Just A Girl by loyalsock - Sex Stories

Just A Girl by loyalsock

&#034Mina. Come in here, please.&#034 Although he was in the next room, his tone was soft and low, as if he'd been standing beside her. He'd called her to the living room with the same words numerous times by now, and she was almost always apprehensive. So often, it seemed she'd done something wrong and he'd recite instructions with soft patience while she stood before his easy chair in whatever state of dress she happened to be in. Lately, he'd taken to calling on her late at night, like now, as she was wearing the sleeveless, cotton T shirt she'd taken to sl**p in from his dresser drawer, and speaking to her in that calm, gravely voice that was comforting and unnerving all at once. But tonight, she was quite certain she'd done nothing to need correcting. At least not outside the secret confines of her bed...in the dark of the latest hours of the night...hiding herself away from the world under soft, billowy sheets in what had been his guest room before he gave it over to her. The blousy shirt sc****d softly across her thickening nipples as she downed the last of her water. Braless underneath, the sheer weight of her breasts felt like a rebellion against her too slender body. At times like this, they would betray her at the sound of his call, flushing with heated bl**d as she thought of standing before him, his eyes carelessly roaming while he spoke of things that mattered to him. As if she mattered. Sometimes tears would form in her eyes and she would blink them away ...

... before presenting herself. Clearly, he already knew what a flawed, unfinished thing she was, but he didn't need to know where the tender spots were. It was bad enough the sound of his call left her with this odd sensation inside of crumpling and blossoming all at once while a sweetly tortuous ache fired deep in the pit of her soul. &#034Coming, Mister,&#034 she finally called back, setting her empty glass on the counter. But she didn't go right away. She stood a moment longer in the dark kitchen with pale shafts of moonlight streaming in the window and wavering across her body. The tile floor was cool on her bare feet, a relief from the brushfire gathering just below the surface of her skin. She lifted the bottom of his shirt and slipped the other hand underneath, letting her fingers graze the soft-rough bumps of her nipples. The pressure of her hand felt good, urging her to rub harder, until she indulged brief, agonizing twists of her stiffening nubs. &#034Mina?&#034 She nearly jumped out of her skin, and almost expected to find him suddenly standing in the room, discovering her in the act of tweezing her own nipples. But no. He was still in the dimly lit living room, relaxing in his favorite chair. &#034Coming, Mister.&#034 Her voice sounded thin and birdlike. She reluctantly pulled her hand out from under the shirt and turned to go. As she entered the living room, she was thankful for the dim lighting as the shirt was wide open around her neck and arms, while underneath she was ...