My Daughter’s Friend

When my daughter had asked if her best friend from college could spend Christmas break with us at our beach house, I had been in the middle of a conference call, in the middle of receiving a novel of angry texts from my (now ex) wife, and on my way to the airport and hadn’t even really heard what she had she asked.


I just said yes, because Michelle is usually a good kid and a great student, and if she wants something that is fair and reasonable, and I can help her have it, I am happy to.


I am an absurdly busy man, with the exception of about three weeks a year, which is a big part of why I seem to collect ex-wives. I hadn’t even remembered she had asked.


When I stumbled out of my room and into the kitchen, half-unconscious and deliriously jetlagged, fresh from a business trip in Beijing, I was shocked to see a beautiful young woman I had never met before standing there in her pajamas cutting up an apple.


“You must be Mr. Cait.” You said. I wondered if I was still asleep, and dreaming that beautiful women were casually slicing apples in my kitchen at 3 in the morning. “I’m Michelle’s friend.”


My body didn’t even know what timezone it was in. I think I almost fell asleep standing up looking at you, wondering if you were some strange tame fantasy I was taken with.


“Michelle told me you just came back from China. You look too jetlagged to stand up. Do you want to go back to bed, or do you want some apple and peanut butter?”


“Call me Adrian,” I said. It didn’t sound great. I sounded like someone who had just spent 20 hours on planes and in airports. I told you I would have some apple and peanut butter. I watched as you took a second one and started to prepare a second plate.


I wondered how long you had been here. You seemed to belong so comfortably as if you had always lived here with me.


You were talking to me. I don’t know what you said. I watched as your manicured hands prepared the apple, slicing it meticulously. Your nails were red. I looked down at your toenails. They matched.


I stumbled back into my bed with the apple and peanut butter and glass of milk you had poured for me. The apple tasted sweeter knowing that you had touched it. I felt guilty for it.


You had come here to relax over winter break, not to have a man twice your age drool all over you.


I slept for the better part of a day. When I woke up I heard the TV blaring. I walked into the living room to see you in a long casual red sundress, struggling with one of the entertainment system’s many remotes.


“Adrian!” You yelled over the painfully loud TV. “Please, can you fix it?”


I saw that you were holding the remote to the Firestick. I fetched the TV remote and turned it down to a livable volume.


“What do you have so many remotes for?” You asked.


I shrugged. Some cooking show was on. You settled back into the sofa with a bowl of chocolate chip cookies. They smelled incredible. When you offered me one I had to take one.


That’s when I noticed the faint smell in the house. I asked you if you baked them. You said yes. Suddenly I was sitting on the sofa beside you.


“Where is Michelle?” I asked.


“Out on a date.” You said. I looked at the time. It was midnight.


“With who?”


“We met some guys on the beach today. One of them.”


Part of me wished that she was home instead, and not out with some random beach kid, who was probably a handsy idiot.


Part of me what delighted to be alone with you. I bet that one of them had asked you to go with them, and you had decided to stay here instead.


I needed to know why.


“It might be a little rude of her to leave you behind,” I said, asking without asking.


“I was invited, but it’s not my thing.”


“And what is your thing?” I asked. I tried to sound casual, but there was no mistaking the tone. I knew that this was going to either be very good or very bad.


Maybe both.


I noticed that my hand was on your arm. I wondered how long I had been rubbing circles into your skin gently with my thumb. I also wondered how long you had been leaning into me and not pushing me away.


When we kissed it was like nothing I had ever felt before. Suddenly I was on top of you and the cookies were all over the floor. I kissed your ears, your neck, and your chest down to where the fabric of it started to cover your breasts. The material was thin and I could see your nipples starting to harden through it.


You were breathing heavy and low, your eyelids half closed over your eyes as I let my hands roam, touching your ass and breasts through your dress.


You were not wearing a bra.


And I could feel through the long thin skirt of your dress that you weren’t wearing panties either.


I smiled at you, probably with all the subtle delight of a starving wolf.


“I think I know what your thing is.” I said.


Your cheeks were flushed.


I started with my hands on your ankles and moved them up your long smooth legs higher and higher, pushing your dress out of the way as I went.


When I went to tease your pussy at first, just sliding a finger lightly between your lips, barely even touching you at all.


You were already wet. I groaned and you whimpered a high little sound.


When I knelt to taste you shook. I tongued your clit as I fingered you with only a single finger. I felt you pressing against my face and hand, seeking more pressure and more sensation. When I slid a second finger into you I felt your walls quake.


Before I knew it your thigh muscles were tightening. I could see and feel your pelvis straining and your pussy clamping down on my fingers, trying to keep them inside and pulled them deeper.


The thought of how that would feel around my cock almost killed me.


 I knew you were close, so I gave you a little more, my fingers entering you harder and deeper as I gave your thigh a little bite.

The mix of pleasure and slight pain was enough to send you over the edge. With a small wail, you dug your fingers into my hair and squirted all over my face and my sofa.


“Holy shit.” I said. I looked down at you. Your chest was heaving. One of your perfect breasts had escaped the confines of your dress.


I wanted to play with it.


So I wiped your juices off my face with the hem of your dress and got to licking and squeezing it. You moaned softly, in a post-orgasmic haze as I nibbled and kissed your breast. When I looked up I noticed that you looked completely shocked, and not necessarily in a positive way.


I stopped immediately.


You took my hand. “I uhhh….” You had seemed so confident before. “What…?” You pointed at my face. “I, um, I have never…” I wanted to offer more help, but my cock was throbbing in my pants and aching to be inside you and I really was not sure what you were trying to say.


“I would have warned you but I didn’t know that, well, you know…because I don’t do that.”


Then I understood.


No one had ever made you squirt before.


I picked you up, settling you on my lap so you could feel just how hard I was. I kissed you and you melted against me, rocking against my hard cock just a little bit.


“Baby,” I started softly. You were still flushed and pliant from your first orgasm. By the end of the night, I hoped to wring at least 2 or 3 more out of you. “I love it.”


You looked surprised. It took you a second to process what I said. I watched as realization overtook you. Your smile was brilliant and the slow grinding of your hips against my hard cock was steadily driving me insane.


“Do you know what I love?”


You rubbed your wet pussy directly on my hard cock through my pants. I felt your juices soak through the fabric as you rubbed and rubbed against me, your nails digging into my back and your hands digging into my hair.


I felt like I was going to die.


I had never wanted to fuck another person so badly in my entire life.