my bedroom. My rock hard cock poking out in front of me.
I waited a full five-minutes before coming back downstairs. My cock had softened enough that the tent in my sweat pants was no longer quite so obscene. She was standing where I left her. I handed over the card.
“Oh, thank you, Baby” Angie said. She leaned forward and kissed me on the lips. Her tongue brushed my upper lip and she bit me gently as she pulled away. I sighed involuntarily and closed my eyes, savouring the taste of the kiss. Angie laughed, “I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship, George. Don’t you think so?”
I was obviously shaken by the kiss. She smiled knowingly. The teen was aware of the powerful effect she had on me. “George, I’ll be sunbathing later, when I get back from shopping. You can come over to get your card, okay? That is, after you’ve taken care of this little problem.” She indicated the little tent caused by my hard penis with a chuckle. “I’ll be watching the window for you. I know how you like to peek at me from that window. You don’t need to be so shy about it, you know.”
I spent the afternoon freaking out. My god, I had given her my credit card. I kept wondering what she would do with it. The damn thing had a three-thousand dollar limit. She could really do some damage. And I couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss. My dick seemed to be hard for the entire afternoon. I didn’t beat off, though. I wanted to wait and watch Angie sunbathe. The knowledge that she knew that I had been watching her made my heart race. But as I replayed the conversation in my head, it seemed to me that she was encouraging me to watch. That is what she had meant, right? I wasn’t sure.
Angie’s car pulled into her parent’s driveway at around 4pm. Jesus, she had a lot of boxes from the mall. She toted the myriad of colourful packages and bags from her car to her parent’s house in four trips. I watched her from the bedroom I shared with my wife. The teen wore tight-fitting denim hip-huggers with rhinestone fleur-de-lis on the ass pockets. Her behind was a stunning sight in the tight jeans. They were definitely new (I would have surely noticed if she had worn them before).
As I watched her walk back and forth between the car and the house I knew that the total bill for the packages would be more than I could hide from my wife. She was going to kill me when the credit card statement arrived. My trepidation at how I would explain the purchases was only overshadowed by my arousal as I watched Angie’s sexy young butt wiggling prettily in the jeans.
When it was apparent that she was finished retrieving her things, I moved to the upstairs bathroom and sat next to the window. I had spent many hours spying on her from this location as it provided the best view of the Robinson’s backyard pool. I wondered if she was going to sunbathe right away or if she was going to wait until later.
When Angie finally came outside after forty-five minutes, she was wearing a tiny pink bathing suit. A cough caught in my throat. She was stunning. She turned to drape a towel over her favourite lounge chair and I saw the new tattoo on her lower back. It had offended my wife so badly, but I found it enchanting. Sinewy snake-like patterns wound their way from the small of her back, moving lower towards her butt until their destination was hidden by the pink bikini bottoms. I ached for a closer look.
The eighteen year old turned to face my window and her lips formed a knowing smile as she lay back in the chair. She wore dark lipstick -the kind that my wife swore made her look like a slut. The tattoo on her back was lost to me as she turned, but the prominent nipples poking through her bikini top kept me from mourning the loss. I couldn’t see her eyes because of the dark sunglasses but I knew that she was watching the window where I sat. Could she see me hiding behind the curtain? I dropped my pants and underwear to the floor. My 4-inch cock was leaking pre cum.
When she reached down to run a finger over the fabric of her bikini bottoms along the cleft between her legs, I had to let go of my cock. I was already close to cumming and I desperately wanted to savour the moment.
Angie teased me for twenty minutes. At one point she briefly displayed her breasts by pulling down her top. Her dark brown nipples were hard and larger than my wife’s, I noted, although the teens tits were much smaller. I wondered what it would be like to suckle them.
A few minutes after replacing her bikini top Angie rubbed her pussy through the material of the bottoms. Somehow the fact that I had bought them for her made me proud. She continued to rub herself gently and occasionally dipped a finger into the fold beneath. She licked the wetness from her fingers, and smiled. The teen put on a show for my benefit or, more likely, for her own amusement. Angie pulled the fabric into her cunt to display the shape of her pussy and then she tugged it out and smoothed it flat. She wasn’t masturbating, she was performing.
The eighteen year old flirted, and taunted, and teased and eventually, despite trying to hold on, I sprayed the bathroom wall with my seed. The splatter of semen on the tile and on my upper thigh was a small offering in my goddess’ honour.
I sat panting on the floor under the window. I was a mess as was the bathroom. I felt guilty as I always did when I masturbated while watching Angie. I took a moment to wipe up my ejaculate before again peering furtively out the window into my neighbour’s yard. Angie was gone.