So, Penny and I are sitting in our lounge one Friday afternoon, looking forward to a quiet weekend, when the phone rings. Pen takes it and I watch as her face blanches.

“Oh no,” she says after listening for a while. I mouth ‘what?’, but she waves her hand at me irritably. “Is she OK?” she asks whoever it is. There’s another pause and then, “Which hospital?” I don’t like the sound of that at all. “OK. Thanks for letting me know,” she says and ends the call.

She turns to me, “That was Catherine’s neighbour. They were having tea and Catherine collapsed. She’s just gone off in an ambulance. Unconscious.” It comes out all in a rush and I can already see Pen looking around frantically, trying to work out what to do first.

Catherine is Penny’s sister. “Fuck.” I say, with feeling.

“I’ve got to go,” she says desperately.

“Of course,” I agree. “You start packing. I’ll be up in a minute. Wait, which hospital?”

“Norfolk and Norwich,” she calls out as she hurries upstairs. I try to think clearly: Catherine lives over 200 miles away, cross-country. On a Friday afternoon, it could ... fuck, our worst-ever journey had been over eight hours. And then there’s the cats. Our normal fallback is one of our neighbours, but they’re away on a cruise. I Google the route, come up with what I hope is the best solution, and follow Penny upstairs.

I explain about the problem with the cats, and I can see her starting to get worked up.

“There’s a train to Paddington in half an hour. If I take you to the station you can be in Norwich about four hours later.” She doesn’t look convinced. “It’s Friday afternoon,” I explain, “the traffic would be a nightmare. I’ll sort out someone to look after the cats and drive over as soon as I can.”

When I get back from dropping Pen off, I go around and knock on our other neighbour’s door. Helena answers and I curse inwardly: she’s a peculiar woman that I’d never really gotten on with too well. I’m pretty sure that she wouldn’t agree to feed our cats, but her daughter just might.

I give her my friendliest smile, “Hi Helena. How are you?”

“Good Thanks. You?”

“Yeah, I’m good too. But I have a big favour to ask.”

“Oh?”

“We’ve got a bit of an emergency and we need someone to feed our cats for a few days.” She frowns slightly and I plough on before she can say no. “Do you think Theresa would be interested in making some money?” At the mention of both Theresa and money, her frown miraculously fades away. “We’d pay her the same as we pay our normal cat-sitter, fifteen pounds an hour.”

Suddenly she’s smiling. “Maybe. I’ll send her around when she gets home from school and you can discuss it.”

“That’s great, Helena. Thank you so, so much. You’re a lifesaver.”

The family had introduced themselves when they first moved in about eight months ago, but have seemed to prefer to keep themselves to themselves since then.

Theresa is fifteen years old with a pretty, oval face and quite nice calves. I can’t be any more specific than that since I’ve almost only ever seen her as she walks to and from their car on the school run. I admit that I’ve always paid close attention whenever I’ve seen her, as I, like most men, have a bit of a thing for schoolgirls.

At times, I’ve felt a little sorry for her, because as far as I can tell she has no social life at all. At others, I’ve just assumed that her socializing is done online, as the press are constantly telling us is the case with kids since Covid. I find myself very much looking forward to meeting her properly.

Anyway, I go back to my writing and I’m partway through a scene where a young girl has seduced her father when the doorbell rings. I should probably mention at this point that one of my hobbies is writing erotic fiction.

I close the lid on my laptop and go to answer it, adjusting my jeans to try to cover up the semi that my writing has given me.

It’s Theresa and she’s in her school uniform: a grey pleated skirt which comes to mid-thigh and a red blazer. I’ve seen it before, of course, but never up close like this. I realize for the first time how truly pretty she is: with no makeup at all, she has lovely big green eyes and full sensuous lips. I glance down and have to force myself not to stare at her breasts, nicely filling out a white blouse.

“Hi, Theresa. Thanks for coming round. Did your Mum explain about the cats?”

“Hi, Damien. Yes, she did,” she replies. “I’d love to look after them.” Did I imagine it, or did her eyes just glance down at my crotch?

I’m showing her through to the lounge when my mobile rings. I apologize to her, but explain that I have to take it. It’s Pen, and I go into the dining room. I’m just finishing up and I’m in the doorway to the lounge when I see that Theresa has opened the lid of my laptop, which, possibly foolishly, is set up to not require a password on resuming from sleep.

I’d been writing their first sex scene and Daddy was driving her mad, licking her pussy and her clit, and she was so desperate for more lovely contact on her as yet virgin pussy that she’d pulled her knees back and up, exposing her little pink rosebud to her Daddy’s hungry gaze. As I’d left it, she was climaxing with Daddy’s tongue trying to wriggle its way into her rectum.

For a moment I panic, thinking that if Theresa is horrified and tells her mother, I could be in serious shit. Then I can see from the flush on her cheeks that it’s turning her on. As I continue watching, she crosses her legs and squirms her bottom on the sofa like girls do when they’re aroused and want to get a little friction or pressure on their pussies. Of course, watching her is making me as hard as fuck.

I back off and go back into the kitchen, pretending to continue talking on my phone. I find the idea that a fifteen-year-old girl is in the next room, getting sexually excited reading my story, incredibly arousing and I give my now very hard cock a good rub and squeeze.

I give her a few more minutes, hoping she’ll get really excited, and then walk casually back into the lounge.

Theresa looks up at me guiltily as she closes the lid. “I’m sorry, Damien. I didn’t--”

“It’s fine,” I interrupt, giving her a big smile. “Did you like my little story?”

“You wrote it?” she asks, looking amazed. Then her eyes glance down, and this time I’m pretty certain that she’s looking at my erection. She looks back up hurriedly.

“I did. Or rather, I am. It’s not finished yet.”

“It’s very naughty.”

“It is,” I agree. “Well?”

Her already flushed complexion deepens as she considers her answer, and she looks unbelievably fucking cute. “Do men really do that to girls?” she asks. I find it very interesting that she seems to have ignored the fact that it’s a father and daughter, but I’m amazed that she’s never heard of pussy licking.

“Have you never heard of a man ‘going down’ on a girl, or ‘eating her pussy’?” I ask, and she shakes her head.

“Don’t you talk to friends about this stuff?”

“Not really. My mum vets all my friends. She knows their mums. It’s mostly the ones who opted out of sex education. They’re all good girls, like me.” She puts air quotes around ‘good girls’. I’m beginning to seriously dislike her mother now.

“Don’t you read about sex on the internet?”

“My parents keep it locked down pretty tight.”

“God, you poor thing. You must have so many questions.”

She pauses, and then asks, “How does it feel when ... when a man does ... that?”

My brain races as I try to work out how to answer that. She’s clearly turned on - her erect nipples are showing clearly now - and she’s asked me a direct question. I decide not pull any punches.

“Well ... you touch yourself, right?” I begin. She looks very dubious. “It’s OK. All boys and girls touch themselves, sweetie,” I say, and her sigh of relief speaks volumes.

“Not very often,” she says in a whisper. “Mum sometimes comes into my room unannounced.” Now I positively hate her bloody mother.

“Well, I guess it’s like that but softer and wetter and probably wonderful. Everyone I’ve ever been with has loved it.”

Her eyes sort of glaze over, as if she’s imagining what it must feel like.

“Is it normal that I like girls as well as boys?” she asks, her confusion clear to see.

“Absolutely Theresa. It’s totally normal.” Again she looks relieved. I wait to see if she has any other immediate questions.

“Her bottom,” she says, a bit randomly.

“Sorry?”

“In your story, he licks her bottom. Isn’t that dirty?”

I smile at her. “Most girls are pretty careful about their personal hygiene. I’m sure you are, aren’t you?” Now I’ve put her attention back onto her ... and her bottom, and again her attention drifts off. When she blinks and seems to have re-joined the present, I decide to try a different tack.

“Do you have a boyfriend, Theresa?” I ask.

“No,” she says, sighing deeply. “Mother says I’m too young.”

“That’s a real shame,” I say with feeling. “A pretty girl like you.”

“Do you really think I’m pretty?” she asks, looking up at me with big hopeful eyes. I take a risk and brush my fingertips over her cheek, tucking some errant hairs behind her ear. I can feel her trembling.

“I do, sweetie. Very pretty.”

I want so much to kiss this innocent girl’s pussy that it almost hurts. But if I get things wrong, and she freaks out, I could be in a world of trouble. I know that I have to make it seem like it’s her idea.

“Did my story turn you on?” I ask, trying to get her mind back on topic.

She pauses, just for a second, as she considers the state of her body, and then nods. Having drawn her attention back to her pussy, I can almost see her brain working as she thinks again about how it would feel to have someone kissing and licking it.

“Do you think--” she begins and then stops.

“What, sweetheart?” I ask softly. “You know I’m a naughty man now, you can ask me anything.”

“Do you think you could kiss my pussy?” she blurts out, the words almost running together. The look of hope on her sweet little face almost breaks my heart.

I kneel down and take her hands in mine, looking deep into her worried-looking green eyes. “Theresa, I would absolutely love to.”

“Really?” she says, apparently not quite believing it.

“Take your knickers off for me Theresa,” I say softly. I know this is the moment of truth and I hold my breath. The seconds seem to drag on for hours as she struggles with her conflicting emotions. When she stands up and puts her hands up under her skirt, I’m as happy as I’ve ever been. Her little white panties emerge from beneath the skirt and she lets them drop to her ankles and then steps out of them. Sweet Jesus, I’ve got a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl with no knickers on in my lounge! She sits down carefully with her knees primly together.

I think I might understand. I figure that all girls must be nervous about the first person who ever looks at their pussies: what if they don’t like it? What if it’s not as nice as other girls’? Are my lips too big/small/fleshy? Is my smell normal?

I put my hands on the knees, gently urging her legs apart, and I don’t have to feign my reaction at all.

“Jesus, Theresa, it’s so beautiful,” I gasp. Somehow I manage to drag my gaze up to her face and her joy is clear to see. “Honestly, darling, it’s perfect.” She gives me the sweetest smile, full of gratitude, but that’s the limit of my self-control and I look up her skirt again at her gorgeous pussy.

She has just the lightest covering of soft-looking hair that hardly disguises the shape of her gorgeously plump vulva at all. My mouth waters just looking at it. I put my hands under her knees and gently draw her forward until her arse is on the edge of the seat. And then I kiss her. Just a gentle kiss on the left side of her mound. It is so silky against my lips and her little happy squeal tells me that she loves it. I smother kisses all over her vulva and her inner thighs, skirting her crease for the moment, until the urgent small thrusts of her hips tell me that she needs more.

I ease her legs slightly further apart, and her pussy opens up to reveal tiny inner lips, already glistening with moisture.

“Oh. Oh. Oh,” she gasps as I run the tip of my tongue between them. “Oh, God. Oh, God.” Her taste is to die for, sweet and heady and only slightly musky with a hint of perfumed soap. I push my tongue deeper and she raises her hips to meet it. It’s nectar. Like a drug. I push my tongue as deep as I can and I can feel the walls of her vagina squeezing down rhythmically. My God, she’s nearly cumming already! And then I remember what she said about touching herself, and I have to wonder how long ago, if ever, her last orgasm was.

I cover the tiny bump of her clit hood with my lips and squeeze it gently while stroking her now slick pussy lips with a finger. Remembering her fascination with the bottom licking, I tickle her arsehole with my little finger and the effect is extraordinary.

“Damien!” she squeals, clamping her thighs around my head. “Oh, God. Damien!” I smile as her bottom bounces around like crazy and her tiny high-pitched squeals of happiness fill me with joy. I’m almost cumming myself and my cock is so hard I wonder if it might actually burst.

Her climax seems to go on forever, and when she finally releases my head and I look up, her face is full of wonder and awe.

“Oh my God, Damien. That was so incredible,” she gushes. From her expression, I’m pretty sure that it must have been her first orgasm.

I grin at her, licking my lips. “You taste sensational, Theresa,” I tell her, and she looks like she might actually explode with happiness. “Do you want to taste yourself?” I ask, kneeling up. She astonishes me by leaning forward, taking my face in her hands and French kissing me deeply and passionately, her little tongue exploring all around my mouth. Her lips are so soft and her mouth seems to taste of peaches somehow. After what seems like ages, she leans back and smiles nervously at me.

“Was that right?” she asks.

“That was perfect,” I tell her. “You’re a born natural.”

Her wide, honest smile is beautiful. And then she looks at her watch. “I’d better go,” she says, pouting. I stand up and my erection is so bloody obvious. I see her looking again, and she sees me seeing her, and blushes. I’ve just made her cum with my tongue in her pussy, and she’s embarrassed to be caught looking at my groin: she is so fucking sweet I just want to crush her in my arms and eat her up!

She stands up and smooths down her skirt. I pick up her knickers, noticing that they’re quite moist, and go to hand them to her, but she looks at them and shakes her head. “I can’t put those in the wash,” she giggles.

I raise them to my nose and breathe in deeply. “Gorgeous.”

“Can I see it?” she asks.

“See what?” I ask, confused. She nods her head towards the bulge in my jeans, which twitches visibly under her eager gaze. I wonder for just a second what I’ve done to get so fucking lucky all of a sudden, but then undo the buttons of my 501s and pull them and my briefs down until my erection springs out.

“Wow,” she says, staring wide-eyed at it. “And that goes in ... wow.” The idea of my cock going in ... makes it get even harder, which I wouldn’t have thought possible. She giggles, covering her mouth, but stroking her slightly parted lips at the same time.

“I’d really better go,” she whispers, more to herself than to me, I think, as she continues to gaze longingly at my penis. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“At about eight?” I ask, clenching my groin so that my hard-on bobs.

She giggles again. “Yes.”

I want her to touch it so, so much, but she continues to slowly back out of the room, without ever taking her eyes off it. The moment I hear the door slam I grab my cock and, after only five or six strokes, I cover the seat of the sofa with my cum. Luckily, it’s leather.

Later on the phone rings and it’s Pen.

“I’m at the hospital,” she says. “Catherine is awake but the doctors still don’t know what caused it.”

“That’s good. Well, goodish.”

“They’re running more tests and keeping her in for observation. I’m going to stay with her tonight.”

“OK. Right.”

“Speak to me before you set off, just in case.”

“OK. Will do. Give Catherine my love.”

Understandably, I don’t sleep too well. Every time I shut my eyes I see Theresa’s sweet pussy and get a hard-on. Three large single malt scotches and a wank get me about five hours sleep, but as soon as I wake up, all I can think about is Theresa coming around at eight.

Eventually, the clock makes its glacial way round, and, at a quarter to, there’s a knock on the door.

I open it and there’s Theresa with the sweetest shy smile that I’ve ever seen. It almost screams, ‘You licked my pussy yesterday, but I hardly know you’. Unfortunately, she’s dressed in her non-school attire: grey combat trousers and a shapeless sweatshirt - I despair of most young girls’ dress sense nowadays, but I now know what lies beneath it, at least, some of it, and my penis begins to swell accordingly.

“We forgot some things yesterday, didn’t we?” she says as I welcome her in.

“Oh yes?” I reply, thinking, ‘Yes, I didn’t fuck you silly.’

“You didn’t tell me anything about your cats and...”

I let the ‘and’ slide, hoping against hope that it’s something very nice.

Fortunately, I’d anticipated the ‘cats’ issue and, while I was waiting for eight o’clock to come round, had drawn up instructions and printed them out for her. All I have to do is follow her pert little arse upstairs so that I can introduce her to Pepper, who is on the spare room bed, and then to Sam who is on our bed on the top floor.

As she bends over, making a fuss of Sam, I understand that even combat trousers can look good when stretched over a teenage girl’s pert bottom.