The Trampoline

College Girl, Eighteen, Decadent, Fecund

"I'll grab you a beer while this double match finishes," I heard Toby say with his head in the bar fridge.

Then after a truckload of expletives, he added: "I kill the frickin prick."

Well, not literally, but I wouldn't want to be his son Jayden when he got back from his afternoon of booze, sun and surfin'.

"Sorry, Max," said Toby, playing genial host again, "I'll go to the bottle shop and get some cold ones…um…I'll be twenty minutes. Enjoy watching the girls warm up, eh," and he grabbed his keys and was off down the stairs to his garage.

I watched the TV for a minute or so. The men's doubles were into the third and deciding set, but we were only interested in the main game: the women's open tennis final.

Now I know what you're thinking, just a hot summer's day in front of the telly with some beers, perving on shapely, athletic and sweaty grunting girly superstars in short skirts.

No, we were both actually tennis umpires at the local club, and yeah, we perved on the young chicks and cheated on our wives with the MILF's in the change rooms, but the open final also involved quality tennis.

I had no interest in the men's doubles, and it was five all; so I got up and went out through the French doors to the upper deck; ostensibly to look at the sabots and lasers on the river in the mid-distance; but all I saw was the bird's eye view of Gemma's arse on the trampoline.

Gemma, as in Max's daughter. Well, her stunning derriere was my focus; her butt was only partially covered in an aqua-blue bikini. She was sunbathing and reading. Her skin glistened with sunscreen. Her brunette hair was tied up in a bun style.

I knew it was Gemma but not Gemma as I remembered her before she went off to boarding school for college. High school Gemma was flat chested, straight up and down, braces: a female on a classification chart: nothing more.

God, here at eighteen, she had she filled out and in all the right places. I could see the shape of one of her stunning, voluptuous breasts pressing into the trampoline.

The drawstring at the side of the bikini on the lower side of her hip; I wanted to untie it with my teeth.

I did the mental check and told myself to stop; this was my mate's daughter on the tramp.

However, I still did the male thing and sauntered down and outside for a chat. Well, I blamed the boring doubles tennis and the missing cold beer.

Gemma's arse looked even better at eye level. It had that cute bikini crinkle and crumple where the fabric folds between a girl's legs.

Her booty was firm. The material was sleek and tight over her butt cheeks. She was still reading, facing away from me.

God, I thought she must have heard my pervy heavy breathing or my frickin booming racing heart.

What the fuck was I thinking?

I was behind her at the edge of the tramp. It was the big, bulky, rectangular and old-fashioned kind. There was none of that modern, over-safe netting anywhere.

I could see the frickin double stitching on her bikini; I was that close to her arse. The material was some nylon blend. God, it was clear sea blue. But my eyes were really drawn between her legs to that crease in the fabric between her thighs, the crinkle suggesting the pink lips beneath it.

I put both my hands on the edge of the tramp and bounced it up and down. It gave with a slight springy recoil and motioned again with its own ripple.

I didn't have to do any more.

Gemma rolled over, raised her sunglasses, and put her book down.

The novel was an erotic romance, Anais Nin, A Spy in the House of Love.

She was resting on her elbows with her legs nicely parted: I took in her sparking blue eyes, straight white teeth, fulsome breasts with nipples alert and a puffy camel toe.

She really had it all.

I bounced the tramp again with more force, and her body jiggled with the movement, and her eye-catching tits had a perceptible wobble.

Thank you, Diana, the goddess of breasts.

"Where's dad?" was all she said.

"Getting beer; he'll be about fifteen minutes," I said.

I knew why I had added the fifteen minutes.

"Mmm, this book has made me randy," she said so openly: "I can't hide my nipple hardness, and you can't keep your eyes off my tits."

Whatever they taught young women at boarding college or whatever they got up to there — they could keep doing it.

Yeah, I was male caught out staring, but she was sizzling hot, exuding sex on the tramp.

"I just came out to say hi," I lied.

"What was the tramp bouncing about then? Bet you wanted to see my arse bounce up and down and imagine your cock was pushing into my pussy between my tight arse cheeks; uh uh."

Well, there was no lying answer.

All I could offer was: "Gemma, I can't. Max is my best mate."

"Oh, cut the crap; you're the one who said fifteen minutes, and you're the one out here. Well, will this get you motivated," she stretched her bikini top outwards and downwards, and her gorgeous tits with her pink erect nipples bounced out.

Then she pulled the drawstrings on both sides of her bikini bottom and rolled over.

There was Gemma's naked butt mimicking the subtle bounce of the tramp as I got my summer shorts and boxers off.

There I was: a forty-year-old guy clambering onto a tramp intent on my best mate's daughter's pussy.

Ten minutes, ten minutes before Max gets back.

You can do a lot in ten minutes, I thought; slow down and enjoy this.

Gemma had a plan.

Just what the fuck was in that erotic romance to so harden up a young girl's nipples and get her having it off with the first available guy.

Even a guy like your dad's mate.

"Lick my arse," she said.

Wow, what an opening.

Both her words and her crinkled, puckered pink arsehole.

Of course, I licked her butt hole. I buried my tongue tip repeatedly and rimmed her sensitive skin as she murmured and bounced gently on the tramp.

"Mmm, mmm, that's good, mmm, mmm."

 After a while, Gemma said,"Lick my pussy."

And there I was, prodding my tongue and burying my face somehow between her tight thighs on the tramp.

Man, was she wet. I had that passing thought: what the fuck was so hot in her reading, but I was lost in my own flicking circular tongue work on her flaps, clit and moist hole.

Gemma was grinding into the tramp, and the bounce was gently malleable like her pliable coochie.

"Get your cock in my pussy now," she said.

The young demanding bitch.

But hey, I was happy, and my cock was on cloud nine instantly.

Her slit was sweet. It was giving. It was unusually raunchy. Our bodily bounce and my pumping and Gemma's upward grinding joined by the spring and rebound of the trampoline.

My cock was trapped between her squeezing thighs.

The lewd tramp knew how to enjoy herself.

While the randy sod, who was me, kept pushing into my mate's daughter at his place. I was pumping and thrusting dirtily deep into a sweet girl who had returned home from college boarding school.

We had traction. We had push. I had shove.

Gemma had the goddamn pussy flex that drives a guy wild.

She wasn't holding anything back, and neither was I, and the jerky trampoline was adding to our mutual enjoyment.

Gemma came in an amazingly loud rush, and a flush consumed her face.

"Uugh, uugh, uugh," she pitched in climax appreciation.

I shot my load between her tight thighs and beautiful arse cheeks.

The trampoline springs had that boing, boing reverberation that echoed our sighs of mutual satisfaction.

"Hurry," she said, breaking my contentment; "Get back upstairs quick. Dad will be back soon."

I grabbed my stuff and dressed, going back inside and up the stairs.

The doubles match was over. The women were doing their warm-up hits for, The Open on the telly.

I lounged on the couch casually. We had cut it fine. Toby was back.

"Here, mate," he said as he came into the room, and he gave me a cold stubby.

He cracked one for himself and put the rest in the fridge.

He was coming back to the sofa when he said: "Max mate, get a look at this."

I thought it might be the sabots on the river, but it was Gemma he was pointing at, his own daughter who was still on the trampoline.

However, she had rolled over and was reading and sunbathing. But she was now topless. Her breasts were beautifully weighty and lotioned.

I was staring and only just caught Toby's words: "Mate, watch your own daughter— if you send Cathy away to a college boarding school. God knows what they teach them there or what they learn, but that's how they come back: as women."

I took a swig of beer: "Yeah, mate, they sure grow up fast."

Erasing any guilt from my mind, I added, "Come on, let's watch the tennis."