Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 (c) Copyright Henrik Larsen 2001





   Comments are very welcome.  You can reach me either through assd or by
e-mail at henlar@hotmail.com.



   This story contains elements of explicit sexual nature.

   If, for some reason, you feel offended by erotic stories, then I don't
know why you have opened this one.  Maybe to be offended, so you can
complain about how awful it is that somebody writes stuff like this.  If
that's the case, my advice is to seek professional help.  You need it.  If
you are not allowed to read stories like this, I will not be held
responsible, if you choose to continue.  But don't worry; it's all fantasy.

   A great thanks to Old Rotorhead and Cagey.  I'm very grateful for their
patient work, correcting and editing my stories, and their constant
encouragement.

   Reposting or any other use of this story is strictly prohibited without
the express, written permission of the author.





   The Neighbour's daughter.  Chapter1.

   When I first moved away from home, I had never thought my new neighbours
would have so much impact on my life.  I had to move to the city when I
finished school.  A future as a farmer was not something that ever appealed
to me and besides, my older brother was the one who was going to take over
the farm when dad retired.  I had good grades and wanted to become an
accountant.

   I was lucky to get a very small, and cheap, apartment: a bedroom, a
living room that normally would have been categorised as a small chamber, a
kitchen hardly larger than a closet, and a bathroom the size of a phone
booth.  Everything got wet when I showered.  It was extremely crammed,
especially as I came from a big farm with plenty of space, but it was also
great, because it was my own place.  I moved in on a Saturday.  Dad had an
old VW and I didn't have more than it could take in one load.  My brother
was there, too, to help.

   Even though I didn't have much, what I had was heavy and was going up to
the third floor where my flat was.  There were three flats on each floor:
one other the same size opposite mine, and one larger flat in the middle.
It didn't take long to find out who lived in the flat opposite to mine.  On
my way up the stairs at one end of my sofa, an old lady appeared in the
doorway.

   "My god, you are pulling a heavy load.  I can't offer you a beer, but
how about a cup of coffee when you've got that one up?" she said.

   "Thanks.  That sounds nice," I politely replied.

   "Are you the young man moving in?" she asked.

   "Yes," I gasped, pulling the sofa up and to the side to get it angled in
through the door.

   "I'm your new neighbour, Mrs Larsen."

   Then she realised that I was too heavily loaded to exchange courtesies.

   "Oh, silly me!  I'll go make the coffee, and you just come in when
you're ready."

   She shuffled into her flat, and my brother and I finally managed to get
the sofa in through the door.

   "Great!" my brother grinned, while trying to catch his breath.  "You
already got a girlfriend."

   "Come on!  She's just being polite," I protested.

   "Little brother, little brother.  You're so easy.  I was only teasing
you."

   Dad came in with a box.

   "We've been invited for coffee by Eric's new girlfriend."

   "Girlfriend?" dad said, looking very puzzled.

   "My neighbour, not my girlfriend.  He's just sooo funny."

   We had coffee and cookies.  It was a bit formal, mainly because my dad
did the best he could to convince everybody that he had very good manners,
which he had but he has always had a kind of hate/respect thing with city
people.  My brother and dad had to get back early, so Mrs.  Larsen invited
me to dinner as well.  I was reluctant to accept, considering the
generosity she had already extended, but practical considerations
intervened: I did have food, but if I was going to cook anything myself, I
would have to unpack both my pots and pans, and the cookbook my mum had
given me, before I could start cooking.  Back home, mum always cooked and
what I knew about cooking was what I had learned in the school kitchen,
several years back.  In short, I accepted her invitation.

   I was a bit nervous when I stood outside her door after a shower and in
clean clothes.  My dad had made me promise to put on a tie.  I hadn't worn
since granddad's funeral four years ago.

   "My God, how stylish.  Did I really scare you that much?" Mrs Larsen
burst out, when she opened the door and saw me standing there in my Sunday
best.

   "No.  I mean, my dad, you know.  He thought I should put it on," I said
and tugged the tie.

   "I think you should take it off and relax.  I'm not all that bad.  And
do come in."

   Mrs Larsen was actually very easy to talk to.  I've never been good at
small talk.  I never know what to say and if I start talking about
something that interests me, I'm afraid I'll bore people to death within
minutes.  We had a simple but very nice dinner.  Mrs Larsen wanted to know
about my family, where I came from and why I had moved to the city.  I told
her I was going to study to be an accountant.

   "My late husband was an accountant."

   She said it without any hint of sadness in her voice.  I think she saw
the question in my eyes.

   "No, he's been dead a long time.  29 years.  His heart was weak and he
didn't listen to the warning signs.  It took a while to get used to being
alone, but 29 years is a long time, and time does heal the wound."

   "Didn't you have any kids?"

   "We had a son.  He would have been 60 this year.  He died in a car crash
two years after my husband's death.  That was harder to get over," she
sighed.  "But I got over that, too.  I had to, didn't I?  I had good
friends that helped me."

   I didn't feel like asking more about her family, but she apparently
sensed it and changed the subject.

   "I moved to this place, because this was where I grew up," she said and
smiled.  "It might not be the best neighbourhood, but I feel comfortable
here.  And it's close to the city centre and the shops.  Mind you,
nowadays, I would have chosen a flat on the ground floor.  It's so heavy to
carry everything up here"

   "You can just make a shopping list and I'll get it for you," I offered.
I was brought up to help whenever I could.

   "No, you'll be much too busy and I don't want to be any trouble for
anyone."

   "No problem.  I'll have to shop anyway."

   It was pretty late before I got back, and I'd had a really pleasant
evening.  I was too tired to bother making the bed, so I just slept on the
mattress with a blanket.

   I spent all Sunday unpacking and didn't get out of the flat at all. 
Monday I went shopping.  After a bit of polite protesting, Mrs Larsen had
given me a shopping list with the heavy items she couldn't carry herself:
six bottles of red wine, quite expensive, potatoes and things like that. 
On my way up again, I met my other neighbours in the centre flat: Mr and
Mrs Petersen and their daughter Sophie.  Mr.  Petersen - Arnold -- was a
man around 40 with short, grey hair, dressed in a grey business suit.  Mrs
Petersen - Amy -- was very thin and she struck me as very fragile, even
though I can't say why.  She looked as if she was much younger than her
husband, but it was hard to tell.  Her hair was black, probably dyed,
considering the way it shined.

   Sophie was a skinny little girl, very fair, with hair that was almost
white.  She was dressed in a light summer dress, which looked a lot like
the ones that the girls in my class wore ten years ago and her hair was set
up in two plaits.  Dress the way she was, she didn't look like she was more
than nine.  The Petersens were on their way into the flat and I was loaded
with heavy groceries, so we only just said hello.

   - - -

   I started school and got into a rhythm.  The first three months or so my
best friend was actually Mrs Larsen.  It may sound boring, but it wasn't.
I'm not an outgoing person, literally, and at the same time, I didn't feel
I had too much time, having to do my homework.  We often ate together.  At
first it was always her cooking, but when she found out that I could hardly
boil an egg, she began to teach me about cooking.  I quickly became a very
good cook and began to prepare very advanced dishes.  Mrs Larsen also liked
her glass of red wine and she taught me a bit about that too.  Back home,
my parents practically never drank wine and when they did, it was always
very sweet wine.  The wine Mrs.  Larsen introduced me to tasted quite
different and it took a while before I got used to the much more sour
taste.

   I didn't see much of the Petersens.  I had a job after school and
usually got home rather late.  It could be weeks between times I saw Mr or
Mrs Petersen on the stairs and I hardly ever saw Sophie.  I heard her voice
every now and then on the stairs or from their flat through the thin walls.
Yet I rarely saw more than a glimpse of her.  She was the kind of child
that always ran or rather bounced, never walked.  I didn't talk to her at
all until a day, about six months after I moved in, when came home early
and found her sitting on the stairs outside her flat.

   "Hi!  What are you doing here?" I asked her.

   "I can't get in.  I've forgot my key."

   "When will your parents be home?"

   "Around five."

   "That's two hours.  It's freezing out here.  Do you want to come in and
wait indoors?"

   Sophie looked up at me as if she wasn't sure what my intentions were. 
Coming from the country, I wasn't used to the slight paranoia that so many
city people suffered from.  I had lived here for six months and I didn't
feel I was a stranger.  Then she smiled and got up.

   "OK."

   She was very curious about my place, walking around and looking at
everything.  I went to the kitchen to make some coffee.

   "Do you drink coffee?" I shouted.

   "Argh!  No"

   "Tea?  I don't have any pop."

   "No, it's ok."

   She came out into the kitchen.  She leaned against the kitchen table,
pushing her chest up.  I hadn't really looked very much at her before, but
there was no doubt in my mind that she wanted to attract my attention.  She
didn't have much in the chest department.  If she'd told me she'd been
bitten by two mosquitoes, I'd have believed her.  It was kind of cute, the
way she tried to make me notice her and she was actually very pretty.

   "How old are you?" she asked.

   "I'm eighteen.  How old are you?"

   "You don't ask a lady her about her age.  Didn't you know that, or don't
they teach you manners where you come from?"

   "Isn't that a bit early to be touchy about your age?  How old are you,
twelve?"

   "I'm thirteen!" she immediately protested, angrily.

   "No sweat.  I was only teasing you."

   She was silent and I was silent.  I didn't really know where to go from
there.  She was a bit of a puzzle to me.  Just as when I first saw her, her
dress was kind of old fashioned and ill matched to her age.  Who would wear
a dress and woolly leggings at thirteen?  Judging from the dress, I would
expect her to be mummy's well behaved little girl, but that was not her
act, at least not now.  I looked down at her shoes; the kind the girls wore
at the dancing school I was forced to attend until I was 10.  It didn't add
up.

   The water boiled and I directed my attention to the coffee.

   "Don't you have any friends you could visit instead of just sit on the
stairs?"

   "Yes, but . . .  I have to go straight home from school.  Mum and dad
says I have to," she snorted.

   "They buy your clothes too."

   I know I probably shouldn't have said it.  She immediately blushed and
looked down, embarrassed.

   "Hey, it's not your fault that your parents are a bit old fashioned.  My
parents are like that too.  You remember the clothes I wore, when I first
moved in here?"

   It wasn't really true but it made her smile.  The truth was that I
didn't know much about clothes at all when I moved in.  My mum had bought
my clothes and I'd never protested.  It wasn't until I started dating a
girl from school about 3 months after I'd moved in that I started learning
about clothes.  It was one of the first things Anna - that was her name -
wanted to change, if she was going to be seen publicly with me.

   "You know, it's just so unfair.  All the other girls can wear jeans and
smart shirts and all, but I have to wear these ridiculous dresses.  And I
can never go anywhere.  Was it like that for you too?"

   "Well, there wasn't really that many places to go to, and I also think
it's a little different because I'm a boy and from the country."

   I'd apparently pushed the right button.  Sophie started talking and
talking about herself, her parents, her friends and her problems.  The two
hours flew away.  Suddenly, she looked at her watch and jumped up.

   "I got to go now.  Mum will be home soon," she said and ran out.

   I'd heard enough to know that her parents probably wouldn't like that
she'd been in my flat all afternoon.  I felt sorry for her.

   - - -

   I didn't come home early very often, but the next time it happened, a
couple of weeks later, Sophie opened the door as soon as I reached the
landing.  She just stood in the doorway, smiling timidly.  I asked her if
she wanted to come in and she nodded eagerly.  Just before she closed the
front door to her flat, I reminded her that she better take the keys with
her.  She blushed and went back in to get them.  We talked for a couple of
hours.  Of course, we mainly talked about her and her hopeless parents, but
she also had time to be a little curious about me.

   It became a ritual.  Every time I came home early, approximately once or
twice a month, Sophie would come in and talk, and she would always return
before her parents came home.  If there had been a long time since our last
talk, we would spend most of it talking about her problems but sometimes,
I'd be early home two days in a row and we would just chat and have fun the
second day.

   I still spent two to tree evenings a week with Mrs Larsen and did her
shopping.  The other nights I would study or occasionally go on a date. 
Even though I already had two girlfriends, I sometimes dated other girls.
After all, one was just a child and the other was over eighty.

   This went on for over a year, until Sophie turned fifteen.  At that
time, her parents generously let her invite her best friend Nina home after
school each afternoon, while Sophie was alone at home.  Sophie was very
happy about it, almost as if it was the best birthday present she got that
year.  I, on the other hand, was amazed that her only rebellion against her
parent's regime was the occasional visit to my flat when her parents
weren't home - not that I encouraged her to break the rules or criticised
her parents at all.  I'd tried it once and Sophie had reacted by supporting
them loyally.  I was very surprised, but after thinking about it, I
realised that it probably was a very natural thing to do, even considering
the circumstances.  They were all she had.  I was resigned to listen when
she complained, and that seemed to be what Sophie needed.

   At first, Nina's presence meant that Sophie didn't visit me.  I guess it
was difficult for her to find an excuse to stand by the door, looking
through the door spy, when Nina was there.  But after a month or so, she
was standing in the door when I came home.

   "Hi Sophie.  Where's Nina?"

   "She's sick.  Can I come in?"

   "Sure.  Remember the key."

   We went to the kitchen and I put on the kettle.

   "So, how's everything?"

   "It's ok.  I mean, we do homework, too, but it's a lot better to do it
with Nina than alone," Sophie answered, sounding truly happy.

   "But she's ill today.  Anything serious?"

   "No, it's just a cold."

   "I think you needed somebody to talk to, you know, about what girls talk
about."

   Sophie blushed fiercely and became very flustered.

   "Did I say something wrong?"

   Sophie face turned from pink to deep red, all the way up to her ears.

   "No, I . . ."

   "Never mind.  How's school?"

   "Eh, ok.  We're doing a project on WW1.  It was really horrible in the
trenches."

   We continued the conversation on neutral subjects for a while.  Sophie
loved to read and could work her way through ten books a week.  That meant
a lot of visits to the library.  Sophie was very happy when she told me
about the latest achievement.

   "I can go to the library alone on Saturday, when mum and dad are
shopping.  I have two hours alone in the library."

   "That's sounds like a long time.  Does it really take you that long to
find books?" I asked.

   Naively, I thought time spent alone was the only thing she had plenty
off.

   "No, it doesn't.  But then I've time to read some of the books that I
can't bring home." She said excited.  Then her face turned deep red again.

   "Oh!" I said.

   I didn't want to embarrass her by asking which books she read.  I was
pretty sure I could guess.  Sophie quickly regained her composure and
changed the subject.

   "Have you read anything interesting lately?"

   We often discussed books.  Sophie was very mature when it came to
literature.  Or maybe it was me that was a bit childish.  Either way, we
had much the same taste in books.  The remainder of the afternoon was spent
discussing books.

   Exams were getting closer and I spent a lot of time at the school and in
the library.  I still had one more year before my final exams, but I
finished some courses and I wanted to do well.  I'm not a particularly
ambitious person, I just wanted to show mum and dad that they didn't waste
their money.  They paid me a monthly allowance.  I know farmers always
complain, but still some pf them do fairly well.  Most of the farmers I
knew were far away from bankruptcy, despite their endless complaints.

   On the way home after the last of the exams, I suddenly realised that I
hadn't seen Sophie for almost two months.  I'd seen her on the stairs with
her parents, but she hadn't been able to talk.  I'd been too busy and I
felt a little guilty about it.  The holidays were coming and I had been
able to get a lot of hours in the supermarket where I worked, so I wouldn't
have much time for Sophie.  Maybe I'd be able to get an afternoon off every
now and then.

   I was walking up the stairs, thinking about Sophie and the holidays.  As
I reached the landing, Sophie was standing in the doorway, smiling. 
Standing behind her was another girl.  I had heard a lot about Nina but I'd
never seen her before.

   "Hi, Eric.  Did your exam go well?"

   I'd met her with her parents the other day and we'd talked about my
exams.

   "Yes, better than I'd hoped for.  And how about you?  School's out?"

   "Yeah.  But mum and dad won't start their holidays for another two
weeks."

   I must have looked over her shoulder.

   "Eric, this is Nina."

   Sophie pulled Nina into the doorway.  I'd tried to imagine what she
looked like and I think I had imagined her looking like Sophie.  Wrong! 
She had brown hair and either she had naturally darker skin or she was
tanned.  Sophie had grown, but she was still very slim.  Nina was heavier
build than Sophie was.  As far as I could see she wasn't fat, but she
certainly looked much more mature than Sophie.

   "Hi Nina.  I'm Eric, in case you haven't guessed.  Sophie might have
mentioned me."

   Nina whispered an almost unhearable "Hi."

   Sophie took over.  "Can we come in?"

   "Of course."

   Nina didn't say much in the two hours they were there but that changed
later.

   - -

   I did manage to get a few afternoons off over the next two weeks.  They
were spent with Sophie and Nina.  I'd thought that Nina would prefer that
they stayed in Sophie's flat, but she was there, even when I had announced
in advance when I was going to be home early.  Nina became a regular
visitor and she was a very lively girl, once she got used to me.  There was
a lot of whispering and giggling between the girls, but I got used to that.


   When I looked at the two girls, I came to realise that Sophie had grown
a great deal since I first saw her.  Even though her mother's choice of
clothing for her had changed to some strangely shapeless, loose dresses, it
was clear that she was no longer a little girl.  Maybe it was more than
just the chance to compare with Nina.  Sophie seemed to go to great efforts
to make the dresses show off her curves.  It wasn't easy and I'm sure that
was the reason for her parent's choice.

   The girls continued to visit me once or twice a month.  Just after
Sophie's sixteenth birthday - I gave her some chocolate she could enjoy at
my place - I got a more free time.  I'd taken the major part of my courses
the previous term in order to have extra time to prepare for my final
exams, so I had two afternoons off every week after Christmas.  One was
spent at the school library and I worked every second week on the other;
which left one afternoon free every second week.  Strange as it may seem,
it was a vast improvement, especially because I could say in advance that I
was going to be home early.

   There was nothing special about this particular afternoon, except that
Nina wasn't there when I came home.  Nina was almost always with Sophie and
we had a great time together.  Still, sometimes Sophie visited me alone,
usually because Nina was doing something else.  That afternoon, Nina had to
do something with her mother.

   Sophie was in a great mood, talking all the time and quite restless. 
Within the first 3 minutes, she'd asked me twice if I was dating anybody,
and her thoughts were centred very much on boys and girls.  Nina and Sophie
were often like that when they were together, but Sophie rarely talked
about it when we were alone.  We chatted in the kitchen until the coffee
was done (I'd managed to teach both Sophie and Nina to drink coffee).  Her
restlessness lasted for half an hour, until she suddenly burst out.

   "Eric, can I try some of your clothes?  I want to see what I look like
in some real clothes."

   "You're welcome," I said, surprised.  "But don't you think they will be
too big for you?"

   I was 6'2" and weighed about 200 pounds.  Sophie had grown, but she was
"only" 5"9" and I guess she must have weighed around 120 pounds.

   "That doesn't matter.  I just want to try," she said and flew into the
bedroom, where she knew my clothes were.

   She closed the door behind her and I could hear her rummage through the
closet and drawers.  After a couple of minutes the door opened.  The black
turtleneck she'd put on was way too big for her, but my old, worn blue
jeans fitted her surprisingly well.  Her weight was obviously distributed
differently from mine.

   "How do I look?"

   "You look stunningly great," I said.  It was true; she did look great.

   She turned around to show off her backside.  I could hardly believe it
was the same girl.  She had a beautiful figure but the greatest change was
probably in the way she moved: Her back was straighter and her attitude was
proud.

   She tried on another turtleneck and a sweater, both of which were way
too big for her.  When she returned the fourth time, she'd put on a thin,
white t-shirt.  Sophie's skin colour was very pale, but the T-shirt still
revealed that she wasn't wearing a bra.  She had tugged most of the fabric
tightly down into the jeans and her breasts pressed against the shirt.  I
think my jaw dropped.

   "My god, you look so sexy." It just flew out of my mouth.  "Sorry." I
added.

   "Thanks!" Sophie replied, disregarding my excuse and blushing a little.

   She disappeared into the bedroom again and I sat back, thinking.  I
still thought of her as a little child, as if she was still 13, but she was
sixteen now and very much a young woman.  She did look very sexy and she
wanted to look sexy.  Her parents treated her as a child, and dressed her
as one.  In a way it had fooled me.  I talked with Sophie as a peer, but I
still thought of her as a child, not as a young woman.  How had I been able
to miss it?  My thoughts were interrupted when she appeared in the doorway
again.  This time I'm sure she could hear my jaw hit the floor.  She looked
at me, tense and excited.

   "What do you think?"

   She'd put on a pair of very old boxer shorts I no could longer get
myself into, and which should have been thrown out years ago.  Needless to
say that they fit her perfectly.  Her chest was barely cowered by a blue
shirt, tied in a knot just below her breasts.  It was unbuttoned and her
small breasts were only just hidden.  I was speechless.

   "Do you think I look sexy?" she asked, obviously pleased with the effect
she had on me.

   I pulled myself together.  "More than that, you look irresistible.  If
you wear that in public, you'll need a bodyguard."

   Sophie giggled and turned around.  The shorts hugged her arse tightly
and there was no sigh of anything under them.  She turned again to face me.
Her hair had been in a ponytail, but she had let it down and it framed her
hot and blushing cheeks so nicely.

   "Do you think my tits are too small?"

   To be honest, I didn't think about their size at all.  "No, I think they
are absolutely perfect." I hastily answered.

   Sophie was about to say something, hesitated and looked down.  Finally
she looked at me.

   "Do you want to see them?" she said, and bit her lips, blushing
fiercely.

   Now, I'm not made of wood, even though one part of me felt that way. 
She was no longer a child and hadn't been for over a year, legally that is.
There was five years between us, but my dad was seven years older than my
mum.  On the other hand, she'd lived a very isolated life and I didn't want
to pressure her into something she didn't really want to do, but thought
she had to.

   "I'd love to Sophie, but you don't have to."

   She took a step forward, looking at me more seriously now.

   "I . . .  I want you to.  Because . . .  I just want you to see me."

   She fumbled nervously with the knot she had tied; too tightly
apparently.

   "I can't get it open," she giggled.  It broke the tense atmosphere for a
moment.

   "Let me," I offered.

   I stood up and Sophie came up close to me.  We had been standing close
before, but it felt so different now.  I could feel her body heat.  I could
smell the scent of her.  Not one of perfume or deodorant -- Sophie didn't
use such things -- but the scent of her.  I could feel her tremble as my
hands touched the knot and began to work on it.  Sophie gasped the first
time my hand brushed over her warm, smooth skin.

   She had really done a thorough job, when she tied the knot.  After an
initial attempt to untie it, I guided her to the sofa and knelt in front of
her.  It was a bit comical and I couldn't help laughing.  Sophie blushed
and looked down, but soon she started laughing too at my desperate attempts
to untie it.

   "I'm sorry," she laughed.  "I didn't think I tied it so tight."

   "I'll get it open," I answered, determined.  "Else I'll have to give it
to you, but I'm not sure this outfit will make your parents happy?"

   That was definitely not the right choice of words.  Sophie froze and got
all tense.

   "Hey!  I didn't mean that.  Of course I'll get it . . .  Hang on, I
think I got it."

   The knot finally began to loosen.  Sophie relaxed again and stared at my
hands and the knot.  I let my fingers do the work and studied her face
while I slowly untied the shirt.  She looked anxious and excited.

   I had to look down at her chest as I opened the shirt.  Her pale skin
was flushed and hot.  Slowly the shirt opened like a curtain at the theatre
and revealed her breasts.  They were so beautiful.  She was right, they
were small, but they looked so firm and her large nipples pointed straight
out.  The shape was so perfect.

   "You have the most beautiful breasts I've ever seen."

   Sophie would have blushed more, had it been at all possible, but her
face and chest were already flushed.

   "Thanks," she whispered.  She hesitated for a moment.  "Do you really
mean it?"

   "Yes," I whispered, my voice suddenly hoarse.

   I was still holding the shirt open.

   "Can I touch them?"

   "Yes, but . . .  I don't think I'm ready to go all the way."

   It took me completely by surprise.  I hadn't expected her to be so
outspoken and mature about it.  She must have read some good books at the
library and learned from them.  Of course, I was ready to go all the way,
but it was something I hadn't even got to yet in my mind.  I was just so
taken by the beauty of her breasts.

   "No, of course.  Please, Sophie.  I don't want you to feel that you have
to do anything or have to let me do anything.  I'll only do what you want."
I reassured her.

   "I . . .  I really want to but I'm also a little scared.  I can't make
up my mind." Sophie said.

   "Do you want me to touch your breasts?" I asked, thinking that taking
one thing at a time would be best.

   "Yes," she said without any hesitation.

   I cupped the perfect cones gently, feeling the firm softness I had
expected.  Sophie held her breath, looking down at my hands.  I let my
thumbs brush over her nipples.  Sophie shivered and sighed.  It even felt
like she leaned forward against my hands.

   I caressed her breasts for a long, long time.  Sophie's breathing got
more and more ragged and she shifted on the sofa as if she was sitting on a
bed of needles.  I guess I forgot what I'd said about not doing anything
she hadn't permitted.  I leaned forward and took one of her nipples into my
mouth.  It had a salty taste, a taste of her excitement that was making her
hot and making her sweat.  I put my free hand on her thigh but then I
remembered my promise and instead of sliding it upwards I just kept it
close to her knee.  I was finding it really hard to contain myself.  I was
pretty sure she was excited enough to want me to go further, but she might
regret it afterwards.  I had to go slow and let her set the pace.

   I let go of her breast and looked up at her.

   "Can I kiss you?"

   She just nodded.  I got up and sat down next to her on the sofa, putting
my arm around her shoulder.  Our lips met and she opened her mouth.  It was
so blissful and soft, yet she was very eager and her tongue wrested mine as
if she'd tried it many times before.

   It felt as if time stood still, but it didn't.  I guess we must have
been kissing for quite some time.  When we finally stopped, hot and dazed,
the time was ten to five.  Sophie rushed into the bedroom to get changed
and within a few minutes, we'd kissed goodbye and she was gone.  I didn't
think about it at first, but I suddenly realised that it would be a
fortnight before we could be together again.

   It was going to be a long two weeks.



   To be continued.





   You can find more stories written by me at:
/~henlar/ ftp://ftp.asstr.org/pub/Authors/henlar