The Nymphet - A Summer Obsession

"No, you wouldn't be intruding," said Millicent, without consulting me. "We'd love to have you, wouldn't we, dear?"

"It would be nice," I said, trying very hard to keep the anger out of my voice. "But I made the reservation a month ago. You know how difficult it is to get a table at L'Auberge. We can't just show up with a party of three for a reservation for two."

"Well, call them, dear," said Millicent. "I'm sure they can fit us in. After all, you give them plenty of business with all the work dinners you do there."

Actually, I had never done a work dinner at L'Auberge, but I let it pass. Millicent was being difficult, and I could not understand why. Nonetheless, I pulled out my cell phone and called the restaurant. The girl at reservations was notoriously supercilious and kept me on hold for a good ten minutes before telling me that, no, they were fully booked and could not accommodate a party of three. She asked me if I wanted to keep my original reservation.

"They can't take three," I said to Millicent. "So we'll have to go, just the two of us."

"I had a hard day at work, dear," she replied, yawning and stretching. "And I'm tired. I'm not sure I want to go all the way to town for dinner. Why don't I fix something simple for the three of us, right here?"

"Oh, thank you, Mrs. Hardwicke," said Megan. "But I picked up something on the way home, so I'm not really that hungry. I think I'd better go to my room and do some reading."

She walked out of the kitchen, clicking the tall heels of her sling-back pumps on the hardwood floor.

"Let's just go to L'Auberge, Millicent," I said, wheedling. "It's our 25th! We should do something special."

"Oh, all right," she said, as though she were making a big concession. "I'll go since you are so keen on it."

The dinner was extremely expensive, but a complete bust. Millicent was preoccupied the whole evening, and responded to my attempts at conversation in monosyllables. Eventually, I gave up and pulled out my phone and answered work emails.

In the car on the way home, Millicent suddenly broke the silence.

"Megan seemed a bit out of sorts this evening, didn't she, dear?" she said.

"Oh, I don't know," I said cautiously. "I didn't notice anything."

"She seemed tense. I wonder if she is having boyfriend troubles."

"Doesn't she have a boyfriend back in Alabama? She's in a sorority, isn't she?"

"Why, do you think sorority girls are loose?" Millicent's tone was severe. "I was a sorority girl, remember? No, she told me that she broke up with her boyfriend back home before she came. But she may have gotten a new boyfriend up here."

"Why do you say that?"

"No reason, just a hunch. I thought she looked a bit edgy, like her hormones were acting up or something."

"Teenagers!" I said, hoping that agreement would end this line of conversation. It did, and we drove the rest of the way home in silence.

Millicent went through her usual nightly routine with no concession to our special anniversary. She got into her baby-doll nightie, pulled up the sheets and got her book off the nightstand to read for her habitual half hour before switching off the lights and bed.

I shed my clothes and pulled on my dressing gown. I stealthily took Megan's cobalt blue panties from my underwear drawer and put them in a pocket of my dressing gown. Then I went to the upstairs bathroom down the hall that I used. I brushed my teeth and then put the panties to my nose and mouth, stroking my organ. My hardon arose immediately, as I thought of Megan meeting my eyes in the kitchen, seeing me staring at her panty line and her ass, and the quick look of shock when she saw my hardon.

But after a few strokes, I put the panties down. It's our 25th anniversary, I thought. I shouldn't have to masturbate on such a special day! I returned to our bedroom, but found it in darkness. Millicent had put out the lights. I hung up my dressing gown on its peg and returned Megan's panties to their place of concealment at the bottom of my underwear drawer. Then I felt my way to our bed.

I slid under the sheets, naked except for my hardon. I reached for Millicent, and pulled her into my arms, kissing her throat.

"Don't," she said, pushing me away. "I'm tired, I just want to go to sleep."

"It's our 25th anniversary!" I hissed, my sexual frustration boiling over. "You've been a bitch all evening, the least you can do is let me fuck you!"

"Being crude won't make me give you what you want!" she retorted. "You've been a pig all evening, I really don't want you pawing me tonight. Go to sleep."

I'd never, ever used violence in my life. I'm a banker, a reticent, rational man who plays by the rules. But now, something snapped in my head. I'd never felt so much sexual tension in my life and it swamped my thinking mind.

I caught both of Millicent's wrists in one of my hands and pinned them to the pillow above her head. I pushed my other hand between her legs, roughly kneading her pussy lips through her panties.

"What's come over you, Jim?" she cried. "Are you insane? Let me go!"

I did not reply, but kept up my working on her pussy. She struggled and fought, and I had to slide over on to her, using my weight to control her. I was too overwrought to wait much longer. I hooked my fingers in the waistband of her panties and ripped them off. The tearing sound galvanized her and she renewed her twisting and squirming, saying, "Omigod! Are you going to rape me, you bastard?"

I'd never done this before, so it was quite difficult. I straddled her and tried to guide my engorged cock into her pussy. But her continual wriggling made her pussy a moving target. My organ slid over her pussy lips several times without gaining access. Finally, I felt my cockhead engage with her folds and thrust hard. It was not clean, but nonetheless my cockhead gained an angular entry. I pushed harder and harder, gaining more entry an inch at a time.

"You're hurting me, you bastard!" she panted. "I can't believe you're raping me!"

Her wrists pinned above her head elevated her breasts, and as she squirmed, they rubbed tightly against me. I could feel her nipples through the thin material of her shortie nightgown -- they were hard like little pebbles. She'd hadn't had hard nipples during sex since before the children were born!

"You want this!" I rasped. "I should have fucked you like this years ago!"

Another twist and I managed to push my hardon all the way into her. I quickly began to thrust into her, building a staccato tempo. I drove into her hard and the slapping of my mount against hers was a sound that I had not heard in years. The warm glove of her pussy intoxicated me.

Her panting took on a higher note, and her pussy grew wet. I knew that I could not last and did not care. With my organ buried in her warmth, I felt the pressure of my load building. Then just as I felt it coursing through my organ, I heard her sighing and whispering, "Now, now, now, ..., don't stop now, ..., yes, yes, yes, do it! DO IT! DO IT TO ME, YOU BASTARD!!"

I ejaculated deep inside her and she began rotating her hips. I felt her contractions -- it was the first orgasm she'd had with me in years. It was like we were in our early twenties again.

We were both covered with sweat in spite of the air conditioning. She twisted her body out from under me almost immediately and rolled away. She slid out of bed and padded to the master suite bathroom that served as her boudoir.

"Don't go," I called after her.

"I need to clean your mess out of me," she said without looking back.

Fifteen minutes later, she came back to bed. But she stayed way over on her side. When I reached for her, she pushed me away.

"Just stay on your side of the bed," she said, sharply. "And get some clothes on. It's disgusting, having you naked in the bed like this."

The next morning was like usual. Millicent did not mention anything about the night, or our anniversary. She got ready and went to school, with a minimum of conversation. It was the best sex we had had in years, but now it felt hollow.

* * * * *

10. In the following days, I was in an agony of trepidation. Would Millicent ask for a divorce? Would she accuse me of rape? Had I have destroyed my whole life with one act of passion? Every evening I returned home in fear of finding police cars in the driveway. Every day I worked at home, I looked for flashing lights to come down our cul de sac. As the days passed, the worries slowly grew less severe. Millicent did not bring it up, and the only sign that anything had happened was that she studiously avoided touching me in bed. Our bed was a large king, so it was quite possible for us to share it without touching one another, and that seemed to be what she wanted.

She gave me a dry peck on the cheek now and then when Megan was around, and I could see that it was only for appearances.

I thought of bringing up our night of passion several times, but always chickened out at the last moment. I wondered what would happen if I forced her to have sex again. However, the enormity of the risks kept me from ever taking this beyond idle speculation. If anything, she had grown more physically distant from me since the event. I often thought about the irony of it -- there was absolutely no doubt that she had had her first non-masturbatory orgasm in years. Yet she was very deliberately acting in a manner to prevent its recurrence.

* * * * *

11. The weeks of the summer went by and things returned to some sort of normalcy. I was afraid of what Megan now suspected, and forced myself to avoid her room. I had the one pair of her cobalt blue panties and regularly used them to masturbate, but over time the intense scent of her femininity began to fade. I watched a bit more pornography, chatted a bit more online, hoping that the suggestively clad women were actually at the keyboards at the other end.

Megan's last weekend with us arrived. She was going to drive down to Alabama on the Saturday, so Millicent suggested that we take her out to dinner on the Thursday, the last working day of her internship. I booked a table at a historic coaching inn not far from our house. Dinner was a stilted affair. Megan obviously caught the tension between Millicent and me, but she chose to ignore it. She chatted amiably with Millicent, about her internship, all that she had learned, what her bosses were like, and what she planned to do after she graduated. It was all very incongruous, since I was the banker and knew far more about her internship than Millicent possibly could.

However, I remained quiet and let them prattle on. Megan's mother Sarah was about Millicent's age, and they moved on to talk about her at great length. Finally, the dessert plates were cleared away, I settled the check, and we drove home.

"Tomorrow is an in-service day at school," said Millicent, as we drove home. "I've arranged with my girlfriends to go to a day spa."

"I'll probably take it easy at home," Megan. "I've got to pack and get ready for my long drive back to Alabama on Saturday and Sunday."

"How about you, Jim?" asked Millicent.

"I'll probably go to the office," I said.

However, I ended up sleeping in Friday. I changed my mind, deciding to work at home instead. Millicent was already gone when I came downstairs and there was a note on the kitchen island -- "Having dinner with the girls after the day spa -- back late. Fix your own dinner."

I knew Megan was home, but she was in her room with the door closed and I did not see her. I decided to go for a run before starting work for the day. I padded back upstairs, changed into my running clothes and went out quietly through the back door. It was a relatively cool late summer's day. There had been rain overnight, the streets were wet and the trails were muddy. I was feeling good and ran hard, clocking up a series of fast miles, one after the other. As a result, I went farther from home than I had planned, so I pushed it even harder on the way back. I ended up with over fifteen miles and it was almost two hours by the time I got back home. I took my muddy shoes off on the back patio and let myself in without making any unnecessary noise. I went upstairs, stripped off my sodden running clothes and dropped them in our upstairs laundry hamper. Naked, I took Megan's panties from their hiding place and walked down the corridor from our master bedroom to the upstairs bathroom that I used. I was fairly relaxed, for Megan had never come upstairs in all the months she had stayed with us.

I took a luxurious shower and dried myself off. I stood in the front of the mirror with Megan's cobalt blue panties on my nose and my erection rose immediately. I opened the bathroom door and padded toward the bedroom to masturbate in our bed, caressing my hardon with my hand. I took two steps in the corridor and froze -- Megan stood right there, between me and the master bedroom door. I had her panties in one hand and my raging hardon in the other.

My brain took a freezeframe picture of her. She wore a mesh crop top that ended just below her breasts. The mesh obscured, but did not conceal the Victoria's Secret Pink bandeau bra that I knew so well. She had on a very short denim skirt, so short that bottoms of the small pockets extended well below the ragged hemline. Her phone was stuck in one of the pockets. The skirt had all the requisite fashionable rips and tears, and showed glimpses of her matching Pink panties. She had on her metal choker necklace, hoop earrings and high platform heel sandals with ankle straps.

Her mouth dropped open and her hand flew up to cover it.

"Mr. Hardcock! I mean, ..., I mean, Mr. Hardwicke! I thought you were at work! Downtown!"

"I, ..., I, ... changed my mind," I stammered. "But what are you doing up here? You never -- "

"I was just checking for some clothes I'm missing," she said, the words tumbling out. She did not say what clothes, but her eyes were clearly riveted on her panties in my hand. She was breathing very fast, and her breasts rose and fell. I could see the side panels of her bandeau bra stretching through the mesh of her crop top.

I tried to tame my raging hardon, but it had a mind of its own. It grew harder and stood straighter, larger than I could recall it ever being. It was so swollen that it was slightly painful. I expected Megan to turn and flee down the stairs, but she remained rooted to the spot. Her eyes slowly traveled over my body, seeming to scan every muscle, and eventually moved down to my hardon.

"My God, Mr. Hardcock, I mean, Mr. Hardman, ..., Mr. Hardon, ..., I mean, I mean ..., ." Her breath came in quick, sharp gulps, and her jouncing breasts heightened my arousal. "You've got an erection! You've got my panties!"

"I know," I said. As the shock receded, I felt a curious sense of calm.

She knows everything, I thought. She knows I stole her panties, she knows I masturbate with them, she probably found the residue of my semen on her blouse. She'll tell her parents. Her father knows my bank president. My career is over, I'm finished.

I took a step toward her, then another one. Now flee, I thought. I still have your cobalt blue panties and I'll still use them to masturbate, your image is sharper now. I no longer pretended. I stared at her breasts, at her Pink bra. I stared at her crotch, at the glimpses of the panties that I had already masturbated with.

She held her ground, still rooted to the same spot. Perhaps she was frozen with panic. Perhaps she was too angry to run. Perhaps it was a bit of both. I didn't know, and at this point, I didn't care. She was in my way, blocking the door to my bedroom. I came up to her and pushed past.

They say there is something deeply visceral about skin to skin contact -- I never believed it till then. As I pushed past her, my swaying hardon pressed on her bare midriff. I was already well past the point of thinking clearly and the electric feel of her smooth young skin on my penis prompted a caveman response. They're going to say I'm sexually deviant anyway, I thought. I might as well go the whole hog!

I grabbed Megan's arm and pulled her into the bedroom.

"No! No! No!" she cried, fighting to free herself. "Mr. Hardcock! Mr. Hardwicke! Let me go! I won't tell anyone!"

"That's what you say now!" I snarled. "As soon as you leave this house, you'll tell everyone!"

My arousal was primeval. I think forcing Millicent to have sex with me and her orgasmic response was at the root of it, for it woke up the caveman compartment in my brain. It was a compartment that I did not know that I had. I dragged Megan to the wide king bed, picked her up and threw her on it. It was surprisingly easy to do, for with her little frame, she was much lighter than Millicent. I dropped her cobalt blue panties and mounted the bed on my hands and knees. She tried to roll away from me, but I caught her again with my arms around her.

"I'm younger than your daughter, Mr. Hardwicke!" she cried.

This had a perverse effect on me -- younger than my Heather, my caveman brain thought triumphantly, young and fertile!

I caught her wrists and pinned them above her head as I had learned to do with Millicent. One of my wife's expensive silk scarves, I think it was a Hermes, hung over the headboard. I took it and used my boy scout training to quickly and efficiently tie her wrists together and fasten the trailing end to the heavy slats of the headboard.

I released her arms and Megan immediately pulled and tugged as hard as she could. But silk is an incredibly strong material and she soon recognized that she was well and truly tied down.

I kneaded her breasts through her mesh top, feeling the reality of the mounds that I had fantasized about for so long. I pushed her mesh top up to reveal the bandeau bra, now pasted on to her heaving breasts. I kneaded her breasts again, this time running my fingers along the contours of her bra, feeling its texture with her firm, young breasts beneath it. I teased her nipples with my fingers and they hardened and stood forth, forming pokies that rose before my eyes. I pulled the bra cups down and regarded her naked, heaving breasts for moment before leaning down to suck on her hard nipples.

I unzipped the short zipper on her denim skirt and when I pulled it off, her phone dropped out on to the bed. I dived in, burying my face in her crotch, feeling the panties that I had masturbated with, now merged with the reality of her pussy. I ran my lips and nose along the bulges of her pussy lips, kissing, licking, gently biting. I ran my face up and down, drawing a sharp gasp from her each time I came into contact with her clitoris. Her Pink panties rapidly grew wet with a combination of my saliva and the secretion of her sexual fluids.

"I had lunch with Heather every week, Mr. Hardwicke!" Megan wailed. "How will you face your daughter?"

My cravings now had me in their grip and I barely heard her. I pulled her panties down on her lovely, well-muscled legs. I got them caught in the ankle straps of one of her sandals, and took some time to disengage them. I regarded her for a brief moment, on my knees between her legs. Her dark brown hair was spread over the pillow like a halo, her crop top was hiked up, her bandeau bra was bunched around the underswells of her breasts, her nipples were pink and very hard now, they stood up like bullets. Her hoop earrings lay flat on the pillow and metal choker necklace moved with her neck, as she twisted her arms, still trying to free herself.

Her pubic hair had been trimmed to a neat line along her puffy pussy lips. I ran my fingers along her pubic down and it was soft, almost like her head hair, not wiry like Millicent's. And I became privy to her most intimate secret. Just above her clitoris, but so close to it that it could be concealed by the briefest bikini panties, was a pink and green lyre tattoo that matched the one on her right ankle. I traced the lyre with my fingers and ended with a gentle nudge to her clitoris. She gasped, her eyes round with embarrassment.