Holly drove through the upscale neighborhood of Richmond Hill on her way home from school. After climbing a half-mile up the gently curving residential road, she pulled into the parking area in front of the garage to her family's two story home. Slinging her book bag over her shoulder after she exited the car, she slammed its door as hard as she could. She hated the three year old Toyota. It was a nondescript tan color, and it certainly wasn't a BMW or Lexus like most of the kids drove who went to her private school. It wasn't as if her parents couldn't afford to buy her a more fashionable car. After all, they earned a solid income from the consulting firm they owned. She was a senior this year, and she hoped that maybe her graduation present would be one of those cute sports cars that BMW made; she'd hinted at it often enough.
Holly opened the door to the house and stepped in. At least her parents gave her the satisfaction of working late hours. Even though it was Friday, she could probably count on having the house to herself into the early evening. Her cell buzzed from the slit pocket of her skirt. When she checked its screen, she saw the smiling face of her boyfriend, Mike.
"Hi," she said.
"Hi, what's up?" said Mike.
"I just got home," she said as she carried her book bag up the stairs to her bedroom. "Are you at home?"
"Yeah, listen, about tonight, I can't go to the movies. It's my grandmother ... she's still pretty sick ... and, you know, the family wants me go visit," Mike said.
Holly could feel the blood rushing to her face. She tossed her bag in the general direction of her desk. The bag crashed into her chair and sent it skidding sideways on its casters. This was the third Friday in a row he'd broken their date. It was always the same excuse, his grandmother. "Just how damn stupid do you think I am?" she seethed into the phone.
"What? I ... uh," Mike struggled to say.
Holly strode from one side of her room to the other. Her free hand sliced through the air as she spoke. "Your mother's mother is dead, and your father's mother lives three states away where she is not only healthy, she owns a bookstore and plays tennis two days a week," she snapped.
"You ... you checked up on me?" Mike said, trying to sound outraged.
"Well, I was taking you at your word until Sandra Palmer said she saw you being all snuggly with that skank, Amy Givens," Holly said.
"But ... but, we said we weren't going to be exclusive," Mike argued.
Holly stopped pacing and put her hand on her hip. "Oh, so now you were just lying about it, and you thought I was so stupid that I wouldn't catch on."
"Hey, no ... I ... I..." Mike said.
"Look, you obviously have a date with that diseased whore, or some other bitch - just go ... just go and fuck off, and don't call me again." She stabbed at the screen to close the call. Resisting the urge to throw her phone against the wall, she carefully laid it on her desk. Then she screamed.
"Goddamn fucking son-of-a-bitch, asshole ... fuck ... fuck ... FUCKKKKKKKKKK IT!"
She threw her hands to her face. Her cheeks burned and her eyes swelled with pent up tears. She was on the cusp of a monumental crying jag. Turning to her bed, she flung herself down and buried her face in a pillow. Emotions roiled in her aching heart as conflicting thoughts raced through her head. She had really liked Mike. He was good looking, smart – concerning school subjects anyway, but evidently not about girls – and he fit in so easily with her friends. On the other hand, he was a lying sack of shit who thought she couldn't see through the lamest excuse in the world. But he knew how to make out, he was able to kiss a girl until she was weak in the knees. Wasn't she pretty enough? Hell yes she was. She had been short and pudgy most of her life, but a year ago she had blossomed. She was of average height now, only five-foot four, like her nana. But she had inherited her mother's boobs. Perky c-cups on her slender hundred pound frame looked spectacular. Put that together with wide brown eyes on a classically oval face and a thick mane of ash-blonde hair, and she was maybe not beautiful, but certainly cute and sexy. Had she not pleased him sexually? Hell, she'd jerked him and sucked him several times, and he'd liked it; the evidence had ended up all over her hands and lips and in her mouth. He had a nice cock, seven or maybe eight slim inches. She liked a big cock; she had planned to tell him tonight that he could stick it in her pussy. Here, on this bed, on Monday, she was going to give herself to him.
Despite the knot in her stomach, a ghost of a smile twitched at Holly's lips. She had planned to make him swear to save himself all weekend until he was between her legs after school. Surely a guy his age with all that pent up sap would be good for what – at least two or three good screws in the hour or so they could safely count on being alone? Well, forget that.
Holly rolled over and sat up, wiping her hands down her cheeks. To top it off, that piece of shit, Mike, had made her horny. Anticipating that Mike would be eager to crawl between her smooth thighs, she had refrained from pleasing herself for almost a week. She half snorted and half laughed. She could take care of that later. "I need a shower," she told herself. She removed her school uniform tossed it onto the pile of dirty clothes in the corner of her closet.
Holly let the hot water of the shower pelt down on her shoulders until she felt her muscles begin to relax. She poured vanilla accented body wash onto a luffa and scrubbed until her skin tingled. Stepping from the shower, she dried off and knotted the luxuriantly thick towel above her breasts. She stepped into her bedroom and began to run a brush through her hair.
As she brushed, Holly heard the hollow, ringing thump of a basketball being dribbled. Her room didn't have windows, but it did have a pair of French doors. The doors opened onto a decretive, but very narrow and functionally useless balcony rimmed in black ironwork. From the door, Holly looked across a strip of lawn and a residential road at the rear of her home to a neighbor's house. Six guys were playing a basketball game in the drive.
Holly recognized one of the players as Bobby Evans; he lived at the house. She knew two other guys from her school; they were on the school's team, and there were two she didn't know at all. It was the sixth player that caught her attention though. She knew his name was Samuel Thomas Axton Harris the Third, better known as Trey. He hadn't been at her school for long, but he'd caught the eye of every girl there. He was tall, very good looking, and now that he was playing without a shirt, Holly could see that he was built like a Greek god.
"Wow," said Holly. Actually, she thought, a Greek god could only aspire to have Trey's heavily muscled and incredibly graceful body.
Trey faked a drive and then put up a twenty-foot jumper that swished through the net. Taking the ball again, he passed to Bobby who put up a shot. The ball bounced high off the rim. Trey almost magically appeared under goal, where he leapt high above the basket and drove the ball downward in a spectacular dunk. Even the guys on the opposite team congratulated him.
"Damn, you're good, and damn good looking too," Holly told herself as she watched Trey effortlessly outplay the others. There was a rumor going around about Trey. In addition to his movie star countenance and outstanding athletic skills, he was supposedly blessed with a really big cock.
Of course rumors were just that, rumors. There was one floating around which said that she had had a boob job. It persisted no matter how many times she pointed out that when a girl drops about five dress sizes – and begins to wear tighter clothes – her natural breasts tend to stand out.
Holly focused on Trey's shorts. From here, she'd need x-ray vision to confirm the rumor about him. In the voluminous basketball shorts that guys wore, you couldn't tell the size of anyone's package, no matter how large. Of course, she mused, that just meant that the rumor could be true. Maybe Trey had a cock equal to or a bit bigger than Mike's. She could feel her blood begin to warm and give her pussy that pleasantly full feeling. She was hornier than she'd thought.
Maybe ... maybe she should put on her skimpy running shorts and a nice tight tank and go for a run by the guys. Surely one of them would say something, and give her an excuse to stop and flirt. Even if they kept their mouths shut, she could say stop and say hello to Bobby - then she could flirt.
Holly's mind began to fantasize about the encounter. She'd smile at Trey, giving him plenty of opportunity to ask her out. She'd be coy of course, but eventually they'd be alone together. Then she'd get her hands on that magnificent chest and those broad, beefy shoulders.
Her hand pressed on her pussy through the towel. She closed her eyes.
After a hot and heavy make-out session, he'd be eager to have her hands on his cock. She'd jerk him off slowly as his fingers found their way between her legs.
Holly slipped her hand between the edges of the towel and pressed her finger on her clit. The hell with waiting until later, she'd get herself off now.
Trey's fingers would be where hers were now. He'd press and swirl and flick until she was panting with desire. Then he'd slip his finger into her hot, wet pussy and finger fuck her madly while her hand raced up and down his cock. They'd get off at the same time. She'd see a string of cum leap above his spewing cock, and that would trigger the first waves of orgasm to shake her pussy.
.... There is more of this story ...