Like the Hot little Cheerleader Slut I am, I strut my shit after practice through the neighborhood. Accordingly in my tiny pleated skirt, barely covering my ass, a cropped top clings tight to my perky tits, and my white Keds.
Just knowing I am being watched my nipples erect and poking through the thin fabric from the thrill.
One things for sure, I know Mr. Reynolds is out there watching. Naturally, the hottest daddy on the block, broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper stubble, that deep voice that makes my pussy clench just thinking about it.
There he is in his driveway, hose in hand, pretending to wash his truck. But the second I turn the corner, I feel his eyes lock on me like a laser.
Thus my hips sway harder on purpose. This skirt, well it lifts just enough to flash the curve of my ass cheeks. As well as the thin strip of pink thong disappearing between them.
When I catch the exact moment his grip tightens on the hose—water sprays wild, forgotten. Needless to say my cunt starts to gush.
Then his jaw clenches so hard I see the muscle jump. Next, his eyes drop to my legs, then snap back up to the way my top rides up, showing the underside of my tits bouncing with each step.
As I slow down passing him, I then bend slightly to “adjust” my sock. That is with my ass up, thighs parted, thong soaked and clinging to my pussy lips—I give him the full view.
This led him to gasp and drop the hose. Now his breathing is faster, sweat beading on his forehead.
Cheerleader Slut Charlie Will Make You Throb For This Pink Pussy
As I glance back over my shoulder, catch him staring, and flash that innocent-yet-filthy smile. You know the —biting my lip, tilting my head like I’m surprised he noticed, kind of thing.
With this I watch his cock bulging in his jeans; I see the fat outline press hard against the denim, jumping visibly when our eyes meet.
Shamelessly his free hand drops, adjusts himself slowly—fingers squeezing the head through the fabric, lingering like he can’t help it.
Then I notice a small wet spot starts darkening the front of his jeans. He knows I see it, and I know I caused it.
Yet he doesn’t look away. In fact he is struggling hard from grabbing me and giving it to me hard.
Instead, I straighten up, give my skirt a playful tug that does nothing to cover me, and saunter the rest of the way home.
Like the filthy tease leaving him standing there, and all worked up.
Poor daddy.
