Stacey slammed the door behind her as she walked into their house, getting home from work. Her boyfriend, Chris, had called her while she was driving to tell her that he wasn’t coming over tonight. She was incredibly angry at him — her parents hardly ever left her home alone, and she had been looking forward to having him over for most of the weekend.
She had planned everything out, and had spent most of the day thinking about taking him into the hot tub, where they would fool around, ending the night with a long session of rounds of sex in her room. She had been wet most of the day just thinking about it.
But apparently, Chris thought it was more important to go on a road trip with the semi-pro hockey team than to take advantage of a weekend with her parents gone.
Stacey and Chris had been dating since thier junior year of high school, and he was the only guy she had ever slept with. Lately, she had begun to think that whatever had attracted her to him in the first place was completely gone, as she was getting more and more frustrated with him. she didn’t ask much — it wasn’t like she got jealous whenever he was with his friends or anything like that. But she did expect him to spend some time with her, and the fact that he would rather chase a hockey team than come over and fuck her as he wish didn’t have anything to do with her being possessive or jealous — it was insulting. She don’t understand how he would rather go on some sausage-fest hockey trip rather than have sex with her.
Shortly after she had kicked her shoes at the hall closet, nearly hitting the cat, and dropped her bags in the living room, the doorbell rang. she jumped, thinking that perhaps, her boyfriend had changed his mind, and ran to the door, grinning as she opened it. Her excitement went down as he was who was Standing on the door.
Mr. Orton, one of her neighbours, was standing on the front step with a few envelopes in his hand. The smile on her face faded slightly. “Hi Mr. Orton,” she said as pleasantly as she could.
“Hi, Stacey,” he said. He looked at her knowingly. “Expecting someone else?”
she blushed and shook her head. “No, not really.”
He laughed. “I know your parents told you that I will be checking up on you, though I don’t expect you to be all by yourself all weekend. Don’t worry, I won’t tell them.”
she sighed. “No, Mr. Orton, I’m really not expecting anyone.”
He frowned. “What about that boyfriend of yours, Charles or whatever his name was?”
“No, Chris,” she corrected him. “He went on a road trip with the hockey team.”
“I’m sorry,” said Mr. Orton. “Well, I just came to drop these letters. The mailman put them in my box again by accident”
Stacey nodded, embarrassed. Mr. Orton must have thought she was pathetic — she had the house to herself the whole weekend, and she couldn’t get her boyfriend to come over. she took the letters from him and smiled at Mr. Orton as he turned and walked away. He was a really nice guy, and more than once she had found herself staring at him, wondering what he’d be like in bed. He was much older than she was. She had put him at almost 45, but he didn’t look it. she usually saw him jogging in the mornings on her way to work, or when college was in session, school. He was in pretty good shape, not built like some of the guys her age are, but pretty trim. He had big broad shoulders, and dark black hair. A couple years ago, he had been a professor at the college she was going to now. But last year, before she started, he decided to change professions and started working as a researcher for some big company that allows him make his own days and hours, so long as he came up with results. she was a bit disappointed — she had been looking forward to taking Mr. Orton’s class for a long time.
She closed the door after he had stepped off the porch, though she didn’t bother locking it behind her.
Whatever she thought about Mr. Orton was really just fantasy — she knew he thought she was still just a kid, even though she was already done her first year of college. she couldn’t really blame him for that. she was fairly short, and pretty small. she hated how boyish her body looked, sometimes. Stacey’s breasts weren’t that small, but unless she wore an extreme push up bra, she had no cleavage at all. Her hips were fairly undefined, and she really wished she had curves. To keep herself from feeling like a boy, she let her blonde hair grow long, but that just made her look younger. No one ever believed that she was 20. When she was in school, people always thought she had skipped a grade, when in actuality, she started school a year late, and was a year older than most of her graduating class. she just looked young. she doubted that Mr. Orton found her attractive at all. Plus, his wife had left him just a couple months before for a guy who was only a few years older than her. Being with someone her age probably wasn’t one of his top priorities right now.
But still, she couldn’t help herself from imagining Mr. Orton coming over and just taking her. There was soherthing intriguing about being with an older man, especially one who looked like Mr. Orton. she loved the idea that he could show her so much, just the idea that he was older. she wondered if he would treat her like an equal, or like she was some young kid. she had to admit, she would love if Mr. Orton would treat her kind of like a kid — telling her what to do, teasing her… she sighed as she walked down the hall, flipping through the letters he had handed her. she must be insane, she thought. she put the letters on the kitchen counter and leaned against it, thinking. she had an image in her head of Mr. Orton lifting up her skirt and licking her pussy, her fingers tangled in his salt-and-pepper hair as he tongue-fucked her. The thought made her bite her lips. Her pussy was wet, and had been fairly slick most of the day as she had thought about her boyfriend, but she was too mad at him now. Mr. Orton, on the other hand…
she let one of her hands slide up her stomach and start to rub her breast through her shirt. she only had a thin bra on underneath her blouse, and she could feel her nipple poking through. she pinched it through the fabric and cried out softly. Most of the time, she didn’t need to wear a bra — her breasts were small and firm enough that you couldn’t really tell in certain shorts – but she felt wrong going to work without one on. Still, they were sensitive, and even through the fabric, touching them was making her even wetter. she kept rubbing her nipple through her blouse as she lifted her skirt slightly, using a single finger to rub against her pussy, over her damp pantie.