Story codes: Mg10, cons
Summary: My Neighbor’s “sister” spent the night—but what happened, exactly?
The following work of fiction is written by Admiral Cartwright (a pseudonym) and presented for entertainment purposes only. Copyright © effective 2000. Distribution of this material or of any predecessor(s) for profit and/or with this information abridged shall constitute a violation of intellectual property law and may result in some serious shit. Unless, of course, you ask the author first.
‘Elise’ was a subplot of ‘My Neghbor’, dropped when it served instead to detract from the story. I had in fact deleted it, and it took several more weeks before I felt compelled to rewrite from memory what I’d done and flesh it out into its own story.
It’s quite short, but stands on its own. Enjoy!
A great read.
Damn! Fine writing ... a triumph.
This is the very first time that I have ever read a preteen-age story plot, and the turn on was as much of an adult ‘thing’. Quite satisfying.
The suspense is killing me, don’t stop now!
WARNING: descriptions of sexual activity contained herein may be illegal in your area of origin. If you shouldn’t be reading this material, don’t.
Elise had never spent the night here by herself before. In fact, she’d only joined Jennifer on two previous occasions when her half-sister stayed over with our daughter.
So, when Elise showed up alone last night, I’d been surprised.
A couple of months older than Jennifer, Elise was a few days away from celebrating her 11th birthday. She looked nothing like Jen, since the girls were not truly related. Their respective parents had had a long relationship, but had never married; still, the pair spoke of each other as sisters.
Elise, about an inch shorter and probably ten pounds lighter, was not quite as developed as was Jennifer; nipples that had only begun to show their future, arms I could put my whole hand around, thin legs that were not quite gawky. Yet, she was beautiful, with a grown-beyond-her-years face that presented itself well under long, heavy dark hair. It was easy to imagine her right now as the adult she will become.
Like many young girls, Elise loves to be tickled, and last night was no exception. After dinner, she played her favorite game of calling me names, hoping to rile me up enough to leave the couch and the television alone to chase her through the house instead. We ended up on the couch anyway; with me sitting gently on her belly, tickling her all over as she pretended—shrieking all the while—to try worming her way out from underneath.
Looking behind me, I noticed that Elise’s nightshirt had ridden well up above her baby-blue panties, presenting quite a view. My wife, who had to work early the following morning, already was in bed, so I made no effort to cover back up the squealing child under me. Instead, I pointed toward the bedroom door and held a finger to my lips, urging quieter play.
Conversely, my tickling became more gentle, brushing her ribs, her neck, her legs and just about everything else with almost an erotic undertone. My cock, in fact, had begun to respond slightly, stirring just enough to make its presence known. Elise pretended to not notice, but her hands brushed across my member more than once as they moved to wherever I was tickling her.
Is that intentional? I wondered. Should I get more bold?
As if by answer, I let my hands brush a couple of times across her awakening nipples; she made no move of disapproval. Reaching behind me, I tickled her inner thighs, once brushing quite intentionally across her panty-clad pussy.
Her legs opened wider.
Naturally, having just received the universal sign of sexual acceptance, I was ready to continue until I heard the bedroom door open. My bleary-eyed wife just stood there, irritated. For appearance’s sake, I continued tickling Elise a bit more innocently as I apologized for the noise.
And that was that.
I awoke this morning to a sight I’ll never forget: Elise lying on her back next to me, the bedcovers just above her ribs. My wife evidently had found a ride to work and had let me sleep in, and now this still-little girl was taking advantage of the situation.
No, I didn’t wake her; instead, I found myself silently wondering how far she was willing to go. Better still, how far was I willing to go?
Rolling toward her—this porcelain doll sharing my bed—I rested my hand on her belly. Her nightshirt had ridden up again, so that my thumb found cotton at her ribs, and my palm and fingers felt the heat of her bare belly. Elise began breathing a bit more rapidly; the rise and fall of my hand becoming more apparent. She rolled her head slowly to one side and glanced at me, not seeing my one eye partially opened and hidden by the pillow.
She smiled, and looked back toward the ceiling.
Taking my cue, I allowed my hand a slow, gentle motion across her belly and up toward her chest, then down to the edge of her underwear. As I’d hoped, my thumb now could slide under her shirt to feel only skin as it traveled once more past her ribs. Slowly, very slowly, my hand slid up her breastbone toward her neck, making no overt effort yet to find her tiny breasts.
Several times, I made the same move. I wanted her to think I was asleep.
Elise was breathing quite ragged by now, the anticipation perhaps building within her young breast as my hand slid not quite innocently up and down her silken belly and chest. Finally, I found the nipple nearest me and felt its tiny center, hard as a pebble. Slowly, my hand traced circles around the areola, and I had to fight to keep my breathing even as my loins began to stir.
My hand soon found the girl’s other nipple, and I was surprised to feel that it was noticeably bigger than its twin. Somehow, in my testosterone-induced haze, I’d forgotten that was normal.
It seemed I’d gotten lucky; if Elise noticed my sudden hesitation, she made no move of acknowledgement.
I resumed the gentle ministration of hand to breast, reveling in its coarse softness for several more minutes. There was more to caress, but I could not very well appear too rushed.
Elise was breathing through an open mouth now, halting and raspy. My hand obliged her seeming impatience, sliding down her belly to the edge of her panties. The girl’s back arched slightly. I rubbed lightly back and forth, closer to her immature mound each time, her body responding as if it could push my hand farther without actually pushing. Finally, my hand hit home.
An audible gasp was the result.
Smiling to myself now, I rubbed the length of her young pussy with a bit more insistence. Her hips began bucking slightly under the gentle pressure, betraying her youth and inexperience, or so I supposed.
That was the moment another thought occurred to me: should I get her off; or roll over, perhaps frustrating her to the point that she’d come to me to finish? If I find her orgasm now, will she just leave, or would she show her appreciation?
Ultimately, I couldn’t bring myself to make her suffer, even if only briefly. My finger tickled her little clit until her body stiffened, a near-silent squeal escaping her lips.
I smiled in spite of myself. I had made this ten-year-old girl come.
Her breathing slowly returned to normal, and I rolled to my back, my goal fulfilled. Just as I was about to nod off, I felt a hand on my belly. Thank you, I thought.
Elise, to my surprise, was just as slow and methodical; working her hand over my belly and chest, and finally to my own nipples, with every bit as much patience as she’d received. When her hand finally reached my cock, it was fairly throbbing with anticipation.
Yet, I didn’t get the hand job I was expecting.
It took everything I had not to jump out of my skin when I felt her hot little tongue slide up the shaft of my penis, standing almost painfully erect. It was harder still to maintain the façade of sleep when her hot little pussy began rubbing up and down my shin.
Her lips by now had wrapped around my cock and I could feel the warmth of her mouth sliding over about half its modest length. Elise hardly was an expert, but she made up for it in seemingly honest desire to give as she’d received. Her head bobbed, her pussy rubbed. She was going to get a mouthful, and I wasn’t going to stop her.
My hands gripped the sheets as orgasm began, each spurt from my jerking cock pulling me further from consciousness until finally I collapsed, fully spent.
I opened my eyes, all pretense of sleep gone, only to find myself alone and fully covered. I blinked. Still alone; in fact, a little giggle came from outside my room. Pulling on shorts and a t-shirt, I soon found Elise and my daughter had poured themselves some cereal and were eating away happily. Both greeted me as they always had; nothing from Elise to betray what I thought had happened.
Perhaps it was just a dream, I reasoned. If so, that was a hell of a dream. In more than 40 years, I’d never had a wet dream quite like ...
Wet dream? Wait just a damned minute! I was clean and dry ...
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