Rex Taylor - Turned on family

"It doesn't look like your parents are home," Sam ventured as they pulled to a stop in front of her house.

"Oh, there's just me and Mom," Robin said, smiling bravely. She seemed to have calmed down a bit, but her tummy still fluttered whenever she thought of those degenerates with their Goddamned hands on her body. "My Dad died when I was eleven. I guess Mom's working. At the Pepsi plant, you know? She works about every other Saturday."

Clutching her purse, the buttons and tie of her top rescued, Robin hesitated a moment before getting out. "God, I hate to go in by myself," she sighed. "Would you… I mean, would you mind…"

He walked her to the door and waited while she found her key. Robin knew the house wasn't fancy, but it was clean and respectable, all the same, and she wasn't embarrassed to have him come in.

But once inside the door all her composure seemed to vanish. Her head grew dizzy and she swayed on her feet. Sam caught her before she fell and she leaned against his body, drawing renewed strength from his presence.

"You poor kid," he commiserated, and she could see the sadness in his eyes. She hoped he understood that it was only because it was those guys who had tried to carry her away. Someone nice, someone demy, mamas decent, she caught the fresh, manly smell of his aftershave, even the scent of his unscented deodorant, and she felt the strength pulsing in his arms.

"I'm weak as a kitten," Robin sighed. "My heats going a mile a minute. See," and with that she took one of his hands and delicately placed it on the ascending curve of one boob that he might feel her pulsing excitement through the layer of her shirt and the warm cushion of her skin.

She held his hand there, sighing languidly as her excited flutter began to die down, and his fingers molded around the curve of her tit, touching her firmly but not possessively. Robin's pulse rate slowed a bit, and then it started to speed up once more and she felt a different kind of fluttering inside her body.

Her eyes darted up to examine Sam's face. He was blushing unawares, it seemed, and he was breathing a bit heavier than normal. Robin's leg moved demurely and touched Sam's lower belly. He was getting a hard-on inside his pants! Curious, she removed her hand from his to see if he'd let her go. He didn't. His fingers clung to her curvy jug, remaining there now of their own volition. He seemed not to notice that he was holding her tit. She cuddled her head against his chest, relishing the way her temple grazed his chin. There was such a sexy man-smell to him, she decided. All man. He made her think of Dennis. How long would it be till they were lovers once again? Why did the hours have to crawl by so slowly?

A careful glance down Sam's belly revealed to Robin that his cock was still erecting. He had a big tool. It seemed to fill the front of his pants, which were fashionably tight and just right for showing off a big hard-on. No wonder Mrs. Willis always had such a happy smile, Robin told herself with an inward giggle.

Something flashed across his eyes. He seemed to realize that he was cupping her titty, that she was no longer forcing him to do it. He let go quickly and put his hand on her shoulder. Robin melted against him, rubbing him more closely, her other boob rubbing his chest. Sam tried to pull back his crotch, obviously to keep her from noticing the hard-on he'd just discovered growing.

He was a beautiful guy, she thought, dark haired, dark-eyed, built like a dream even if he was a little on the short side. But he didn't seem to be a bit short where it counted. Not at all. Robin pulled away from him, a thin, sad smile on her face, her cheeks dimpled ever so pathetically just like the little girl trying to keep from crying. "Gee," she said, "I'm still shook up. Would you mind sitting with me awhile? Mom probably won't be back till later, and I'd hate to be alone right now."

Sam nodded, though it was evident he'd rather say no. "Sure," he said, "I can stay a little while."

"Great," she said. "I'll find a couple of drinks for us." She went into the kitchen, noticing as she turned the corner that Sam was engaged in reshuffling his half-hard dick inside his pants.

He was sitting in a chair in the living room when she returned, his legs crossed and high so that another hard-on, if one might occur, wouldn't be so obvious. Robin gave him his cola, then sat down on the couch with her own.

Her posture didn't satisfy her at first, so she shifted herself two or three times, looking for just the right angle of repose. It was the jeans, she knew. They were so tight they dug into her legs and thighs and – good God! – her gash, but these days tight jeans were in, and the stares they drew for her were worth any discomfort.

At last she drew her legs up onto the seat, knees pointing skyward, heels pressed against her ass. Her arms locked around her shins and she rocked a little, stretching the tight fabric even tighter. Mmm, that felt good! The pants were very snug against her otherwise bare cunt right now, really rubbing some feeling into her horny young snatch. Maybe she could get herself off, or nearly off, right there, with Sam watching. And he wouldn't even know!

Or would he? She decided that it would be fun to see if he guessed what she was up to. Sam Willis was a nice guy, pretty straight, she was sure. Certainly not the kind who'd ever dream of asking a pretty young teenager if she was masturbating herself on the crotchpiece of her blue jeans. AU he could do would be to sit and maybe wonder. Robin began to rock a little more vigorously, her legs parted at the knees, just enough to grind that crotchstrip against her fuzzy nest of golden curls and pink cuntlips. Oooooh, that felt good!

She saw his eyes narrowing as he sipped his Pepsi and made a brave attempt at conversation. Robin answered him half-heartedly, most of her attention devoted to the sawing of the jeans across her aroused pussylips, and she knew that he was watching her, suspecting, perhaps, but not accusing.

Robin was ascending the staircase to heaven, a warm tingly arousal created by her denims' tightness. It didn't take her long to get really hot, for she'd been wet cunted all day from that same tight pressure on her box. Sometimes she closed her eyes fitfully as she rocked, getting off on the buildup, and now she wished Mr. Willis would go home and leave her alone. There was a candle in her dresser drawer, a very special candle. It was big in circumference and it was long, and she'd used a match on its side to produce a big hard lump of wax halfway down that felt like bliss eternal when it jabbed her clitty as she slid that taper in and out of her pussy like the slowest, sweetest fuck imaginable.

She yawned, hoping he'd get the message, and his mouth opened as if he meant to speak when there was suddenly a loud rrriiippp! Oh, Christ! She'd stretched and pressed one time too many, and her crotch seam had burst. Robin felt a breath of air stirring her beaver and she looked down, painfully aware that Sam Willis was looking down, too, at the lovely muff of curly gold peeking through her torn jeans.

"I think I've torn something," she blushed. Mr. Willis blushed, too, and he looked up hastily from her exposed cunt. But he'd had time to get a great eyeful of the pussy hair that poked out of her torn pants, and he knew as well as she did that she wore nothing beneath those jeans but her body. It was too late now to get modest, Robin decided, and she sat there looking back at him, making no effort to bring her legs down or slide them together.

Sam coughed in embarrassment and he folded his arms across his lap, but not before Robin saw that he had a hard-on again. "You'd better change into something else," he suggested, but neither of them moved. More threads gave way, now that the wall had been breached, and the entire rosy oval of her wet gash peeked through the rent, reproving Sam for his staring.