Natalie Daniels stakes her claim

I bid Kira farewell and drive home whistling. My life right now is one incredibly tight teenage cunt after another, I think to myself again. This is fucking beautiful. I wonder who the next one will be? It still seems incredible to me that there will be a next one, but as strange as it is, it seems to be assured.

*******

Lily is out a lot more these days than she used to be. How much of it is just because it’s the summer after high-school graduation and how much is her not wanting to be around while her best friends fuck her dad, I don’t know. Just because I’m a professional therapist with a Ph.D. doesn’t mean teenage girls are any less strange to me now than they were when I was a teenager.

The sound of the doorbell breaks my train of thought. I get up to answer the door—to my surprise, I find Natalie Daniels standing there. I invite her in, collect my scattered wits, and offer her a seat. She settles in on one end of the couch; I ask her if she’d like a drink, but she declines graciously. I sit sideways on the other end of the couch and ask, “What brings you by, Natalie?”

Natalie starts unbuttoning her shirt. “Come on, Ben, we’ve known each other for a while now,” she purrs. “I know what’s going on, and I know Abby told you I know. I had meant to wait until all the girls had had their crack at you”—she pulls off her shirt and tosses it on a chair, revealing a red-and-black bustier—“but I’ve decided I can’t wait that long.” She stands up and undoes her wrap skirt; she’s wearing matching panties, garter belt, and stockings, with the panties over the garters. She straddles my lap and throws her arms around my neck. “Tonight, at least, you’re mine.”