Nobody could believe it when Ryan Taylor's parents said they were going on holiday, leaving him on his own in their house. Ryan was not exactly the most mature and sensible seventeen-year-old, and his parents were always on at him to drink less, do his homework, and get in before two in the morning.
But it seemed the lure of this holiday suddenly proposed by some fiends was too much. Or, just possibly, the successful businessman and his young but assertive third wife had decided to try 'treating him like an adult' as a desperate last-ditch gamble to improve his behaviour.
If so, it didn't work. The very first evening, in fact barely half an hour after his parents' car had disappeared towards the airport, Ryan had his gang round and the house was full and loud. Ryan was a popular guy and his gang was a large one that included pretty much all the fun people in his year and a lot of others too. Ryan's gang was where things could be counted on to happen, and word had gone round like wildfire that his house was going to be sans parents for a week.
Right now the party included Caroline - known to everyone as Callie - Broad, who was two school years below but had been invited because, far from being broad, she was instead slender and sensationally pretty.
Callie was also wilful, challenging and prone to breaking rules, and had come to Ryan's attention from their frequent meetings outside the Head Teacher's office. She smiled a lot, laughed easily, and was, in a word, hot. She had confidence, sex appeal and charisma.
Ryan was all the more attracted to her because Callie had firmly rebuffed his advances. She wasn't ready yet, and when she said so she meant it. Ryan had to accept that and just concentrate on other girls; of which there were plenty so it was no biggie. But still, he could wait, right? She obviously liked him, and generally that should mean she'd end up in bed with him, sooner or later.
Meanwhile he liked having her around. She was fun and had class. While talking a bit posh and looking completely demure with no piercings or tattoos or even highlights, or wearing much makeup, she was up for pretty much anything in the way of drugs, alcohol or getting into places they weren't supposed to be, like backstage at a gig.
Callie herself, while refusing to date anybody, had nevertheless been thinking more and more about sex. Since puberty her pussy had become steadily more tingly, more often. She'd started rubbing herself on the edge of her bedroom door, then moved on to using her fingers. Her first orgasm had been amazing and beautiful and she'd quickly followed it up with another one, then another.
These days she got off at least once a day, and often several times. Sometimes she'd get into a mood and spend literally hours playing with herself, drifting from orgasm to orgasm.
She did try to imagine what it would be like with a boy, though she couldn't see how could it feel any better than DIY. He'd be more concerned with his cock than with her, that was pretty obvious, and he couldn't possibly be as good at working her pussy as she was herself: after all she could feel it and had had hundreds or even thousands of hours' practice. Three years was a thousand days wasn't it, so it could be two or three thousand orgasms, easily.
She didn't think having a cock inside would make all that much difference either: she'd tried various things in, and not just a hairbrush handle either it was surprising what would go in if you were wet and relaxed, but they hadn't made all that much difference. Her clit and labia seemed to be the things that mattered; those and her tits, which were getting more sensitive now they'd become a proper B cup finally.
Not that she didn't plan to find out about boys, in time. Eventually she was going to kiss someone and then she'd see how it made her feel.
Her body was developed at last, anyway. Her five-foot-six frame sported her firm, high tits that were definitely there but not too big, a pronounced waist, and good hips. She'd overheard boys discussing her legs too, and even two girl friends whispering about her ass not having a crease under it.
She knew she was lucky to actually like her tits, unlike most girls; and lucky to be a confident person who was cool with having unusually large areolae, instead of being embarrassed about them. When people looked in the showers she just soaped them and laughed, and her friends laughed with her. The areolae were super sensitive, too, along with her nipples.
Her glossy brown hair was long and straight and swayed about nicely, and modesty aside she could see she'd been lucky with her face with its cheekbones and her eyes that weren't all that big really but were green-brown and had big pupils and were a shape that people liked, with strong eyebrows over. Men and boys watched her, and more and more it seemed that when she walked into a room people noticed.
So it was that at the party Callie could dance with whomever she liked and not be hassled. The girls in the gang liked her, and so did the boys. There was no competition for her because she wasn't available, and everyone knew that when she was she'd make her choice and that would be that. She was not only wilful, but also strong-willed.
Guys waited and hoped, while suspecting it would probably be Ryan who'd claim her cherry. All the girls went for Ryan; and the more he had, the more seemed to want him.
Ryan did have a girlfriend, of course, and she was hot, of course, but she knew he was a player didn't she? Everyone knew. It went with the territory that she didn't own him.
Anyway right now Ryan's phone was plugged into his dad's prized music system, the furniture was pushed up against the walls, and the big living room felt like a rock concert. Callie's body thrummed with the bass as she danced in the crowd. She was glad she'd dressed cool in her short skirt, bare legs and thin, loose blouse that showed her lacy bra underneath.
On her third Bud already, she was feeling fine, rocking with a bunch of people who knew there was plenty of evening left to get into stuff. There was a strong smell of dope, a lot of grinning at each other, and dancing. Callie liked to dance; the movement and the feeling of her long hair moving around.
Ryan appeared and danced with her, looking at her in that confident, sexy way. He was a fun guy. It was attractive that it wouldn't be some big deal, and also that he obviously knew what he was doing. Though Callie kept thinking of that song that went 'I'm sexy and I know it' when he smiled at her.
But then a change swept through the atmosphere.
A draught from the hall, people making way, and CHRIST Ryan's dad!!
The music stopped dead and his dad was standing by the music system. Mr Taylor wasn't that tall but he was heavily built with a big head and a loud voice. He looked incandescent.
"RIGHT!" he was shouting in the sudden quiet, "THIS IS YOUR IDEA OF NOT HAVING A PARTY IS IT?"
Everyone went very quiet, and very meek; even the big lads who were normally so cocky. Ryan's dad was seriously intimidating.
Callie saw the back door open in the kitchen and quite a few people slipping out and fleeing, until Ryan's stepmum Louisa went and closed it. Callie thought that was a bit odd: she'd been expecting the parents to be ordering everyone to leave, not keeping them in...
"I'VE GOT A GOOD MIND TO CALL THE POLICE," continued Ryan's father in a fury, "I CAN SMELL DOPE, DON'T THINK I CAN'T. AND AT THE VERY LEAST YOUR PARENTS ARE GOING TO BE TOLD. YOU KNEW MY WIFE AND I WERE AWAY, SO I'M GOING TO WARN THEM WHAT THEY CAN EXPECT IF THEY'RE SILLY ENOUGH TO TRUST YOU LIKE I DID! WHAT KIND OF STATE WOULD THE PLACE HAVE BEEN IN IF OUR FLIGHT HADN'T BEEN CANCELLED?"
Gasps of alarm rippled through the room. Police? Parents? Most of the gang had visions of allowances cut, curfews imposed, internet cut off, phones confiscated, or even court appearances. In any case Mr Taylor's sheer ferocity was terrifying all on its own. No wonder he was the boss of his own company and had this big house with all the classy decor.
He'd whipped out his phone and was taking photos of all of them, going into the kitchen and hall and snapping the guilty kids there too. Now, clearly, he could find out who they all were and prove they'd been here. Kids scattered as he erupted back in and took up station in the middle of the living room, glaring round as though deciding who to eat first.
As usual Callie was disinclined to be in the background, and had retreated least. "I am so sorry Mr Taylor," she said, going up and standing very slightly too close to him (a weapon she had recently discovered) "I'll help to clear up and do anything I can. I'll hoover and wipe down and polish all the surfaces and everything." She looked earnestly into his face. Guys seemed to find that disconcerting.
"I see," Mr Taylor regarded her with disfavour, albeit with his rage fading somewhat as she'd hoped, "well why don't you show me the mess upstairs, Miss Belatedly Regretful? Ryan! CLEAR UP! NOBODY LEAVES, UNDERSTOOD? WORK!" and with that he ushered Callie into the hall and up the stairs ahead of him. She was fairly sure he'd be looking at the tops of her legs, and perhaps even getting glimpses of her white panties.
There was nothing to see upstairs anyway, the party hadn't reached that stage yet, so after a quick look in each room they ended up back on the landing. Mr Taylor looked at Callie.
"Have you been smoking?" he asked. She knew he meant dope.
"No," she was looking him in the eye.
"You've been drinking though. How old are you?"
"Sixteen," she lied; she'd found that was the oldest she could get away with. "This isn't a public place though."
.... There is more of this story ...