Just a Girl

by

Caution: This Erotic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, Heterosexual, Fiction, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Big Breasts, Slow, .

Desc: Erotic Sex Story: An unlikely houseguest takes it deep and becomes much more.

"Mina. Come in here, please."

Although he was in the next room, his tone was soft and low, as if he'd been standing beside her. He'd called her to the living room with the same words numerous times by now, and she was almost always apprehensive. So often, it seemed she'd done something wrong and he'd recite instructions with soft patience while she stood before his easy chair in whatever state of dress she happened to be in. Lately, he'd taken to calling on her late at night, like now, as she was wearing the sleeveless, cotton T shirt she'd taken to sleep in from his dresser drawer, and speaking to her in that calm, gravely voice that was comforting and unnerving all at once.

But tonight, she was quite certain she'd done nothing to need correcting. At least not outside the secret confines of her bed ... in the dark of the latest hours of the night ... hiding herself away from the world under soft, billowy sheets in what had been his guest room before he gave it over to her.

The blousy shirt scraped softly across her thickening nipples as she downed the last of her water. Braless underneath, the sheer weight of her breasts felt like a rebellion against her too slender body. At times like this, they would betray her at the sound of his call, flushing with heated blood as she thought of standing before him, his eyes carelessly roaming while he spoke of things that mattered to him. As if she mattered.

Sometimes tears would form in her eyes and she would blink them away before presenting herself. Clearly, he already knew what a flawed, unfinished thing she was, but he didn't need to know where the tender spots were. It was bad enough the sound of his call left her with this odd sensation inside of crumpling and blossoming all at once while a sweetly tortuous ache fired deep in the pit of her soul.

"Coming, Mister," she finally called back, setting her empty glass on the counter.

But she didn't go right away. She stood a moment longer in the dark kitchen with pale shafts of moonlight streaming in the window and wavering across her body. The tile floor was cool on her bare feet, a relief from the brushfire gathering just below the surface of her skin.

She lifted the bottom of his shirt and slipped the other hand underneath, letting her fingers graze the soft-rough bumps of her nipples. The pressure of her hand felt good, urging her to rub harder, until she indulged brief, agonizing twists of her stiffening nubs.

"Mina?"

She nearly jumped out of her skin, and almost expected to find him suddenly standing in the room, discovering her in the act of tweezing her own nipples. But no. He was still in the dimly lit living room, relaxing in his favorite chair.

"Coming, Mister."

Her voice sounded thin and birdlike. She reluctantly pulled her hand out from under the shirt and turned to go. As she entered the living room, she was thankful for the dim lighting as the shirt was wide open around her neck and arms, while underneath she was wearing a very plain pair of white, cotton panties.

He was mostly in shadow as he sat calmly, wearing the clinging boxer briefs and T-shirt he usually wore in the late hours before turning in himself.

"Yes, Mister?" she said as she stopped in front of his chair. "Did you want something?"

"Just you, Mina. I'd like very much to look at you a moment or two."

"But Mister, you see me all the time," she replied. She lowered her head. Even in the shadows, there was something different and more intent about his gaze.

"Just seeing you and looking at you are different things. I want to ... notice you."

Mina stood looking at the floor. She saw his bare feet against the carpet. His bare shins. Time stretched beyond itself as she felt his eyes touch her, running over the exposed portions of her slim legs. She was painfully aware of the vicious jut of her oversized breasts and the conspicuous dents of her nipples. The lips of her smooth shaven pussy began to thicken and ache as much as her nipples. If it went on this way, she was mortified to think he would catch the scent of her arousal.

Then he told her to take off her shift and she looked back up.

"But, Mister ... I'm ... I ... don't look right..."

He blew a slow breath. "Mina, how long have you been living in my house now?"

"I guess about three months."

He nodded, knit his brow and pinched his bottom lip with his thumb and index finger. She waited, not knowing which direction he was going to turn.

"In that time, have you ever felt unwanted or unwelcome?"

The hand he'd been pinching his lip with lowered onto his upper thigh, conspicuously close to the bulge in his briefs.

"No."

"Do you feel like this is your home now?"

"I dunno."

"Okay. Fair enough. These things take time. I guess you've been through a lot in your twenty years."

"Guess so, Mister."

"Does our situation here strike you as being at all ... unique?"

"Very much."

"Me too. But I like that."

"Me too, all told."

She was beginning to fear he'd given up on the idea of getting her to expose herself. The soothing patience of his languid baritone made her nipples feel like they were about to burst into flame. She wanted him to see. Everything. She wanted to be scrutinized in a way she'd never wanted before, but she would never bring herself to say so. She would never peel off that shirt without being told.

She had to be wanted as much as she wanted.

Even now, as he gazed at the suggestion of her unruly shape under the billowy garment, a kind of transformation was brewing in her cells. She was turning into some new kind of creature, yet she still felt small and unfinished under his stare.

His hand moved onto the cotton-wrapped bulge between his thighs, cupping, absent-minded fondling. She wondered if his desire to see her was as great as hers to see him.

"Don't you think there's a reason you came here instead of going to your mother's?" he posed. "Three blocks away and she still doesn't know you're back. What would she think about you moving in with a man you only met once ... coming out of her bedroom in the middle of the night?"

Mina flashed back on the night. She'd been sitting on the living room sofa, the television on without sound, when he came down the stairs. She knew there'd been another man up there with them in her mother's room. He seemed calm for someone walking out of a party that was still going on. His face had registered surprise when he spotted her, and they stared at each other a long moment in the light of the TV. He'd walked in and taken a seat on the other end of the sofa without a word.

They'd talked. She could smell her mother all over him.

"Guess she'd just assume a lot of stuff that isn't true. Like always."

"I suppose anyone would. Still kind of wondering that myself."

"Like I wonder why you took me in? I mean, at first I figured you probably wanted to fuck me, but you would've tried before now."

"You're a virgin, Mina. That's ... delicate."

Her body went stiff and her face burned with shame. "How ... could you know?"

"I wasn't completely sure. Until now."

She couldn't remember when the virginity she'd clung to so hard had begun to feel like a burdensome curse. She'd resisted with all her might becoming the promiscuous cliché her mother was, yet she'd had all manner of objects and toys inside her pussy. The fingers and tongue of that girl out west during her brief time muling heroin across the Mexican border. Anything and everything to fan the rage in her cells but a man's cock.

She waited for the tremors in her soul to subside.

"Mister? Do you think it's true that girls become their mothers?"

Deep, patient breath. "I think the realities of being alive can't be passed off with bumper sticker slogans."

A few shreds of peace filtered through her spirit while the burn in her nipples and clit flared.

"Mister ... I only have my panties underneath."

A low, raspy sigh rose out of his throat. "Good. Show me."

She grabbed the bottom of the shirt and lifted it over her head. His eyes were on the throbbing nipples tipping the unruly globes of her breasts. She wanted to please him ... to know he admired her the way he admired women like her mother, but it seemed impossible he could ever think she was that kind of beautiful.

Her eyes fell to the floor as she let the bunched up shift fall out of her hand.

"You're a beautiful girl, Mina. More than you realize."

"Thank you." She said it so softly she was pretty sure he hadn't heard her.

"It's a dangerous game to start comparing ourselves with other people," he said. "There's always someone bigger, better, faster, stronger ... whatever. But you should know this ... you're much more beautiful than your mother ever was on her best day. She just ... tries too hard."

He couldn't be serious, but she wanted to believe he was. Now her breath was becoming strained.

"Take off your panties," he urged softly.

She was painfully aware of his gaze rolling over the treacherous geography of her breasts, but the thought of him seeing the shaven pout of her pussy was terrifying in a way that made her lips feel thick and sodden.

"Go ahead. Show me."

As much as she wanted to plead with him not to make her reveal the pussy she couldn't imagine anyone thinking beautiful, she wanted just as much to peel them off and demolish him. She wanted to eradicate whatever dim memories of her mother were left in his mind and blot them out with ripe, vivid images of herself. She wasn't her mother. She never would be.

.... There is more of this story ...

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