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   The Pickpocket

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   by Jean-Michel Maserati

   --------------------- Warning ====== Just to make it perfectly clear up
front.  This tale contains explicit sex scenes; if you find such
descriptions offensive, I suggest you leave the site now.  Also, if for any
reason whatsoever you should not be permitted access to this material (for
example, due to your age and/or the laws of the area where you either live
or are currently staying) then you should quit now.  I can and will take no
responsibility for any consequences if you don't.

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   It wasn't much of a job, but it suited me well enough.  The store was
suffering so badly from pilfering and pickpocketing the last while that
they decided to hire someone extra in to do a bit of the security work,
evenings and weekends when the regular guy wasn't there.  And even when
there were the two of us, it meant I had a bit of spare time for stacking
the shelves and so forth as well, which the full-time security bod wouldn't
do because of his bad back.  I wasn't picky about what my duties were: I
needed a bit of extra cash - which young guy in his last year or so at
school doesn't, unless he's got rich parents?  - and the usual kind of
people for that kind of work weren't around in our town.  Retired deputies
and the like were fine for wandering round in plain clothes or maybe even
watching a screen.  But there was only old Jimbo or a handful of others
like him in the whole area, and something as complex as a modern CCTV with
video recording and joysticks for the cameras was way beyond them...  no
way José.  All I had to do was keep an eye on things and alert the
storeowner and the cops when I had any evidence.  And when there was nobody
in the store it was just fine and dandy if I did my homework or studied and
revised for the big exams coming up: one thing I was determined to do was
get out of this small town and go to college.  Not being one of the
sporting crowd who could find a scholarship ticket, and not being a genius
who took everything in his stride academically, that meant I had to study.
And the further away it kept me from the big motherfuckers in the ball
team, the better - they were always picking on me for some reason.  So I
thought it was a great job.  All in the same mall as where my girlfriend
worked as well, which was kinda neat.

   And after a couple of weeks, it began to go real well.  I'd spotted and
recorded the evidence of a foursome of out-of-town kids who were
systematically going for the electronics and games.  Two women had been
arrested as well, who were going round with small children in tow and
ripping off the clothes - hiding them in the buggies along with the kids'
blankets.  The cops were happy, the storeowner was more than happy, and my
job was safe for the whole summer if I wanted.  When the tourists started
coming along (the town's on the route to one of the big national parks, so
we get a lot of seasonal trade) then I'd be busy again, that was for sure.
More shoplifters coming in, and rich takings for the pickpockets.

   With just a couple of weeks to go before the tests at the end of the
school year (I had one year after this to get my grade point average up
high enough for the medical study I wanted to follow), I was wrestling one
evening with some particularly recalcitrant chemistry equations when I saw
Heather come in along with a couple of other girls from my year at the
High. So I watched her.  Well, most red-blooded males would do just the
same: this was the girl who we spent all our
time daydreaming about in the science and maths classes, rather than

keeping our minds on our work.  She just sat there calmly doing her work
whenever the teacher was looking, and stirring everyone up when he wasn't.
Tall and leggy, a slender and athletic-looking blonde with an Afro-frizz
mass of pale golden curls seemingly designed to make a halo around her head
when the light was on them.  She was drop-dead gorgeous as far as I was
concerned, and she was more than bright enough to know it and make use of
it too.  Always making come-on faces and gestures at us, staring you out
with those cold bright green eyes, blowing pretend kisses, mercilessly
teasing all us hopeless nerds.  She didn't much like these classes, I
suppose, and would have preferred to be in with the rest of her friends in
the 'soft' subjects rather than the sciences.  But I guess she had enough
sense to know that if her math and her science were her best subjects she'd
be a fool to drop them, even if the rest of her subject choice was aimed at
getting her into law school.  Mom and Pa wanted a proper career for their
little girl, and had the money to make sure she would do just fine as long
as she got the basic qualifications.  So Heather took a long term view and
actually studied hard.  The rest of the time, she went round with the rest
of the cheerleaders and let the football team jocks take her out on dates
or whatever, her on-and-off boyfriend being some muscle-bound jerk who had
beaten up on me more than once after discovering that I was the one who'd
christened him 'Johnny Bravo' behind his back.  That crowd saw themselves
as some kind of social elite: there were the well-off ones, the pretty
ones, the top ball players - the ones with a future.  If you came from the
other side of town, then unless you were like six four and two twenty
pounds of muscle, you just didn't exist for them.  And undoubtedly, someone
like Heather was very much upwardly mobile: her father was a big shot in
the area, despite a shady background.  He'd met Heather's mother when he
was a B-grade actor, and had been down very low when he'd suddenly seen the
Light.  He'd rescued his wife-to-be from a drugs habit and from the
porn-film circuit (no wonder Heather was a stunner) and then followed it by
quitting the sex industry and working up to become a respected minister. 
Now he was looking like a future senator or governor within a couple of
years, famous well outside the state.

   Just to make it clear that these types were no friends of mine, dig? 
The gang of teenage girls walked provocatively past some business type,
giggling and joking.  Someone horsing about shoved Heather a bit and she
stumbled into the guy.  It took less than a second, but I saw it. 
Heather's hand slid into the jacket pocket and came out with a small purse.
I couldn't believe it.  Why?

   I ran the tape back.  Yep, no doubt about it at all.  She'd lifted his
wallet when they collided and slid it into her own purse before he'd even
turned round.

   I spent most of the rest of the shift searching the archived tape
material that hadn't been written over yet.  I found two more incidents
involving her.  The first was a bunch of car-keys deftly lifted from an
overcoat.  I remembered that one: the keys had later been found in the door
of the car in the parking lot, and everyone had of course assumed they had
been left dangling there by a forgetful owner, even if he had been less
convinced.  An opportunist thief had taken CDs and sports gear.  The second
act of larceny was just off shot, unfortunately, but Heather had
undoubtedly been right there at the moment an old Hispanic woman's purse
had disappeared from a shopping cart.

   I was absolutely dumbstruck.  There was no reason for her to do anything
like that.  It made no sense whatsoever.  I thought of all these stupid
things you hear in the papers.  'A cry for help' - all that kind of shit.
But Heather wasn't lonely.  She had no need of help.  This must simply be
her little turn-on, the adrenalin rush of risk-taking.  What else could it
be?  She must have known that she was risking her entire future if she was
caught - maybe that was the thrill.  For instance, she could kiss law
school goodbye.  As well as severely damaging her father's chances in
politics.  Jesus, I thought as it sank in slowly, I was sitting on evidence
that would make a nationwide news story.  I began trying to count up the
thousands the journos would pay me for a copy of the tape.  Or that the
Reverend Vandervelde would happily give out to shut me up.  Or indeed, what
Heather herself might be able to offer to stop it going any further...  and
one innocent fantasy soon led onto another.  When you're that age, it only
takes a few seconds for you to wonder whether the inducements might be of a
personal rather than a monetary nature.

   Not wanting to put anything on paper in my handwriting that might be
construed as an attempted blackmail, I sent her an email when I got back
home (we all had individual email addresses at the school, and they were
actually quite well-used.  Sometimes for gossip, sometimes for sharing
homework assignments, and so on).  I kept it carefully neutral, just a
little note saying I'd seen her on the CCTV at the mall - did she know
security there was my job?  Smile - you're on Candid Camera...

   Our conversation after the math class next day was short and simple.  I
hung back just outside the door, reckoning she'd be worried enough to say a
few words and put a toe in the water to see if I'd seen anything.  Bang on.
She began coldly and haughtily.  "About that email...  Do you enjoy spying
on me and my friends?" "Nope - it's just my job," I answered, "Kinda cool.
Lotsa closed circuit TV kit to play with." She gave me a sour look, as if I
were some annoying little kid with his boring toys.  I went on: "I look out
for shoplifters, record the evidence and report them to the authorities." A
pause.  "And pickpockets." She swallowed, definitely unsure of herself. 
"Well, no need to watch us girls then, is there - shouldn't you be
monitoring the shady characters?" Her voice positively oozed with sarcasm.
"Oh, not necessarily," I said lightly.  "Sometimes it's the least likely
candidates who cause the most trouble." I lowered my voice a bit.  "Oh yes,
I've seen exactly what happens.  I could land you in very deep shit."
Should she wish to discuss the matter further, she knew where to find me...

   She came to the mall that evening during my coffee break.  There we
could meet up for a soda or whatever without it looking like a date if
anyone should spot us, since I'd be in uniform.  (I mean, Heaven forbid
that her crowd might think she had sought out my company!) We had a
ten-minute chat in a corner of the coffee bar during which I showed her the
printouts of some vidcap stills taken from the security system.  And I
hinted that I had many more.  Her face fell; although there was no way she
could hide her fear of the hold I suddenly had over her, she was also
obviously hugely relieved that I hadn't passed the details on yet.  I told
her I could switch tapes or splice out the relevant bits.  Heather was
nearly in tears for a minute, and then began suddenly to thank me for being
such a good friend.  She had gotten about as far as "I don't know how I can
possibly thank you enough, just name it, I'll do anything..."

   ...when two things happened at once.  She realized exactly what I had in
mind; the smile of relief vanished instantly from that exquisitely formed
face and the large green eyes narrowed as she mouthed the single word "No".
And at exactly that moment my current girlfriend Erica came into the café,
which she quite often did since she worked at one of the clothes stores
too, though she was selling rather than security, of course.  A small
department store that belonged to her parents.  Well, since we'd been
getting along less well lately, it's putting it mildly to say she was
suspicious to find next year's prom queen talking to me at a table for two.
Mind you, given my looks and voice and all-round charm, the idea of me and
Heather together was pretty preposterous.  I signalled her to join us,
explaining that Heather had just dropped in by chance...  What did she
think, I asked jokily, that we were just making a date at her place for
tomorrow afternoon, since neither of us had school and Heather's parents
were off on the political campaign trail?  The tall blonde opposite
grimaced at me, clearly understanding the subtext message.  A cold silence
descended: time to

   improvise.  "We sit together in math, right?" I said to Erica as if
explaining impatiently to a little kid.  "We talk.  Heather can say things
to an outsider she trusts that she couldn't say to the blabbermouths in her
clique." Heather latched on and covered.  Good girl.  "You know, Erica - a
kinda confidante thing.  Unbiased advice." "Yeah," I filled in.  "The other
girls all want to date Johnny Bravo..." "Don't call him that." "...so
they'd all tell her to dump him once and for all.  I might not..." "You're
hardly unbiased on that score," laughed Erica.  "You hate the guy." "Cos
he's a prick," was my rejoinder.  "Cos he's violent and cos he uses
steroids and cos his drinking will turn him into a fat vicious slob before
he's thirty.  Not cos I wanna fuck him." I turned to Heather and looked her
right in the eye.  The pupils were shrinking to black points; there was no
warmth there at all, despite the perfectly sociable smile.  "You were just
asking what I wanted you to do.  Here it is.  You are going to tell him
where to get off.  That's the big news at school tomorrow: he's history."
She gave me a mirthless smile in which the eyes played no part at all, and
got up to leave, "Well, Erica, a girl's bound to be intrigued," she said to
her suddenly.  "You did say he's got the biggest schlong in the whole
class." My turn to be surprised; Erica had always insisted that our little
affair was to be kept a big secret.  And the intimate anatomical comparison
wasn't true anyway, as far as I was aware.  The girls laughed together at
my embarrassment.  "It's all right," said the tall blonde as she left, "why
should I want a no-hope joker like him?  No car, no muscles, no money. 
Give me a break." Erica smirked at the put-down; I didn't appreciate that.

   I went round to her mom's clothes store at closing time.  As usual,
Erica was the last one there, being trusted to lock up shop properly. 
Behind closed doors and with the blinds down, we played out her little
ritual.  She'd try on a couple of sexy little numbers, parade around the
shop floor in various states of undress while I lied to her about how good
she looked.  Then I'd fuck her.  Tonight she had some slinky maroon dress
on that would have looked stunning on someone with a good figure, but
looked faintly ridiculous on her slightly stocky frame and with her big
tits flopping about braless underneath.  On the counter, maroon-colored
silk hitched up.  Thighs open - a touch too pale and flabby - and her
recently shaved genitalia spread wide for action.  Not a pretty sight,
highly unsubtle and not very erotic - but it turned her on, and I got my
end away, so who cared?  Teenage guys aren't too choosy when offered pussy
on a plate.  I put the rubber on and rode her hard until we both came. 
Then I continued the charade of saying how fantastic she was until we went
our separate ways home.

   The next morning was another of those superb early summer days.  My mind
wasn't really on the schoolwork, it has to be said.  The screen-shots and
the tapes from the CCTV were in my bag and it felt as if they were burning
a hole.  They weren't the originals, of course, but I was uncomfortable
with them nonetheless.  And at the end of the lessons, I excused myself
from the rest of the gaggle of teenagers chatting near the gates.  I stayed
five minutes or so, just long enough to make sure that I'd heard the main
piece of gossip right: yup, Heather and Johnny Bravo had had a blazing row
and it was all over for good.  She was tight-lipped and wouldn't speak
about it; he was devastated.  Rumors varied from him having gotten drunk
and raped her through to him having gotten down on one knee with a ring and
her having turned him down.  Satisfied, I headed off towards home on my
mountain bike.  Once I was out of sight, I changed direction and set off
cross-country to the sprawling old farmstead where the would-be senator
Vandervelde lived.  It was only a couple of miles away, so I was on the
dirt road which goes there within five minutes or so.  Shortly before I got
there, a cloud of dust overtook me: Heather roared past in her lovingly
restored soft-top VW Bug.  The front gate had closed again by the time I
arrived, and I wondered as I buzzed the intercom whether she'd just leave
me outside, sweaty and dusty and frustrated.  Or maybe there'd be a
welcoming committee of her father's henchmen, ready to knock seven shades
of shit out of this little runt and scare him into not taking things
further.  Risky, but possible.  Or half the football team, who certainly
wouldn't shrink back from a bit of mindless violence; no, I had clearly
seen that Heather had been alone in her cabriolet and no other vehicles had
come past.  Or one of her parents with a cash alternative.  Again, it was a
possibility.  But Heather had surely been almost as afraid of her Pa
getting to know as about having her chances at law school scuppered.  No, I
reasoned with myself, she would have no choice but to stick to my one-sided
bargain.  But I must admit, I was quietly relieved when the latch buzzed
and the gate swung open to let me cycle up to the big house.

   Heather opened the door.  She did not look particularly pleased to see
me, which I took as a good sign that she was caught between a rock and a
hard place, and had resigned herself to what was to come.  It was a
beautifully appointed and well-cared for house: she led me through to a
spacious air-conditioned lounge, before going out again wordlessly.  I
looked about appreciatively: everything positively reeked of dollars. 
There were big leather chairs and sofas around a low table, a huge brick
fireplace and a large TV on which the local news was coincidentally showing
a brief report on some rally at which her father was speaking about taxes
and hospitals.  I turned it off and put in a most suitable video.  Then I
sat down and presently Heather appeared with two coffees.  I relaxed back,
spreading myself languidly over a luxurious armchair; she sat primly
opposite, knees together and hands in her lap.  The video was not what
she'd expected.  It was a worn and tacky copy of a skin flick starring the
starlet later known as Mrs.  Vandervelde.  We sat in silence as Heather's
mother stripped and began sucking off a black guy with a huge dick.  She
was also a tall and long-legged blonde but without the elegance and grace
of her daughter's movements.  The silence lengthened.  "What's the deal,
then?" she asked finally.

   "The Mercury will pay me twenty grand," I lied fluently.  I saw her
swallow nervously at the mention of the name.  The scourge of liberal
politicians.  "And I suspect your father would at least double it." She
winced almost visibly; there was no need to concede the point verbally. 
"You have an alternative," she said wearily, "or you wouldn't be here. 
Spill." I nodded.  "What do you think?  What's on offer?" It had been an
unspoken fact since about two seconds before Erica had turned up in the
coffee bar.  Now it had to be given a name.  "I assume you intend
blackmail, with the intention of raping me." I raised an eyebrow, sipping
my coffee, letting her continue.  She bit her lip.  "I'm in no position to
refuse, am I?  Drink up, give me the tapes and let's get it over with." I
grinned.  "Pass on forty or fifty grand for one fuck?  You're a pretty
girl, Heather, but even so I'm not giving up tha much.  Be real - ask your
mom what she got paid for that touching scene." I pointed at the screen,
where her mother was now being taken from behind by the same black guy. 
Heather scowled, trying not to watch.  I wondered if she'd ever seen mommie
dearest in action before.  I decided on what I thought was a high opening
bid, just to see what I could get.  "From now on, until we go to college,
you are my girlfriend.  Going steady, right?  No more Johnny Bravo, nobody
else but me." She looked across, big green eyes staring almost
emotionlessly through me.  "You will get all the tapes, copies, stills,
floppies, the whole lot.  To be handed over to you after the night of the
senior prom, shall we say?" No response other than a helpless shrug. 
Jesus, she wasn't even arguing.  "Until then - which is just a little over
a year ahead, by my counting - I get to fuck you.  Whenever and wherever I
want.  Every which way I choose." She was staring bravely at the far wall,
but I could see the tears welling up in those usually so light-hearted
emerald eyes.  I just went on remorselessly, seeing how far I could push my
luck.  "Are you on the pill?" She shook her head sorrowfully, as if about
to say something.  I interrupted, "Well, arrange it then, or take your
chances.  I'm going in bareback, I hate those rubbers." She pursed up her
lips as if to argue.  I chuckled callously, lifting up a hand to stop her
protests.  "You have to make it worth my while, remember, Heather?  No
arguments." I smirked.  "For passing up fifty grand, I should think I can
expect you to be pretty much my slave for the year.  So come on, what's
your best offer?"

   She stood up and walked over to the TV to switch it off, visibly
shocked. She was fidgeting with her hands, pacing about and not looking me
in the eye.  "Two conditions," she said.  I tilted my head inquiringly. 
"You're in no position to make preconditions, girl." "Yes I am," she said
defiantly.  "Just hear me out.  I agree to your...  terms.  I will
cooperate." I could hardly believe my ears.  She was in full flow now. 
"But there are two things I do know my Mom regrets and hates herself for.
She doesn't like talking about it, but she...  you know...  does try to
give me advice.  A sorta girl-girl thing." A pause, a swallow.  I waited.
"One, no violence - if you beat up on me or rape me or drug me or let your
friends take me, I'll report it and be damned.  We'll take our time, and if
you let me enjoy myself I'm quite sure you can as well." Too damn right. 
"Two, not in public or in front of a camera.  The blackmail would never
end." That was all?  Surely she wasn't agreeing to the rest?  She sure was.
"Deal?" she asked.  I nodded.

   "Okay, it's a deal.  Now, go get changed and make some lunch.  We'll
have it out on the terrace, with a nice bottle of white wine.  I'm sure you
can find one somewhere." I wondered if she'd rebel at being given
instructions.  But this was no longer the self-confident, extrovert,
talk-of-the-town Heather in front of me.  This was a rather subdued and
penitent young woman, clearly rather shocked and frightened by a close
brush with disaster.  She nodded meekly and trotted off.

   I went outside to the back of the house, where there was a sun-drenched
patio with beechwood furniture next to a massive pool.  On the far side
were a barbecue and a tennis court - what a palace they lived in!  The pool
was cool and blue and inviting...  Realizing just how dusty and sweaty I
still was, for a brief moment I regretted not having brought my swimming
shorts with me.  Then on the spur of the moment I stripped naked: what a
feeling of freedom, just standing there for a minute in the brilliant
sunshine, feeling a slight natural breath of breeze over my entire nude
body.  And dove in anyway.  Shit, there was nobody about except Heather and
she wasn't going to object.

   After a couple of minutes, she same down again.  She had changed from
her schoolwear - jeans, trainers and tee-shirts are almost a mandatory
uniform for the high school girls, it seems to me.  Instead, she had put on
some kind of sun-dress.  She brought out a range of goodies to eat and
drink and called over to me that it was ready, throwing a towelling
housecoat over to the poolside.  I clambered up the steps, deliberately and
shamelessly presenting her with a full-frontal view.  The coolness of the
water had prevented me getting much of a hard-on even with a siren such as
Heather in the vicinity, but nonetheless there was enough there to leave
her in no doubt that I was going to enjoy myself at her expense later.  She
stifled a squeal, putting a hand in front of her mouth.  But said nothing
more, just watching surreptitiously as I dried myself off.

   We ate a rather nice and relaxed meal, to my surprise finding it quite
easy to chat openly about our various mutual acquaintances at school and
having a good bitch about various people and teachers and courses.  Once
there weren't any others in the vicinity from the supercilious in-crowd,
her demeanour changed from rich-bitch to girl-next-door.  Suited her much
better.  We sat back in the sun, drinking the wine coolers, smoking her
mother's cigarettes while she calmly listed a couple of dozen thefts from
the mall and the kick and feeling of superiority it gave her.  I think she
quite liked having someone to confess to about it all.  The sex thing was
quite open now, easier to talk about now that it was accepted - it was a
deal, a fait accompli.  Little by little the truth dawned on me that
Heather wasn't so unhappy with the deal: it was a gilt-edged chance for her
to break free, I had forced the realization on her that she didn't actually
give a damn for the people she went aroudn with.  She wanted all kinds of
details about the four girls I'd had the pleasure of in the past, and
volunteered several anecdotes about her mother and the advice she was
always trying to give Heather.  I asked her who was best in bed, Johnny or
Jacko or Terry (the other two on the ball team who'd claimed to have scored
with her).  She said she wouldn't know - those two just spread the tales as
revenge for having been cold-shouldered when they pushed things too far and
too fast.  She'd only ever done it with Johnny, and even then not all that
often.  As for being good in bed: well, she confessed, they'd never gotten
to do it in a bed.  Out by the bluff or by the lakeside in the late
evenings, a couple of times in his car if the weather hadn't been good or
in the grass otherwise.  "Sounds good fun to me," I said.  "I'm sure we'll
find time to give it a try." "You should try lying there in the dark with
your Levis round your ankles, while he fumbles with the rubbers.  I was
always terrified that someone was about to sneak up on us," she said.  "No
fun at all." That mental picture was too much to bear.  I wanted action.

   I drained my glass, stood up and took her hand to pull her to her feet.
Both barefoot on the hot sandstone flags, we were much the same height.  I
pulled her close for an experimental kiss, and although it was hesitant at
first, she permitted me to do so, opening her mouth to let my tongue
explore her.  I'd kissed a fair few girls before and had persuaded three
others apart from Erica to do the dirty deed, but intimate contact with a
really attractive girl was a new experience.  A girl whose wide red lips
and even white teeth should have been in some cosmetics advert, rather than
being in contact with my own - warm and sweet and still tasting of the
wine. A long-limbed athlete with her slender arms draped sensuously over my
shoulders, the green eyes looking back brightly and confidently when we
weren't kissing, the tight blonde curls tickling my hands as they stroked
her back and shoulders.  A new and delicious experience.  So I took my
time. I didn't try to grope that splendid young body yet, just concentrated
on kissing and holding her tight and simply getting pleasure from having
that lithe figure in hot contact with my own.  And she appreciated my not
rushing in, that was clear.  After all, as she said, there was all
afternoon for this and a whole year to follow..

   After a few minutes, she turned away from me and swiftly peeled off the
lightweight summer dress.  Now, it's not as if we hadn't all seen her at
school in tight jeans and T-shirts often enough, and also marvelled at her
splendid figure doing all the high-kicks and other moves with the school's
cheerleaders.  But despite knowing perfectly well what a knockout figure
Heather had, seeing her there in just her shades and a skimpy black
one-piece swimsuit was something else.  She whipped off the sunglasses and
suddenly took a short run up, turned a couple of elegant cartwheels and an
athletic flick-flack to disappear with barely a splash into the pool.  I
shucked off the towelling robe and dove in naked after her with a sploosh.
We played around for a minute or so as if I were chasing her, but to be
perfectly honest she was that much better a swimmer that I probably
couldn't actually have caught her if she hadn't had the sense to permit it.
It became a game: when I did catch her, it was another minute of sploshing
about and kissing and getting more at our ease with each other.  Going a
tiny bit further each time before she swam off again.  The fourth or fifth
time I got her, it was in the deep end so I was using one hand to hold onto
the poles of the steps for balance.  When I kissed her I found her hand
suddenly clamped firmly around my now very substantial erection.  I let her
stay there, stroking and exploring, for a minute or so; if that got her
ready for action, it was fine by me.  But the next time when she swam off I
was waiting, and trapped her again almost immediately in the shallow end
where a number of broad tiled steps ran up from waist deep to zero.  I came
down on top of her with a splash as I tackled her, and when we both came up
grinning I was in a standing position and Heather was lying floating on her
back with those stunning long legs clamped around my waist.  She fanned out
her arms, shut her eyes and lay back in the dazzling myriad of reflected
suns on the water, her hair trailing like a mermaid's in the blue water,
the frizzy pale blonde hair making pale brown fronds when wet.  And she lay
there motionless, not resisting as I reached forward with my hands and
delicately began letting my fingertips make the acquaintance of that
delectable young body.  The black material of the swimsuit was stretched
taut over her firm breasts, nipples clearly visible.  She bit her lip as I
stroked the wet fabric, then slowly let my right-hand fingers trace down
the flat stomach to where her pubic mound began, while the left hand moved
up from a knee along a smooth-skinned thigh to where the flimsy swimsuit
was all that was stopping me from fucking her there and then.  I resisted
the temptation to yank the garment aside and take her on the spot, which I
think she half expected, and instead began gently and teasingly rubbing at
the fabric with my thumb, easing it aside and feeling the soft fleshy
contours of the lips beneath and the unmistakeable nubble of her clitoris
too.  Her eyes were open wide with surprise at the overload of sensory
input, and she put her hands down on the step below to brace herself.  My
free hand could now press and squeeze those fine young breasts without
dunking her, which only increased the tension.  The big green eyes were
sparkling with speckles of brown now; I'd heard that green eyes go darker
and browner when sexually aroused, but certainly never expected to observe
it in Heather!  She came to a panting climax, probably as much to her own
surprise as mine, and then lay back.  "Well, that was different," I smiled.
"I'm supposed to be the horny one." She was blushing.  Actually blushing
and avoiding my gaze.  "You're not like Johnny, or Jacko and Terry and the
others," she said.  "All they want to do is get my clothes off and stick it
in me.  They probably think labia and clitoris are the Latin names for
garden flowers or something." Erica may have been a tad overweight and a
bit of a slut, but she'd certainly taught me which bits of the female
anatomy were which.  I said as much, laughing aloud.  Heather shook her
head with a girlish giggle and continued.  "Whipping their dicks out on a
first date and expecting you to suck them like some hooker from the
magazines they jerk off to.  Fat chance." I considered ordering her to give
me a blowjob there and then, just to show who was boss... but that could
wait.  No need to spoil things - this was already enough of a dream coming
true.  "And all you guys seem to be really hung up on whether my pubic hair
is blonde or not." She was blushing furiously now, as I could see when she
turned her head to look me defiantly in the eye.  I told her I'd been
feeling her up by touch alone, not able to see anything.  She smiled
disbelievingly.  "Well, I certainly know your mother wasn't a natural
blonde," I countered.  "We've just seen the proof of that one." "My dad's
blonde too," she said non-committally.  I'd had enough of this.  "Maybe I'd
better just take a look," I said with a pretended evil smirk, reaching
round to where the swimsuit was tied at the back of her neck.  She was gone
in a flash, half the length underwater.  I sat back on the steps in the
warm knee-deep water; she'd better not go back on her word now, I muttered
under my breath.  At the far end of the pool she stopped, fumbled for a
moment and then held something black aloft before tossing it aside.  The
swimsuit slapped wetly on the poolside tiles.  We swam slowly towards each
other until we were a few feet apart, at a depth where we could just about
stand up comfortably.  "I'm naked," she said unnecessarily.  "And?" Was it
such a big deal?  "Well...  it's the first time.  With a guy.  And not in
the dark." "Not even with Johnny?" She slicked her hair back over her head.
"Like I said.  In the car, on the grass.  Tee-shirt up under the armpits,
jeans and panties round the ankles.  Just like some animal rutting - and he
acted like he was doing the girl a favor." She shook her head.  "I'm
actually going to enjoy telling him how much better you are, so you can
stop going on about him.  He's history.  We made our deal and I'll keep to
it." She smiled at me, a big coy smile with the wide red lips apart,
flashing her perfect teeth.  "In fact, so far I'm beginning to think I
might not even regret it.  That was the first time a boy - a man - has...
made me come." "Heather, you are a naughty young woman," I said to her in a
mock-serious tone, lazily stepping slowly towards her.  "So, as you said,
you are naked.  Does this establishment permit skinny dipping?" "Don't
know. Never done it before." "What's the punishment?" "You decide." The
kiss was electric.  Her skin was cool and soft in the water, but those
magnificent tits were still firm handfuls and her athletically muscled
backside was a delight to grapple and pull close into my groin.  Boy, was I
ready for her now.

   "Right," I said suddenly in a low and menacing tone that brooked no
disobedience.  Well, that was the idea; I don't think it worked.  "You've
had your pleasure, girl.  Now it's my turn.  No being coy about your body
now - I want to fuck you.  Show me your snatch." To my annoyance, she
grinned impishly at me.  "Being macho doesn't suit you, you know." I
shrugged.  "I still have the videos.  Remember..." It didn't seem to be
quite the threat any more that it had been an hour ago.  "Oh yes, I know
that," she said.  "How could I forget?  So yes, I shall do as I'm told." A
mock salute, at which we both laughed.  "But you shouldn't whisper the rude
words.  Nobody can hear."

   She swam off to the end of the pool, before calling back, "What did you
want?  A look at some pussy?" I took a deep breath and yelled back, "Enough
of your mouth, you fucking bitch!  Spread your legs and show me your cunt!"
Her laughter rang out as she climbed out of the pool at the far end. 
Delightedly, I watched her naked shoulders and back and then buttocks and
legs appear.  Still with her back to me as I swam languidly after her, she
picked up a towel and dried her hair off a bit before stepping purposefully
off to the arbor seat at the edge of the patio, a big wooden swinging
affair with a parasol awning, although that wasn't up at the moment.  By
the time I got there, she was sitting back in it, leaning draped over the
back and with those long legs stretched out forwards, swinging gently and
soaking up the sun.  She looked fantastic, the real all-American dream:
tall, leggy, no tan-lines evident on the smooth skin, firm and full young
breasts with slightly darker aureoles and nipples protruding, narrow waist
and hips, and a thick but carefully trimmed triangle of golden hair at the
crotch.  "You're even more beautiful than I thought," I blurted out.  She
turned her head away, almost blushing with embarrassment.  "That's a nice
thing to say.  Better than Jacko whispering in my ear 'So blondie, does the
carpet match the drapes?' as if telling him the color of my body hair might
turn me on." "If Jacko and Terry missed this by being too forward, they're
assholes." "Assholes, eh?" she agreed.  "Neither of them got beyond first
base.  Even Mr.  Bravo didn't get to see me naked." "But of course, what
they all really wanted was..." I prompted.  "This."

   The elegant young blonde lifted her legs high, straight up together and
then parted them in an ever-widening vee until she had locked her ankles
behind the chains supporting the swinging seat.  She lay there, swaying
gently to and fro, while I stood speechless, drinking in the sight of this
stunningly attractive teenager spreadeagled lewdly in front of me.  She was
uncomfortable with the silence.  "That's was what you wanted, it's what all
men want, isn't it?" I knelt down in front of her.  "What's up...  not
pretty enough?" She knew better than that.  I laughed, "There's no such
thing as a pretty cunt, blondie.  But as they go, well...  young,
blonde-haired..." I fingered the lips apart contentedly as she bit her lips
and wrigged in pleasure "...tight and juicy and ready for action.  Yours is
about as tasty as they get." I reached round under her knees to get two
handfuls of those spectacular breasts, and then stopped with my face just
an inch or so from her genitals.  "It's the body and face that make the
whole beautiful, and the girl herself inside that counts most.  And there
sure is such a thing as a pretty girl's cunt, collar matching the cuffs, a
pretty girl putting her pussy on parade, a pretty girl squirming beneath
you as you put her to the pork sword." I looked up; she had stuck her
tongue out playfully, knowing full well I was deliberately using the kind
of phrases her other would-be lovers might employ.  "And anyway, you're
much more than merely pretty." I applied my lips and my tongue in
delightfully anticipated caresses to the crinkled folds of the lips of her
vagina and then in to the clitoris, and within seconds she was on the verge
of coming again.

   So was I.  I wanted her.  There would be time enough later for sensuous
lovemaking.  That could come later: right now, she was simply going to take
it as hard as I could give it to her.  Kneeling up, I placed my prick at
her entrance, easing the bell end in until the labia were stretched wide.
She gave a groan of anticipation, shut her eyes and nodded.  I put my
weight on my hands, on the back of the bench either side of her shoulders,
which tipped the seat back so that her hips rose to meet me.  Then I
straightened my legs behind me and pushed in against her.  The young blonde
squealed, more in ecstasy than any pain, climaxing wide-eyed and
open-mouthed as I penetrated her to the hilt in one savage thrust.  Then
there was no stopping me, as every swing of the seat was met by another
drive into her splayed and defenceless body.  I kept going, ramming home
uninhibitedly until I came with a shudderingly climactic series of spurts,
hot and liquid inside her.  Fantastic.

   And after I was done, I stepped back and went back to the table for
another two glasses of wine.  When I got back, Heather was still lying
there splay-legged, still with those long legs hooked behind the chains
holding the gently seesawing arbor seat.  Her face looked shell-shocked
from the intensity of it all but she was smiling contentedly too.  I gave
her the glass and she sat there sipping it, still making no move to cover
herself.

   Unable to believe my good luck, I looked down at the soft skin of the
thighs wide akimbo, the perfect tan, the golden curls glinting in the
sunlight.  She was too good to be true, I mused.  I'd sure be helping
myself to a fair bit more of that in the next while...  just exactly how
many nights did I have until prom night?

  
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   All original work, copyright (c) J.M.Maserati, 2002.

   May be freely disseminated for non-commercial purposes

   as long as the author is clearly identified and copyright stated. 
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