Brianna leaves

You slump on the sofa, naked. Brianna has removed herself from your lap and your cock and is now cuddling up to you. You brush away several strands of hair that dangle in front of her face and kiss her. God, she’s gorgeous. Up close you can see the faint freckles around her nose, the same colour as her hair.

When you were her age, girls like Brianna would never have looked at you. Heck, several months ago, girls like Brianna would never have looked at you. Now, she’s cuddling up to you, coming down from the post-coital haze, your seed shot deep inside her. You could cuddle there forever.

But memories of last time surge into your mind. Last time Faye had turned up looking for her niece. If you don’t move soon, there’ll be a repeat. You can’t cuddle a naked Brianna forever.

“Come on, let’s get dressed,” you tell her.

“Do I have to, sir?”

“Yes, because the longer you’re naked, the more likely I’ll want to fuck you again.” You can already feel the stirring of your cock at the prospect. You’ve only just fucked her. How can you be getting hard already? Is this another improvement from the Bands of Cernunnos?

“I’d like that.” And the way she looks at you with her brown eyes, all innocent and sultry and captivating, stirs the depths of your lust and the blood in your groin.

“I bet you would.” In response you grasp her hands and pull her to her feet. She fights at first, then exaggerates your pull, so she ends up toppling into you. Her breasts press against your chest. Her face is in your face. Her arms are wrapped around you. You can’t help but kiss her again. You can’t help but feel the tightness of her ass with your hands. She gropes your ass in response.

Everything’s stirring again. No. You have to get dressed. You have to be ready, just in case. You spin her out of your arms and towards her piled clothes. You painfully pull away and towards your own. She watches you put on your boxers before she starts to get clothed. You don’t look back until you’re putting on your socks. By then she’s fully clothed.

You pick up the small sketchpad and look at the drawings. The first, the one she was still working on when you lost control, is of your penis. The basic shape of it is obvious, but she’d only just started working on the details. It could be anyone’s penis.

You move to the previous drawing, you sitting naked in the armchair, facing the artist. You’re recognisable, although she appears to have shorn off some of your flab. No, actually that flab that you’ve had ever since puberty has gone. She’s captured the state of your abs and your stomach, no longer fatty, just not yet muscular. She’s also exaggerated the size of your penis. You know the Bands have made it grow, but it can’t be that big.

“Isn’t this a bit much?” you ask her, pointing to the massive member she drew.

She looks at you coyly. “It feels that big when it’s in me.”

Fine. “I think you need to have more practice.”

“So do I, sir.”

“Maybe you should come over next Sunday and try again.”

“Do I have to wait until Sunday? That’s a whole week away.”

The way she’s looking at you. She’s moving her hips sinuously as if she’s uncomfortable. She’s batting her eyelids as if a light is shining into her eyes. She’s nibbling her bottom lip as if she’s found something irresistible there.

“We’ll see,” you manage to croak. “But next Sunday we can do another in depth examination.”

“I can’t wait, sir.”

And neither can you. But you must. You escort her to the office to pick up her other possessions. Then to the door. Before you open it, you kiss her. She wraps her arms around you, and presses her body against you, and you’re overwhelmed by her scent and her softness and her desire. It takes all your willpower to pull yourself away, open the door and see her out.