Sinful desires{steamiest short stories}

Melissa Fox was one, but, like so many teens, had suffered from shaky self- esteem. When she turned sixteen she’d been allowed to date, but parents kept her on a very short leash. There’d been numerous clashes regarding how much liberty she should have. Because grades hadn’t been tops, she’d learned the meaning of restriction.

She’d had a number of school-kid crushes, but hadn’t gone any further than some pretty intense kissing.

Most guys seemed too immature for her tastes where relationships and sexual matters were concerned. She wasn’t uninformed, but at eighteen was still a virgin though she’d been on the pill for a year. Virginity didn’t bother her as much as parental control, and she couldn’t wait to get away from home.

Melissa was attracted to more mature men – and had a thing for her science teacher, a man in his mid-thirties. She’d intentionally exposed herself a number of times – sitting in the front row, legs spread just enough to flash panties. It made him look. But no matter how she teased, he was wise enough not to fall for teenage games

.

For her eighteenth birthday, her parents had given her a computer. With high speed cable access to the world, she began a new chapter in self discovery. As a substitute for sex games with the teacher, Melissa began reading erotica on the web. She found two free sites that posted the hottest stuff she’d ever imagined.

She only logged in after her parents had gone to bed.

One author in particular got her attention. His stories made her so aroused she’d begun masturbating nightly, imagining herself in half of what she’d read.

On an impulse, she’d sent him an email, confessing how much she enjoyed his stories about younger girls and mature men, asking what provided the stimulus – if he’d really had those kinds of experiences.

He’d answered back two days later, thanking her for her compliments, and saying how nice it was to get positive feedback from readers.

She wrote to him again, and by the end of the month, the two were on a first name basis. She’d asked where he lived – what he did for a living – if he was married or involved. He’d told her he held an executive position with a small but rapidly growing company – that he’d gone to college – wasn’t married and wasn’t in a relationship.

She’d felt her cheeks burn when she discovered that they lived in the same town. It took a few days for her to say ‘what a small world’, and only three more to agree to meet him after classes at a local coffee shop.

Her heart was beating so fast she thought she might faint as she waited for him to show. He’d said he’d be wearing denims and a white shirt. He did. Though he was maybe fifteen years older, she thought he was so handsome, noting the trace of salt and pepper hair above nicely shaped ears.

‘Oh, my God!’ she thought, watching the man climb out of a metallic gray Porsche Boxster. He had short wavy hair and a wonderful tan – and just the bluest of eyes. She sighed just watching him lock the car. She tried to guess his height but couldn’t, until he came through the door. ‘Over six feet,’ she thought, hoping he wouldn’t see her blushing.

He walked straight to the counter, ordered a Cafe Americano with a shot of Espresso, paid the clerk and stepped to one side as he looked around the room. She lowered her eyes and took a deep breath,

“Melissa?”

She looked up into those dancing blues and felt herself melt. “Un-huh – that’s me. You gotta be Elliot.”

“That’s me,” he said, holding out his hand. “May I sit?”

She took his hand – a warm firm grip – and this time felt herself getting aroused. “Sure – I mean, yes – please – sit here.” They looked at each other, all smiles, neither speaking until she finally said, “So – you found me. I guess my directions were okay.”

“Perfect,” said Elliot. “Got here without a problem. You gave great directions.”

“I usually have to follow someone else’s,” she said, then blushed furiously, remembering that many of his stories revolved around submissive girls.

He didn’t take advantage of the pause, but stood and got his coffee when the clerk called to say his order was ready. She took a sip of her latte, then wiped her lips with a napkin when she saw him smiling and looking at her mouth.

“Foam?” she asked, dark eyebrows arched.

“Pretty mouth,” he said, simply, smiling and taking a seat. “You’re a very pretty girl.”© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

“Thank you,” she said, still blushing. “I’ve never done anything like this before in my life – I mean, meeting someone like this – a man – I’ve never done it.”

“Am I a disappointment?”

This time she felt like her face would break into flame. “Oh no! No way! I mean, like, you are not a disappointment – you are very nice looking – oh, my God. Listen to me. I’m sorry. I’m not very good at making new friends. I get all nervous.”

She brushed long dark hair back from her face and tried not to stare. ‘Oh, my God! He’s so cute.’

“I think you’re doing just fine,” he said with a smile. “I don’t get out socially too much, either. Work keeps me pretty busy.”

“But you have time to write,” she said before she’d given that more thought, the statement making her blush ever harder.

“Yes, I do.” He took a sip of his coffee. “I like to write – it’s a kind of catharsis – gets a lot of fantasy out of my head and onto paper. Cheaper than a shrink.”

They looked at each other, then laughed – a kind of laughter that takes the starch out of tensions. Still looking at each other, both sipped their drinks.

“So – you said you were in school. College?”

“I should be. I’m a year behind in school. I’m a senior. My folks held me back a grade when I didn’t study enough or turn in my papers.”

“Good for them, he said without apology. “Education is important. Don’t waste time in school – don’t let it slip by. Study and get a good education. It pays, believe me.”

“You must have gone to college.”

“I did. You go, too if you can. Really.”

She looked down at her hands and tabletop, fidgeting with a napkin and making an effort to mop up the damp spot her drink had made on the Formica surface. He was so good- looking she was having difficulty concentrating on the conversation – instead letting images from his stories undress in her mind.

They chatted about his work and her school – about music and the kind each liked – about endless trivia until Elliot, swirling the last of his coffee in the bottom of his cup said, “Well – any plans for the afternoon? It’s only three thirty.”

“I don’t have to be home until five.” “What would you like to do?”

She knew, and feared that he could see it in her face. Feeling heat rise again in her cheeks, she looked up into those blue eyes. “I shouldn’t say . . . ”

He looked out the window. “Want to take a ride? I’m a very safe driver.”

She looked at this man – and the decision fell from her lips like ripe fruit from a tree. “Sure – I trust you. But don’t make me wrong.”

“I won’t.”

He unlocked the door for her, and shut it after looking at her shapely legs and the way her short skirt had scooted high up her thighs. She made no attempt to pull it back down. He went around to the driver side, got in, buckled up and started the motor. They backed out of the spot and were on the freeway in just a few minutes.

She loved the sound of the engine and the way he drove – every move as smooth as pleasure. The traffic was lighter when he turned off the freeway and took a short twisting road up into the hills. Had she looked in the rear view mirror she could have almost seen her home.

“My place,” he said, pulling into a driveway of an expensive ranch style home and turning off the motor. “Want to have a look? We’ll leave anytime you say.”

“Sure,” she said, and smiled, large dark almond shaped eyes almost too large for a pretty face. “You have a really nice place.”

“It’s home,” he nodded, getting out and opening her door.

Melissa swung her legs out, and before taking an offered hand, she sat, legs spread, skirt so high up pretty thighs she could see the crotch of her white satin thong when she glanced down. So could Elliot, and he was looking.

Watching his eyes, she let him. When their eyes finally met, she took his hand and stood.

“Nice legs,” he said, and smiled. “You really are a very pretty girl”

.

“Thank you, again – but I wish I was taller. I’m the shortest girl in school. Even the freshman girls are taller. Maybe I’ll never grow.”

“You’re very pretty, Melissa. Don’t knock yourself. You are far prettier than most, believe me.”

She flushed, hotly, “Oh, my God! You make me blush too much.”

“No reason to be embarrassed. You have a great figure – it’s perfect – everything about you. Haven’t you looked in the mirror? You are one of the cutest girls I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re saying that.”

“Not so. I’ve known a few women and you put the majority to shame if looks are any criteria. You may be small – but everything is in the right proportion.”

Melissa looked down at the curve of her breasts under the cotton blouse. “I wish these were bigger.”

“They’re perfect for your height and figure,” said Elliot, unable not to stare at the length of the nipples that were tenting the white blouse. “They’re better than perfect if you ask me.”

Another blush – and a nervous giggle.

“Want to see inside?” he asked, hand sweeping toward the front door. “It’s not overly decorated – I like zero clutter – oriental rugs. I like well made things – art, furniture, music – girls.”

Melissa giggled and took his hand. “Sure – as long as I get home by five.”

“You have just over an hour,” he said, opening the front door.