Peter Jensen - Mother_s new boarder

"Wendy… Wendy, I've got to have you!" he gasped frantically.

"No, God, no…" she moaned, the shock of his plans sending lewd excitement through her, and her pussy quivered with her physical desire for him. She wanted him… she wanted that huge penis she was holding to bury itself deep, deep up in her trembling belly. God, how she wanted him!

"Wendy… Wendy, I can't wait any longer…"

He rolled on top of her and tried to lever his swollen cock between her thighs, down where his fingers were still massaging her inflamed, pink flesh. She kissed him hard as he continued thrusting down through the upper portion of her wet, hair-lined slit, fighting madly to reach the mouth of her smooth, virginal passage, his every stroke sending wild sensations through her as his cock-head rubbed the erect bud of her clitoris.

Then, once again, something snapped inside her brain, making her revolt from the act she was about to commit. His long, hard penis bearing down in determined concentration against the softness of her tender thighs and pulsating, but still intact cunt sent warning signals charging to her mind, its physical touch awakening her and breaking through the haze of wine-induced abandonment. The nearly forgotten vestiges of her principles, the morality her mother had taught her to hold sacred, came rushing back to her with tidal wave force, even as her young pussy angled upwards in its own betrayal to her prurient desires.

"No! No, Clyde, stop! I won't let you!"

"Damn you! You can't! You can't! I'm ready to cum! Don't chicken out, baby… you'll love it! Ohhhh!"

She pleaded, but he didn't seem to hear or care, and she reached down between them and took his hardened cock in her hands and squeezed it only seconds before he would have entered her with his thrusting, pummeling shaft.

"Ahhhh! You bitch! You teasing little bitch!" he groaned at her. "I'm cumming! God damn it, I'm cumming!"

As she grasped the thick, ramming penis and he continued to pump wildly, and cry out harshly, she felt his cock expand and contract in her clutching hands, and the helpless gasps of passion poured out of him. Hot sticky fluid spurted and soaked her white thighs and matted her soft curly pubic hair, running down the open crevice of soft pink flesh he had almost succeeded in conquering, pooling on the bedspread between her open buttocks. He collapsed on top of her, sobbing and spasming, and she warmly caressed his cock, letting the last of his cum drain out of her vaginal slit in a wanton display of perversion.

Slowly he sat up, not looking at her. He eased over to the side of the bed and let his feet touch the floor, and then he rose and took his underpants from the carpet and wiped himself. He threw the damp, soaked pants at her, and sneered: "You bitch. What a miserable thing to do to a guy. You're nothing but a prick-teaser."

Wendy, ashamed and humiliated beyond endurance, felt the sting of his castigation and tears welled in her eyes. "Clyde…"

"Shut up. Just shut up, will you? Clean yourself up and I'll take you home." His words were spit out as if he was talking to a street whore of the lowest kind. "I don't know what ever made me want to waste my time with a little baby like you."

He pivoted on his heel and stalked out the door, slamming it behind him, his loathing and disgust a thick, heavy entity in the room long after he'd left. Wendy sat in utter mortification and desolation for a long moment, her heart and soul tormented to their extremes. She took the sodden underpants he'd thrown at her and wiped her nakedness, opening her legs to clean the sticky, white seed from her vagina and burning loins, the pain in her unsatisfied and still seething tender pussy almost as much a sore reminder of what she had almost lost – and what she had lost in the way of a boy-friend by her refusal – as the persistent ache in her mind.

Slowly and disheartedly, Wendy rose from the bed and went into the bathroom to retrieve her clothes. Her mind whirled with doubts and self-abasement, a torturing melange of hating herself for almost succumbing, for allowing herself to get so carried away, for not letting Clyde fuck her and thereby keep him… God, what should she have done? What was the right way, the best way? The noble words of her mother's philosophy sounded extremely hollow in her ears at that moment, the victory for her virginity a Phyrric one at best…

She'd talk to her mother when she got home. Mother would know what was the best thing for her to have done… and do…

Marleen Franklin closed the shop at seven o'clock, five minutes after Wendy's current boyfriend, Clyde Brooks, picked her daughter up in his sports car. She thought of Wendy as she walked up to the dark and empty apartment after she'd done the ledgers for the day, thought of how much a boon and companion she'd been as well as a child of which to be proud. She wasn't worried about Wendy being with boys; the doctor had assured her that Wendy was still a virgin as of the last checkup, and she was a good girl by nature. Marleen was well aware of the traps and snares young people could fall into in this day and age, and she was doing her best to keep Wendy from falling into any of them. She'd thought she'd fairly well succeeded, and looked forward to the day when Wendy would be an equal, an adult and mature, and no longer her little child.

Not that Wendy was a child any longer; one look at her in the shower and soaping her full-shaped breasts or now matured vaginal area told her that. And Marleen had looked, and looked whenever Wendy was displaying herself, because she was proud of having produced such a fine girl-woman and drawn with loving tenderness to her daughter. And yet… there were times when she'd watched Wendy's snub-nosed, freckle-faced innocence combined with the lush provocativeness of upright, taut breasts and flat belly and gently sloping thighs where her triangle of soft pubic fleece lay between so prominently, and Marleen had been worried that perhaps Wendy was emerging into maturity a little too fast. But then she'd laugh away her silly fears, for the world was simply spinning faster these days, and hadn't she gotten married at nineteen?

Upstairs, she puttered around the kitchen, a bit sad and feeling lonely with Wendy out. The new tenant was constantly on her mind, and as hard as she tried to dismiss their new boarder, Dave Preston, from her thoughts, the more he seemed to come back to haunt her. He'd been in and out of the apartment all of that day, with his flaxen-haired girlfriend, Gloria something-or-other. She looked like a whore, smelled of cheap rose water, and chewed gum; Marleen had not thought much of her, although she had to admit that the woman had a fine and sensual body and knew how to move it. She didn't walk – she strutted! Not that it was any of her business what Preston did or didn't do with that woman, she chastised herself…

She undressed for bed early, deciding to go to lie down and watch some TV from the portable set in the bedroom and just plain relax. It had been a harrowing day what with one thing and another, and she was awfully tired…

She stood naked after stripping her clothes off and hanging them up, examining herself critically in the light of the bedroom before switching on the TV. She took the pins out of her hair and let the long silky strands fall; they covered her breasts partially, with only the dark aureoles and nipples peeking through, and the bottom crest of translucent flesh mounded below the hairline. She let her eyes move across her still flat plane of stomach, past the few stretch marks left over from Wendy's birth, down to the softly curling pubic hair which covered her pinkly hidden vaginal lips. Then she stretched, throwing her hair over her shoulder, and looked at her smooth satiny buttocks, the rippled muscles in the back of her slim, tapered thighs, and shapely, slim legs.