Chapter 4

I first saw Cecily Arnold in the hall of the junior high in seventh grade. She was everybody's dream girl—honey-blonde hair, startling blue eyes, the complexion of a Kansas farm girl, and a trim, sexy body. She wasn't overtly sexy or slutty, just gorgeous. There wasn't a boy in the school who didn't want to have her as his girlfriend.

Under ordinary circumstances I would never had stood a chance with her; but, thanks to my gift, I knew I could make her mine whenever I wanted. That's why I set up the sex lessons with Meghan: so that when Cecily and I got together, I could be the experienced lover that I wanted to be.

Funny thing how you never know what twists and turns life will provide: I never did have the long, romantic relationship with Cecily that I dreamed of, but I did fuck her mother in the ass in the middle of her own living room! And how I got to that point is a strange story.

When Meghan finished teaching me about sex, I was ready to approach Cecily. Not that that was easy, as she was always surrounded either by guys or by her posse of the four or five other hottest girls in the 10th grade. Cecily was not only beautiful, she was the #1 Miss Popularity, and she ruled her subjects with an iron hand.

She was, in short, a stuck-up bitch, though I was unconcerned about that at first because she was so lovely.

Cecily and I had the same American History class, so I planned to catch her after class and see whether she responded to my suggestions. It took nearly two weeks to find a moment when her followers weren't right next to her. As she approached the door I stepped right in front of her, gazed into her eyes and said, "Cecily, I'd like to talk to you for a minute."

That was all I dared do in public—no crossed eyes or fingers in the ears! To my relief her face relaxed as I spoke, and she waited patiently for me to continue.

"Please meet me at your locker right after school. If there are other kids around, tell them to go away so that we can talk alone." She nodded agreeably and my heart leapt. Yes! Mission accomplished, or at least begun.

When I neared her locker that afternoon, she was as usual surrounded by six or eight hangers-on; but I saw her dismiss them coldly, and they wandered off down the hall as I approached. We were alone, no one within 50 feet.

"Cecily," I said quietly, looking at her, "please tell me whether you know who I am."

"You're, uh, Dave something," she said, looking a little vague. "You're in ... in some class of mine, I can't remember which one."

That annoyed me a little! Everyone knew HER, but she clearly didn't spend much energy on learning who anyone else was, beyond the popular crowd. This confirmed what I already suspected, that she needed to be taken down a peg.

"Please get what you need from your locker and I'll walk you home. As we walk we'll talk, and gradually you're realize that you're attracted to me, that you want me to be your boyfriend.

"The more we're together, the stronger the attraction will get, until you're desperate to have me. You'll be willing to humble yourself a little to get me. And you'll be eager to do anything sexual that I might want—the idea of using your sexuality to win me will be a big turn-on for you. You won't remember this conversation, but you'll do everything I've said."

That was all it took! And that's how my relationship with Cecily Arnold began. We chatted about this and that on the walk home, and bit by bit she started walking closer to me, so that our shoulders bumped. She giggled more when I said something funny, and put her hand on my arm a few times. And we got to her door she said, "Dave, would you like to come in? We could have a soda or something."

"Oh, no thanks," I answered, seeing the disappointment in her face. "I've gotta get home—maybe another time."

"Okay," she said, gazing at me from under her lovely eyelashes. "Well, give me a call sometime, and we'll get together, okay?"

"Sure, Cecily. 'Bye!"

The next day in history class, Cecily made a point of coming over and talking to me, waiting until after the bell rang to scurry back to her seat. She asked if I could walk her home again, and looked very disappointed when I said I was busy.

The following day she waited at MY locker after school, posing very saucily with her hip cocked, leaning against the wall, as I approached. God she was pretty!

"Hi, Dave," she cooed. "I wondered if you'd like to go out to the movies or something this weekend?"

"Gee, Cecily, I don't know. I sort of had the impression you were going out with Brad Somerville, aren't you?"

She looked genuinely perplexed, as though this hadn't occurred to her. "Well, I was—but I decided he's not right for me."

"So you broke up with him?"

She smiled fetchingly. "Uh huh—only he doesn't know it yet. But I'll be taking care of that later today."

"Well, let me know when you've done that, okay?" And without another word I strolled away, leaving her looking somewhat stunned at my departure.

She didn't wait until any later than 8 pm that evening to call me.

"Dave, I wanted you to know that I spoke to Brad—he's not my boyfriend anymore. What do you think about this weekend?"

"Y'know, Cecily, I might be busy doing some stuff with my buddies. Tell you what—how about you check with me on Friday, and I'll let you know."

"But Dave, I—" she sounded unhappy. "I, uh, okay, I guess that'll be fine."

We chatted for a couple more minutes, and then I told her I had to get to my homework.

Each day that week I saw Cecily looking at me in history, as well as whenever our paths crossed in the hallway. She was surrounded by her acolytes, but didn't seem to be listening to what they were saying; instead she had a preoccupied, thoughtful look on her face. She would give me a broad smile and a wave, but my quite casual nod back to her seemed to leave her a bit less than pleased.

On Friday I purposely avoided her in history class, managing to get out the door before she could speak to me. I figured she'd corner me after school, and I was right: there she was at my locker, smiling winningly. She seemed to have rolled up the waistband of her skirt, because it was astonishingly short, showing off more of her great legs than I'd ever seen before.

"Oh, hey, Cecily—what's going on?" I said casually.

"Dave, you said, uh, well I wondered if we could go out this weekend."

"Oh, yeah," I replied, as if I'd forgotten about it. "Sure, why not? How about a movie tomorrow night?"

"Great!" she replied, and planted a kiss on my cheek, giving me a chance to notice how delicious she smelled. "Could we, uh, walk home now, and talk about it?"

This time on our walk Cecily didn't just content herself with bumping shoulders occasionally; she let her hand swing against mine several times, and when I didn't take the hint she actually grabbed my hand and held onto it. I didn't let on, but the feeling was thrilling. Those of you who are long past the teenage years may not remember how exciting just holding hands can be, especially with an absolutely beautiful girl.

The movie we saw on Saturday night was a spy thriller, not the romantic chick flick that was her first choice. But her disappointment about that didn't prevent her from getting very friendly in the dark: she held my hand for a while, then pulled my arm around her shoulder and snuggled in against me with a sigh, and after awhile started turning her head up to face me, offering herself for a kiss.

I ignored this for the first hour or so, and then finally responded with a short kiss, pulling away before she could really get into it. A few minutes later I kissed her again, and this time she put a hand on my neck to hold me close while her mouth opened and her tongue came sliding between my lips. I was rock-hard in ten seconds, but I never let on, just enjoying the kiss without really working at it.

In no time we were necking, Cecily working hard at it, me just passively letting her rape my mouth. It was heavenly—but I pulled back after a few minutes and said, "I want to see how the movie ends." The shocked look on her face was priceless!

But she sat back reluctantly, still holding my arm around her; and after a few minutes she started sliding her other hand gently up and down my thigh. I wondered if she'd actually grab my cock, which was achingly hard, but she didn't go that far, and we didn't do anything else until the movie ended.

When I walked Cecily to her door she asked if I'd like to come in for a while. "My mom is upstairs—she never stays up late when I'm on a date," she said.

"No, I think I'll head home—I've got a lot to do tomorrow," I said, and watched as Cecily's face took on a look of pure astonishment.

"Are you sure, Dave?" she asked, stroking my arm lightly with her fingers. "We could ... sit together on the couch for a little while, and just ... visit."

"No, that's okay—I'll see ya, Cecily." I gave her a quick peck, not allowing her a chance to fling her arms around me, and headed for the door. I had an erection that felt like a baseball bat, but I was determined to play hard to get until she was totally desperate.

And that's how our relationship progressed: Cecily offering herself more and more eagerly, me casually accepting some of her advances but rejecting others. We walked home from school a couple of times a week—she always invited me in, but I usually said no. When I did go in, we had some amazing necking on her couch, ending up with me lying on my back and her on top of me, rubbing that terrific body all over me.

About the fourth time we did that, she pulled her mouth away from mine after half an hour of hot kissing and said, "Dave, it would be all right if you, uh, touched me."

"What do you mean?" I asked, playing the innocent, and she blushed a little.

"My, uh, my breasts. Guys usually want to touch me there—I'd like it, I think, if you wanted to."

"Oh," I said, looking thoughtful. "No, that's okay. It's nice just kissing you."

She just looked at me! I don't think she could ever have imagined that happening to her in her whole life—who would be so crazy as to refuse a chance to feel her tits?

After a long minute during which she kept gazing at my face, she said, "Dave, can I, uh ... I mean, ah, you're not gay, are you?"

I laughed! She could hardly think that with all the rubbing she'd been doing against my hard cock! For as much as I was playing it cool, there wasn't any way in hell I could avoid having an erection, not with her kissing me and rubbing herself all over me.

"No, Cecily, I'm not gay, not at all."

"Well then, don't you, ah, find me attractive?" She gave me a sexy pouting look that actually made my cock twitch. What a gorgeous girl she was!

"Sure, you're ... you're real pretty," I replied, purposely sounding not all that enthusiastic. She gasped—no doubt every previous guy in her life had practically tripped over his tongue telling her how fantastically beautiful and sexy she was.

She just stared at me for another long moment. Then finally she said, "I'll be right back, okay? Don't go anywhere!" And she disappeared up the stairs for a couple of minutes.

When she came back down she was a vision—as lovely as before, and much more sexy. She'd taken off her shoes and pantyhose, along with her sweater, and let her hair down so it flowed loosely around her shoulders. Her button-down shirt was untucked and held together by only a single button, right between her breasts, and I could see from the way they swung inside the shirt that she'd taken her bra off, too.

Coming over to the couch with a determined look she said, "now, where were we?" And she lay down beside me and began to kiss me ferociously, one arm around my neck, the other pulling my shirt out from my pants and sliding beneath it against the bare skin of my back.

I'd been enjoying playing hard to get, but this time my little head said, "hey, don't I get a vote?" So as we kissed, and her hand roamed around my back, I slid my hand up under her shirt and stroked her back, making her moan into my mouth. When she pulled my hand around to one of her fantastic breasts I didn't resist, but caressed it with pleasure.

Pleased and obviously turned-on, Cecily waited only a minute before sitting up, pulling my shirt off over my head, and opening her last button, then lying back down to rub her boobs against my chest as she deep-kissed me again.

I don't know if you can really compare great breasts all that well. Meghan's had been fantastic, really big and unbelievably soft and firm at the same time. Cecily's weren't as big but they were just so gorgeous, with pink nipples that were rubbing all over me.

We writhed and pushed against each other, kissing and touching. Cecily again pulled my hand to her breasts, this time with no shirt in the way, and I happily played with them, feeling her arch her hips against my rock-hard dick.

I wanted to see how far she'd go; so after a few delicious minutes of this I sat up, holding her gently away from me, and said, "uh, I guess I should go."

Once more I saw the look of utter astonishment on her lovely face. "But Dave, we, I ... do you have to?"

"Well, I've got a lot of homework," I said, reaching for my shirt to pull it back on.

In desperation she grabbed my arm. "Wait, I ... just wait a minute."

She slid off the couch and kneeled on the floor between my knees, shrugging out of her shirt so I could gaze at her tits. Then, staring straight up into my eyes, she slid her hands over the bulge in my pants, cooing at me a little, before unbuckling them and pulling down my zipper.

"Wait," I said, "Cecily, you shouldn't—" but she ignored me, reaching clumsily into my boxers and fishing out my dick. Despite the game I was playing, I knew there was no way I was going to stop her.

Her hand was warm and soft, and it felt fantastic. I let her pull my pants and boxers down, and then she leaned forward, hesitantly, and took just the tip of my cock in her mouth.

I loved it! It was obvious she'd never done this before, which was no surprise to me. Girls as gorgeous as Cecily could have all the boyfriends they wanted without giving it up—it was the less attractive girls who needed to use sex to acquire or hang on to a boy. It seemed as though Cecily had had her tits fondled before, but probably nothing beyond that.

Glancing nervously up at me from time, she proceeded to tentatively take a couple of inches of me into her mouth, sliding her lips up and down my rod. It was a totally amateurish blowjob, especially compared to the enthusiasm and skill I'd enjoyed with Meghan, but it was still a thrill. This was Cecily Arnold! The inspirer of wet dreams throughout the entire high school!

Just to encourage her a little I said, "Cecily, are you sure you, I mean I probably should go."

She looked up at me, desperately, and took another inch into her mouth, somehow managing to shake her head at the same time! Then she lifted off and said, "no, Dave, please, I want to..." And she bent down and took me between her lips again.

At that point I relaxed and enjoyed it. By objective standards, not a great blowjob. But Cecily's inexperience, coupled with her obvious determination to please me, made it tremendously pleasurable. She never got more than four inches or so into her mouth, but she sucked and licked and it felt great. And she got more confident after a while, hearing my moans and murmurs of pleasure.

And finally after about ten minutes I could feel it coming; I said, "oh, oh, it's..." to give her some warning, and then I shot my cum right down her throat. She couldn't keep her mouth on me—she gagged and coughed and pulled away. Desperately reaching for her shirt, she used it as a towel and spit the contents of her mouth into it, gasping for breath.

As I sat back, happy and satisfied, she gazed up at me affectionately, stroking my legs lovingly. "Dave, I ... was that ... nice?"

"Uh, yeah, that, it was ... nice ... I guess," I replied a little doubtfully. "And I guess it doesn't really matter that you didn't swallow." I was a cruel bastard!

Her sweet face took on a hurt look, and I saw tears in her eyes. But then she smiled at me bravely and said, "I can practice—I'll bet I can learn to do that!"

"Well," I said, "I really do have to go." I stood up, pulling up my boxers and pants, and reached for my shirt. Still topless, Cecily hugged me to her, and walked me to the door holding me close in her arms. (God, those breasts felt good pressed against me!)

"Dave, we're going to ... I mean, can we go out again this weekend?"

"Sure—I'll call you," I said vaguely, and gave her the half-hearted kiss of an overworked husband on his way to the office in the morning.

The pattern was set, and all I had to do was play it out. I treated Cecily coolly, didn't give her much encouragement, and she worked harder and harder to please me, wanted more and more desperately to be with me. She talked the history teacher into rearranging the desks so we were next to each other; she met me every day at my locker to see if we could walk home together (I said yes no more than twice a week, just to keep her on her toes); and she dragged me into her house for necking and blowjobs whenever she could talk me into it.

The blowjobs got better. My apparent lack of enthusiasm spurred her onward; I don't know if she was reading about technique on the Internet or talking to her friends, but her sucking got stronger, she took me deeper, she started caressing and licking my balls, and in general the quality improved delightfully!

One day when I acted as though I was actually going to leave in the middle of a blowjob she got a frightened look on her face, then said, "wait, I..." And she slid forward and took my cock between those fantastic tits. A boob job! It was my first—somehow this was something that Meghan and I never got to.

My already-wet dick felt as happy as it had ever been, sliding between her lovely breasts as she held them together around my cock. I grunted and humped at her energetically, making her smile happily at me. When I got close to coming, I pushed her head down a little and she eagerly took me back in my mouth. By this time she was swallowing my cum regularly, and I'd taught her to lick and suck my dick clean afterwards. It was a very satisfying experience.

Cecily wanted to be with me all the time, but I limited her to one date per weekend—a movie, or dinner at some fairly cheap restaurant I could afford, or just a make out session on her couch. My parents knew I had a girlfriend but I hadn't brought her to meet them—just because that would have made Cecily feel more secure, which I didn't want.

And when she asked me to come for dinner and meet her mom I put her off at first. I was curious, actually, to see what the mother of a stuck-up beauty would be like, but I decided to bide my time a little.

At school, Cecily's posse of popular girls was utterly baffled. Why was the Popularity Queen, their ruler and law-maker, hanging out with some nerdy kid nobody even knew? Why, she'd dumped Brad Somerville for me—was she NUTS?

But as I watched her, it was clear that Cecily's overall attitudes had not changed. She was crazy about me, but in every other respect she was as haughty and dismissive of the "non-popular kids" as ever. It was just that I was somehow, magically, an exception to her scorn.

I did get a kick out of watching her disappointed male admirers. It wasn't news that she had a boyfriend—before me had been Brad Somerville (who still hung around her with a truly pathetic longing look on his face) and before that various others of the most popular boys in school—but her involvement with me had made her less flirtatious, less interested in even stringing them along, and they sensed the difference.