Chapter 2

She woke to his snore, bit her lip to keep from laughing out loud. She hadn’t heard a snore in ages. She kissed him. His snoring shifted to a low rumble. Her hand slid down his bare, hairy chest and down to his boxers. He was standing at attention. She cracked up, unable to resist the funny situation.

Her aged sugar daddy was as stiff as a board.

Her laughter woke him with a start. Who in the devil is in my bed? What is going on? There was a little girl, a young woman caressing his pecker, her body pressed up against his. She felt warm and soft, and her hair smelled of soap and girl. He had to be dreaming. This was incredible. How could he have a real girl in his bed, after so many years? He had forgotten what it was like. After his wife had gotten sick, even before sex had slowed to a crawl, a slow ember rarely flamed. But here was someone exuding sexuality, vitality, hormones. And she was playing with his dick, his amazingly hard dick.

He heard a giggle as she rubbed his wiener.

“Ashley?” he whispered.

Another giggle, “You snore.”

“Oh! I’m so ... OOHH! ... sorry!” he was having a problem concentrating with her hand doing things he hadn’t felt in decades.

Another giggle. “My what a big ... PRICK, you have, Sir.”

Her hand was inside his boxers now, rubbing his shaft up and down.

“I think I need to check it out!” she whispered in a low, raspy voice.

She slid the covers off them and slid down to his hips. Her hand, inside his underwear, found the hole in his boxers and pushed his dick through it.

“Mmmm!” she pronounced in the darkness below his round belly.

He felt moist lips surround his crown. He was well awake now. She sucked him. He sucked in a breath. She slurped and licked as her head bobbed up and down his shaft, her hand now sliding on wet skin as her lips kept him surrounded, and her mouth vacuumed him. He was glad he had trimmed his hairy cock and balls, feeling funny at the time.

‘Oh, God!’ he thought. He hadn’t felt this in nearly 50 years. He wanted to say her name but was afraid his old man’s voice might break her mood. He tried to say she was wonderful, but all he could do was make a “UGH” and a squeak when she lightly raked her teeth at the bottom of his crown. She continued sucking.

Suddenly she let go. He had nearly been ready to burst, but the release hit the brakes. Though not for long. She was climbing upon him, her shorts were gone. He lay flat on his back while this incredible siren of a creature climbed up, straddling his legs. She positioned herself over his still wet hard-on. He felt his tip being rubbed against something amazingly warm and soft and moist. Feelings he had long forgotten revived from his deep past. Satisfied with herself, she sat down, impaling herself with a grunt. He let out a whimper as his dick was pressed tightly into her hot, wet pussy glove.

“Oh, GAH! Ashley! Fuckkk!” he groaned.

His senses overloaded to the long-forgotten feel of young pussy. His body burned with a desire that he didn’t know existed anymore.

He had just met this girl, this vixen only yesterday. This amazing creature. And today, he, Michael Williams, was fucking her eyes out. Well, actually, she was fucking his eyes out. He just laid there as his body bounced under her as she rode him like a pogo stick.

“Jesus, girl! Oh!” he moaned.

She bounced herself on him. She wanted to sex his teddy bear balls right off him. She was going to blow his mind if it was the last thing she did! ‘Oh fuck,’ she thought suddenly, ‘Oh please don’t have a heart attack under me.’ She tossed the thought out of her mind as a wave of pleasure flowed from her pelvis up through her body, actually surprising herself. She came back to her task. She started to babble at him.

“Oh, BABY! Oh, fuck me in my pussy! There! Yes! Yes! Yes! Make that thing MOVE!” she tried to suppress her giggle, “OH! OH! I’m CUMMING! I’m CUMMING, BABY!”

He heard her and felt her shake herself, then another giggle. She was faking. Badly. Like a bad porn flick.

He cracked up laughing. She started laughing with him.

“Oh God, that was beautiful. Beautifully bad!” as he laughed.

She continued to slowly rock as she giggled. They grew quiet. He looked at her in the darkness. Her hair swinging back and forth, her body swaying in her rhythm. He remembered this look from so long ago.

She moaned, for real. A shudder went through her body. She lost her motion for a second, restarting continuing even as her soft orgasm flowed.

Then he exploded!

“UGGGHHHH!” is all he could get out as his balls exploded, dumping his sterile cum into her. Again and again, in near agony, as she continued to bounce on him, a little slower from before. She felt his prick pulsing and hot cum pumping into her. She could feel every little movement between her legs. They rested with her slumped on his belly. He wanted badly to kiss her but too tired to move.

Slowly, she pulled up, out, dripping onto her thigh, on him and his sheets. She rolled over beside him.

She whispered, “So how’s my little teddy bear now?”

She leaned over to kiss him. He returned her favors, and then she climbed out of bed.

“Goodnight, my teddy.”

“Goodnight, darling,” his reply automatic.

He felt embarrassed, ashamed. He had just cheated on his long-dead wife. But he liked this girl, loved her. In only one day.

Ashley looked at herself in the bathroom mirror. Was this right? She felt clean, warm, dry, fed. She even felt loved again. Something she hadn’t felt in a long time. But she told herself, he is my sugar, JUST my sugar daddy. I don’t love him. Can’t. Not after one day. That’s just silly, girl!

She felt she was no different from the others; she uses sex to get money. She was just a whore. Tears ran down her face. No! No, she is MORE. Does a wife feel she is just a whore? NO! She does not. She is more than that. Reversed, if she had money, would she share it with him? Maybe. Would he be the whore? Maybe. Would she still be here? Maybe.

She looked at her reflection, “Ashley Thompson, you deserve this. He can make you happy, and you can make him happy. Isn’t that what it’s all about anyway? He is a good man. That’s hard to find. I feel for his wife. She must have had a good life with him all those years. Don’t I deserve some happiness, too?”

She felt she did. There wasn’t anything wrong with this. Two people that care about each other, helping each other out. Fuck the rest of them. They can live with their fake morals.

She came out of the bathroom, blinking in the darkness. She heard a snore. She smiled and turned. She cleaned the dishes they had left on the table, loaded the dishwasher, turned it on, and went to bed ... in her room. She could hear the slightest sound of his snoring through the wall, and she smiled as she fell asleep.

Months went by. The first of each month, he handed her an envelope, always twenty $100 bills. She paid down her credit cards. She went back to school part-time. He bought her a new iPhone, her old one was years out of date. She proved she was really 21, now 22, from her driver’s license she got back after paying her fines. She had kidded him more than once that she was really 16 and that he had been fucking an underage girl.

He bought her a new laptop, he said for her schooling. He let her drive his car until she was ready to buy her own. He let her chauffeur him around, “Drive, Woman!” She made him work out every day, finally losing that belly and getting some abs. “Slave driver!” He loved her and asked her to marry him nearly every time they made love. She had sex with him often, more than he could handle.

His snoring had dropped after he had lost so much weight, but if it got bad, she slept in her room. They had fights, mostly stupid reasons, but they made up by making love. He told her he liked makeup sex. He found he could make her cum easily by massaging her belly while he licked her wild.

He remembered the first time he tasted her. He had not gone down on a woman since college, rarely even with his wife. He had pulled off her panties and just kissed her calves as she widened her legs. Usually, he would climb up beside her, but this time he kissed up each leg, over her knees and the alternately kissing each thigh. He looked at her bald pussy, making her look so young, the reason she could get away with that underage teasing.

His face moved right up to her delta and kissed her mons, smooth with the tiniest of stubble. He sucked on it as she moaned quietly. His mouth went over her slit. He smelled her female odor, tinted with perfumed soap. His arousal increased as he tasted her the first time with his tongue. He licked into her slit, not holding back. Her legs squirmed as he attacked her with his mouth and tongue. She giggled from his tickles as he found her clit and sucked on it noisily. Her hips bucked into his face as he continued unabatedly, moisture flowing. His hand rubbed her belly and mons, and he felt her sudden spasm and groan, her legs and arms pressed against his head as her orgasm hit.

She let him fuck her from behind in the kitchen; they even did it one time on the balcony at night. She had her hands on the railing, staring out at the lights and sounds of the night as he humped her. She felt so alive, exposing her sexuality to the world. She also would run around inside the condo completely naked, or only in panties, vacuuming or cleaning or just acting silly just to get a rise out of him.

One time when he came home, she was dressed in a French maid outfit. They fucked on the bed as she spewed French swear words at him. All the exercise had made him strong, so he could carry her around. On the beach, they did endless piggyback rides or with her wrapped around his front, her legs hooked behind his lower back, arms around his neck, thong covered butt in his hands, kissing all the way up the beach as onlookers huffed and said things about old men and young girls. Even though he looked and felt twenty years younger now, she still could pass for a teen.

One day, he came from the grocery store to find her dressed up in a little girl outfit, pigtails, short pink dress, flowery white panties, white socks, buckle shoes, chewing bubble gum. She had come downstairs and met him out on the parking lot as he unloaded the trunk.

“Mister, what’cha doing? Wanna play?” she said in a little girl’s voice.

He turned around to find this sight, as she jumped into his arms.

“Daddy! Let’s play HORSEY!”

Blushing, as several passerby’s looked at them.

“Ashley, stop that! They could arrest me!” he whispered.

“Silly old bear! Your SUGAR baby LOVES you! Come play with me, my SUGAR DADDY!” her voice high pitched and definitely not in a whisper.

He had to abandon the groceries and haul her back to the condo in his arms. In the elevator, she stood beside him, holding his hand and humming a lullaby as he frowned at her and tried to make excuses to the other riders, saying she was practicing for a cosplay costume contest.

After he retrieved the groceries, he came back to find her bent over a chair, “Spank me, DADDY! I am a BAD GIRL!”

He did, pulling down her flowery panties, slapping her little butt until it was red, and they fucked afterward.

At times he was afraid of what he might find next. Once, he walked in on her, spread-eagled on her bed, pleasuring herself with a big vibrator.

“God, girl! You don’t get enough from me?”

She just laughed and moaned, rubbing herself until she came while he watched. Another time he smelled a long-forgotten scent. He found her stoned, smoking dabs, bong, blowtorch, and all. Weed, he allowed, but no hard drugs. Well, ok, a little cocaine; ‘I never tried that. Wow! Let’s FUCK!’

They did travel. She came home from school one afternoon. He wasn’t there. She texted him. She got that “I am currently driving ... blah” message. He always had that do-not-disturb while driving turned on and insisted she did too. He flatly forbid her to use the phone while driving. But she was mad from school and angry at herself and cranky from her period. And now she was mad he wasn’t there to take her frustrations out on.

He walked in to total quiet. This wasn’t good. He peeked into her room, slowly opening the door. She was lying in bed on her stomach, her room looked wrecked with books and clothes and stuff scattered about, not that unusual, but she was crying, bawling, she said she hated herself, she was stupid, she had failed a test, and just hated the world, a failure, she was dependent on him; she didn’t even have a job. She said something about suicide. That got his attention. He sat on the edge of the bed, letting her cry, only encouraging her to talk. But that just made her mad at him.

“You are NOT my FATHER! You are NOT my HUSBAND! You BUY me! You are my JOHN! I am just your SUGAR! I HATE YOU! I HATE MYSELF, I want to KILL myself!”

He didn’t say anything, just picked her up and rocked her in his arms. He had been through this before. She sometimes crashed, usually when she tried to assert her independence only to find she wasn’t yet independent; that she was dependent on him and his money. He held her and just let her cry and try to keep her talking, slowly circling the conversation from temper tantrum back to love.

“I know I am not your father, but I care about you like you were my own. I’m not your husband, but I would marry you in a heartbeat. I don’t buy you, I share my things with you. I LOVE you. I CARE about you. I never want to hurt you. I never want you to leave. I mean, who would I get to use these tickets with, if not you?”

She lay shaking as he held her. Finally, she turned sideways, her curiosity pushing against her frustration.

They had been on a couple cruises to the Bahamas and other islands, all short, and always getting stares from the other oldsters, ignored. He also tipped the steward extra each day, which got him extras each evening, to the delight of her and to make up for the mess they left.

“Tickets?” she said tentatively, wiping tears. He brushed her hair out of her face. His angel.

“Just a little month-long tour of Europe, but that’s ok. We can go later.”

She hated it when he did that while she was mad or sad.

“Paris?” she whispered as he kissed her forehead.

She wanted to be mad. But her teddy made it hard. And her crying had finally worn her emotions down.

“Paris, London, Geneva, Vienna, Rome...” he replied.

She had hardly been out of the state, and now she was going all over Europe. She hit him. And again.

“Wha?” whack!

“You are MEAN! You keep DOING these, these ... GOOD things for me! I HATE you!”

WHACK!

“Girl, you are totally crazy.”

He grabbed her and kissed her hard on the lips, holding her arms down.

“NO FAIR!”

“Well, you made me strong! By working me to death!”

She struggled. “Let me GO!”

“Promise not to hit me?”

She squirmed and pulled to no avail, “Promise.”

He let go.

WHACK!

He rolled over on top of her, kissing all over her face and down her body. Keeping her pinned with one hand, he unbuttoned her pants as she struggled. He kissed into her mons, now silky with her fur. He pushed on her pants, moving them down and widening her legs as she squirmed under him. He kissed into her labia and licked her clit. Her struggles decreased.

“No Fair! You’re mean. No! I’ll yell rape! That tickles!”

She wiggled as he pushed her pants down to her ankles then slid his fingers along her slit as his mouth continued attacking her clit. Her struggles died away, and he released her, his hand now down on her belly, massaging just above her mons. She knew he was trying to make her cum, so she resisted. She wanted to make him work at it. She fought against his playing her, but her body wanted him. She pushed her pelvis into his face as he made her wet from his saliva and her moisture. She struggled to widen her legs, bound at the ankles by her pants. She massaged her own breasts, now aching, tender.

His fingers found her entrance, a string hanging out. Her period, but he didn’t care. It had been a very long time since he had a woman with a period around him. He had forgotten the emotional ups and downs they brought, along with the mundane task of shopping for tampons and pads. And the joy or sadness felt of finding out another month not pregnant. He remembered the scare of a late period of his future wife while still at college and the joy of missed periods bringing news of their future son. Then the problematic pregnancy, nearly taking her life and thus his decision to have no more.

And now he had a new one. A girl turned woman. He honestly did want to marry her, to have a child by her. He wanted to see her belly swell.

She whimpered, “Please, don’t pull it out, blood, bedspread, clothes.”

He pulled it out, and she felt it slide across her now engorged vulva. He smelled her. She smelled of woman. He tasted tinge of iron. He discarded the tampon as he kissed her pussy.

“I will buy you a new bedspread. I will buy you new clothes.”

The act of doing this and his reinitiated attacks of mouth on clit and fingers in wet cunt hit her. Her nose flared, fingers gripped the sheets. Her bound feet finally broke free as one leg struggled out of the bonds of her pants. Her legs spread wide as she pushed herself hard against him and came.

“FUCK! UGH!” she bucked hard against him, nearly knocking him off the bed. Her whole body shuddered, and her fists pressed against him to push him away from her hypersensitized pussy.

She cried, “I hate you...” with little emphasis as her orgasm washed over her, finally calming into her afterglow. She loved him again.

“Marry me!” he said.

She opened her eyes and looked at him as he stared back at her, “OH! GROSS!!”

His beard and chin were tinged in blood, his fingers smearing her period on her knee, her thighs streaked, the white bedspread stained.

They both laughed. It took a while to clean up, and she got her new bedspread.

Mike was worried. Ashley hadn’t come home after school. It was a Friday, but she usually came home or at least texted as he stipulated. He texted her again. Nothing. He looked at his watch, 10:30pm. He was distraught now. He remembered that ‘Find my iPhone’ app he had set up long back.

He looked at the address, a bar near the college. She usually didn’t go to bars. He became nervous. Had she found a boyfriend? She must have at least $10K in the bank now. Did she need him anymore? His watch said nearly 11:30. He texted again. Nothing.