Sweet Girl by Quell T. Fox

Chapter 1

Charlotte

IwassixteenthefirsttimeIsawmystepdad’scock.Iwasn’tsurehowtofeelaboutwhatIwasseeingbutIrememberhowithadstartedafireinmybelly.OneIhadneverfeltbefore.AndoneI’veneverbeenabletoforget.Somethinginsideofmechangedthatday.

I didn’t know how to react, or what to do. So I kept staring. It was long, thick, and hard as steel—I could tell just by looking at it. His hand was slowly running up and down the length, his hips thrusting up just the slightest. I’d never seen anything like that before. Never, but I was mesmerized and couldn’t seem to make myself look away. Watching his fist grip his length roughly, stroking up and down… it was alluring. I watched him through the window like a creep. I watched a man who’s more than twice my age bring himself pleasure. Seeing things I didn’t even know were real. Orgasms. Cum. It was all new to me.

That night, I went upstairs to my room and touched myself for the first time. Thoughts of my mom’s fiancé filled my mind as I pushed my fingers in and out of my pussy. I know how messed up that is, trust me I do, but it isn’t like he’s my real dad. He’s not even technically my stepdad. They aren’t married. Not yet anyway. So really, he was just an older man who happened to be dating my mother.

That was three years ago. Three years of longing after something I couldn’t have. Still, to this day, I wonder what his cock would feel like between my lips, and in my hand, as I stroke him and watch as hot cum spurts out of the tip when he can no longer hold it in. How would his cum feel landing all over my breasts? Is it as warm as I imagine it is? What does it taste like? Is it salty? Tangy? Sweet, maybe?

Later that first night, I found myself embarrassed about the whole ordeal. After I brought myself to my first orgasm, shame fell over me. He’s my mom’s boyfriend, what is wrong with me? But a few days later, I found myself thinking of him again, no longer with shame, but with want. I would venture downstairs to do my laundry—because that’s how I caught him the first time—and hoped I’d catch him in the act again. I needed to see more. To watch him pulse in his hand with his eyes shut, his lips parted on a groan… It was like he was my drug, and I was addicted.

Every time I went down to that laundry room, I hoped I’d see him sitting in his recliner that I had the perfect view of from the window. When he was there, well, my heart raced the entire time I did my laundry. And when he wasn’t, I found myself disappointed, only throwing half of my clothes in—an excuse to come back down later.

It became an obsession. One I couldn’t give up, nor did I want to. I don’t know what it was about him, about that image, but it was forever burned in my mind and I could not let it go.

I found myself suddenly thankful for the quirky laundry room I’d previously hated. It was a last minute, half-assed addition. It isn’t finished, not even having sheetrock up. Bare two by fours shape the room on three sides, while the other is the outside vinyl of the house—windows and screen door too. Even the dirt from the outside is still stuck to the house. I’d always hated how it was so out of place compared to the rest of the house, but Mom never wanted to spend the money to get it finished.

The window beside the washer and dryer has a direct view of the recliner that’s angled towards the TV. That first time I saw him, I was nervous, thinking I’d be caught. Even afterward, I was worried he somehow knew, but I quickly found out he had no idea. Because of the angle of the chair, he wouldn’t know I was here unless I told him, or he turned his head. He had no reason to notice if anyone was watching him when he was focusing on bringing himself to orgasm.

I lost count of the number of times I watched that man’s cum squirt out of his dick, landing all over his bare, six-pack filled abs, wishing I could be there on my knees to lick it off.

I’ve watched him many, many times, completely unable to help myself. I was so curious, so intrigued. After some time, my own hands were not enough to satisfy my needs. That’s when I lost my virginity. I was smart enough to not sleep with anyone in my school, not wanting the drama amongst peers that went along with it. Instead, I resorted to finding people online—which was a lot easier than it should be for a sixteen-year-old girl. And truthfully, it did me no good. Problem was, no matter how many people I slept with, no matter how many dicks I sucked, how many tongues slid over my throbbing clit, they never scratched the itch Jonathan caused.

I knew nothing could ever happen between us, even though I truly wanted it to. There is nothing I have ever wanted more than him. There were so many reasons why we would never be able to be together. For one, I was only sixteen which is illegal. And for two, he was dating my mother. There was nothing I could do about it, other than to suffer in silence. I had to settle for watching him from a distance and that never got old. Never. The only issue was my need for him, but I kept it in check as best I could, deciding to envision him fucking me when some random guy from the internet was between my legs, unable to tell my ass from my pussy. I’d think about Jonathan there instead, imagining him knowing exactly what he was doing. How hard to push with his tongue, where to put his fingers… the orgasms I had were more from my thoughts than the physicality I was getting from the morons who acted like they were God’s gift to women.

But it was all I had.

Over the years, Jonathan and I have had a mostly normal relationship. It was awkward at first, my cheeks warming those first few times I saw him, flashes of his O-face striking through my mind. But as I realized he knew nothing, that it was my little secret, I acted as if things were normal. Sometimes, when Mom worked late, and it was just him and I, I even went as far as to pretend we were out on a date together. When it was just us enjoying dinner or watching TV in the living room. That my dream finally came true and he was all mine.

Jonathan never acted strangely towards me, he never let on he knew a thing, so I figured it was the truth. Which is why I continued my secret show of watching Jonathan touch himself, up until I moved out when I was eighteen. I left for college right after high school graduation and I haven’t seen him or my mom over this entire last year.

Out of sight, out of mind, right?

The saying is a crock of shit. Sure, the obsession has dwindled, my body settling into what it got instead of what it wanted, but my thoughts were always with Jonathan. The longer I was away, the less I saw him, the easier the thoughts were to manage.

I told myself that when I would be off at college, I would forget about him completely. Even if I have slept with an uncountable number of guys, I could still find that happily ever after I dreamed of as a little girl. I’d find the guy for me… eventually. But something about being eighteen, being free, being an adult… it made me want Jonathan more. It turned my thoughts from this is not okay to this could happen…

And that was dangerous.

Some days were worse than others, and most nights were rough. I thought of Jonathan a lot, especially when I was alone and craved for a man’s touch. I wondered what it was he was doing and if, for some crazy reason, he was thinking of me. I’m not sure if it’s his fault, or just how I was born, but I find myself in need of an older man. One who knows what he’s doing in life and with a woman. My dad was never around, so maybe it’s just daddy issues. Whatever the cause, it doesn’t matter… because this is me.

The thought of an awkward teenager between my legs is less than satisfying, drying up my pussy faster than the Nevada heat ever could. And unfortunately, those thoughts were a reality more than I’d like to admit.

There are hundreds of guys at school. Plenty who are drop dead gorgeous, but even at this point, they’re just not enough. I’ve had my fair share of dates and one night stands, but none of them have ever ended with satisfaction on my end. Not a single one. Not unless I thought of Jonathan. For a while, I thought there was something wrong with me. Something wrong with my body, a hormone imbalance, or maybe a mental issue. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized it was simply because I needed Jonathan.