One Is The Loneliest Number free porn video

Special thanks to my proof readers.

The streets are alight with strings of Christmas lights accenting the colors of the season. It appears the few people moving about are so preoccupied with their thoughts, they don't even notice the wonders that lay before them. For me, it reminds me of the times in the past when my wife looked forward to her gifts under the tree and in the weeks prior to Christmas, badgered me constantly, hoping to get me so annoyed I would give in and tell her what they were. Today, the lights and sounds of Christmas reminds me of the song starting with the following, "One is the Loneliest Number" referring to my situation at this time.

But meeting a young girl in need, changes my mundane life.

My small retail shop is located on the main street in the centre of an active tourist area. It is one of many specialty stores that line the downtown business area. Designer jeans and accessories are my main products, plus some shoes, belts, scarves, bra and panties sets and thongs. Since the inception of thongs and V-strings, it is one of the favorite items for young ladies. My imagination goes wild with each sale, envisioning what the purchaser must look like wearing the dainty lingerie. My major suppliers visit the shop every other week to rotate their stock. I only pay for what has sold; the result of this arrangement means the shop always has the current fashions on display. It is a good arrangement for both of us, it is not the usual arrangement for businesses such as mine, but the suppliers use my store as a test market.

This arrangement allows my shop to offer the latest of designer fashions to see how the public reacts, as my clients are a large cross section of the female buying public. The majority of my customers are trendy preteens, teens and young women full of life and wanting to be on the cutting edge of fashion. Over the past two years, many of what could be described as the mature group has started patronizing my store. With their well toned bodies, they can wear the current fashions. What the younger set are willing to pays for designer labels should shock most of their parents.

Many think it odd that a mature male operates a shop catering to girls and women, but I enjoy my job and have worked hard to make it successful.

It is the beginning of holiday season and the trees are hosting strings of glorious colors of a multitude of Christmas lights, makes me feel joyous. With Christmas just around the corner, this is the major selling season for retailers. It will be hard, arduous work for the next six weeks, but well worth it. When it is busy, the time seems to go fast. Unfortunately, the closer Dec. 25th gets, my memories of wondrous Christmas' past, gives me an empty feeling for what is about to transpire, another Christmas alone and watching the repeats of so many seasonal programs.

The steady flow of shapely women and young girls keeps my adrenalin pumping. Every day the endless procession of beautiful clients with pockets full of money reconfirms the good choice I made for a vocation. My part-time staff consists of a young female student. Her parents are close friends. She assists me Friday nights and Saturdays. The rest of the time, I handle the store on my own, except for the two weeks prior to Christmas. Then I usually hire another young lady as well to help with the seasonal shoppers.

Most of my regular clients have become friends. We address each other by first names and talk about life in general. I am a sounding board for many of them, which allows me to get to know some very personally. Female company for me is never lacking, it is a good life. My shop is the ideal situation to meet young girls and many do not seem to mind an audience as they prance around semi-nude when they try on the various pieces of clothing. Some have paraded by me totally nude, teasing me. The wonderful part is I have been intimate with a number of them. Life is good.

My latest love is Melanie, a high school student. At fourteen, she has a tremendous appetite for sex. This affair started nearly four months ago, when she came into my store to purchase a bathing suit. Modesty wasn't her big concern as she tried numerous suits, giving me a show of her youthful body. While not the biggest in the breast department, her perky boobs did bounce as she moved about. Of course, the best sight is when she leans over, her butt facing me. Her love lips bulged from the pressure of her leaning over, opening her blossom. When she noticed the effect she was having on me, she started to laugh. It was late in the afternoon, so I placed the closed sign in the window and locked the door. Melanie followed me into the back room wearing a micro bikini. One thing lead to another, we were soon panting, striving for sexual satisfaction. From that day forward, she makes time for me at least twice a week. Her skin is flawless, her pussy still bald. Just thinking about her gets me hard.

I have been alone for the past seven years, after twelve years of marriage. I was devoted to my wife. But the long hours needed to develop a fledgling business, took a heavy toll. Rita got involved with a man at her office. Coming home one night after a relatively long day, all there was is a note from Rita, advising she was in love with someone else and was leaving me. She wanted a divorce. She had taken only her clothes and personal items. Two months later the divorce was finalized and I haven't seen or heard from her since. Having no children fortunately, it was a very clean break. Devoting all my time to my new business, it developed into a thriving and very profitable enterprise, making me proud of what I have accomplished.

A little about myself, my name is Dave Weeks, just turned fifty-one. Fortunately, all the long hours haven't affected my health. I still feel young and very virile, allowing me to appreciate the young ladies that frequent my store. Woman, young and old, seem to show an interest in me. It certainly isn't my looks, as they are nothing special.

My sales counter is positioned in such away that it allows me to observe the street and the interesting people passing by. My few breaks during the day are spent looking out the window relating to the local people and getting to know them. Not in person, but when you see them daily for months at a time, you get the feeling you do know them. One in particular, a young teen has been a dream girl of mine. She is in the ten to thirteen-age group, has a beautiful, dark face, and a developing body. It is so hard to tell her age considering the way many of them dress and their ability with makeup. She always appears around eight thirty in the morning and then again at three thirty in the afternoon, most likely a student at one of the local schools. I hadn't noticed her for a couple of months, but her beautiful face is in my memory. It is not that I miss her, but when she reappears, it is evident why she has not been in the area. There is something different about her. She is pregnant.

For the next six months, she walks by my shop in the morning and returns about three-thirty in the afternoon, even though pregnant, she is still going to school. As the time passes, she gets bigger and bigger. Then one day, she doesn't appear. Over the next four days, she did not make an appearance. I dismissed her from my mind.

Then two days later, she appears looking much thinner, she has had her baby. A customer enters the shop as she is walking by, so I couldn't actually check her. Later in the day and to my surprised, I notice her sitting on the bench opposite my shop. That is something she has never done before. My day continues to be very busy. In the evening, while locking up, I notice she is still sitting in the same spot. She must be waiting for someone who is hours late.

With a major supplier due tomorrow, tonight is going to be a late night. With little more than a month before Christmas, new styles will boost seasonal sales. I have to do an inventory and get the items ready to be returned. That keeps me busy until nearly ten. Time goes fast and having done this so often, it is down to a fine art. Finally complete, it is ten fifteen. Exhausted, all I can think of is a hot shower, a bite to eat and a large Black Russian before turning in. Locking the shop, I glance towards the bench. The young girl is still there. She is curled up, trying to keep warm. The light jacket she is wearing certainly isn't a defense for this cold weather. Something is definitely wrong! The sound of me walking towards her has her look up.

"Hello, is there anything I can do to help you?"

When she looks up at me, eyes swollen, it is obvious she has been crying. Her body is shaking and shivering. When she moves, her light jacket opens, showing large damp areas on her wrinkled white blouse in the area of her nipples. The young girl is lacerating and she looks in very rough shape.

"Nobody can help me. I lost my baby. Then my dad threw me out of the house. I have no place to go."

The back of my neck goes prickly, as the thought of anyone turning away from this young girl in her obvious time of need. It is unbelievable, especially from family.

"Do you have any money? When did you eat last?"

"No money. I haven't eaten anything but an apple for two days. Last night, I nearly froze, it was so cold. I don't think I can last another night. My breasts are full of milk and are dripping. I stink, and I need a bath. I hurt all over."

She hangs her head in her hands sobbing, it appears her nerves are about to give out. Her breathing is labored as she tries to hold back her sobs. Something has to be done to help her.

"Do you have anything with you?"

"No. My dad just ordered me out of the house with the clothes on my back."

"What is your name?"

"Cheyenne Piggott."

"Would you like to come with me, I can offer you a good meal and a place to get cleaned up. Things will look better after you are warm and refreshed. Talking about it, may help."

She looks at me with distrust. After what she has been through, she still has the sense to be cautious.

"Let me help you. If you don't feel comfortable coming with me, I will drive you anywhere you like."

She is close to tears. Nodding her head, she accepts my offer.

"Good. I want to help, really. How about some clothes? What size?"

"Usually petit, but my breasts are bigger since I got pregnant and my tummy is still stretched, it looks like a marshmallow."

"Well, I am sure we can get something to fit. Come with me."

Helping her off the bench, her body trembling, she is so cold and weak. I think the better of having her walk to the parking lot.

"No, you better stay here. I will get my van and be right back."

Returning with the van, she is still sitting, huddled on the bench and shivering. But now she is crying.

"I thought you weren't coming back. Thank you for being so kind, I don't mean to cry, but I am cold, hungry and sore all over."

"When did you have the baby?"

"Four days ago, I was released from the hospital yesterday. My child was still-born."

"How old are you Cheyenne?"

"Thirteen."

I help her to the van, and make sure she is comfortable. Not wanting to pry into her grief, I do wonder who the father of the child was and where the hell he is now. She is very young to be thrown out on the street on her own, especially during the Christmas season when she should be contemplating a joyous time with her family. It was her dark complexion that really caught my attention when I first noticed her months ago. That is what made me single her out from all the other young, beautiful, girls walking by my shop. I have always been attracted to the beautiful skin shades. If anyone has been watching, they must think I have had too much to drink, making a U-turn and stopping in front of the shop, my right wheel on the sidewalk.

"Do you have enough strength to come into the shop so I can fit you with some clothing?"

"You own this shop?"

"Yes. I have been here for nearly ten years. I have seen you walk by many times. Do you go to school nearby?"

"Yes, I do, but I don't know what I will do now that my dad threw me out."

"We can talk about that later. Let's get you a change of clothes."

She selects two changes of clothing, including a number of bras and panties combinations and a pair of shoes. Making a note of everything, as it has to be removed from the inventory tomorrow. Cheyenne looks a bit more at ease as the heat of the store warms her chilled body.

"By the way, I am Dave Weeks."

"I am so happy to meet you, Dave Weeks."

Driving home has me wondering what I am getting into. It is difficult to keep from glancing at her. Her full lips and beautiful face, mesmerizes me. Her family has spent money to straighten her hair and keep it styled, how in the hell could they abandon her in her hour of need? Cheyenne's legs are well toned, showing beautiful calf muscles. There is fresh dampness on her blouse. The van smells of sour milk. The way her breasts are protruding from her body, suggest Cheyenne is well endowed. It has me wondering how well endowed she is without lacerating? Then the embarrassment hits me, the poor girl is in need of help. All her clothes will have to be laundered after she bathes. Stopping at a drug store, the purchases include pads and tampons, bra liners and a breast pump, hopefully to remove her milk that seems to pouring from her. She will feel better when she is clean and warm. What was her father thinking when he threw her out of the house. She is so young and venerable. Cheyenne should not be on her own at this time in her life. She needs support and love, not rejection.

I live in a two-story home in a large, well regarded, residential subdivision of Abbotsville. The mature trees and hedge bordering my property provides a sense of privacy. The garage door automatically opens as the Montana turns into the driveway. As soon as the van enters, a light comes on. Once inside, the door automatically closes, gathering all the clothing and then going to the passenger door I open it for Cheyenne.

"Well, this is what I call home, Cheyenne. Do you need some help?"

"No, Dave. I don't know what to say. You don't know me, but you are helping me the way my dad should have. Why?"

"Because I can, and having lived alone for several years, it will be nice to have a guest. There is tons of room. My business is small, but is very successful. So I can help you, besides it is the Christmas season when people should be helping others in need. Please come in."

Watching as she struggles to move her body and follow me, she cringes. Every time she touches her breasts or they jiggle, she winces. The ordeal of the birth and the lack of decent meals have taken its toll. Just the stress of having a still-born and then being thrown out of her home has to have been horrendous and traumatic. Once in the kitchen, I offer her a chair, and then plug in the kettle. A hot drink will do wonders for her.

"Let me make you a hot chocolate, Cheyenne. The first thing we will do is get you cleaned up. You will feel better after a warm bath. I will get you one of my T-shirts to wear as a nighty."

Leading her to the bathroom, a steaming mug in her hand, I show her where the towels, shampoo and soap are.

"I will be back with the T-shirt."

Locating a T-shirt, I go back to the kitchen to get the pads, clean panties, breast pump and a toothbrush and return upstairs to the bathroom door and knock.

"Cheyenne. I have your things. Just open the door and I will hand them to you. Please just pile your clothes on the top of the hamper, I will launder them later. You can find me in the kitchen getting something ready for us to eat."

Her hand comes out and grabs the supplies. After building myself a double Black Russian, I head for the kitchen and rummage through the refrigerator. Soon there is a platter of cold cuts, cheese, crackers and veggies for supper. Not expecting company and I usually eat very sparsely on my late nights, I don't have much of anything for a meal. If Cheyenne stays, it will necessitate a visit to the grocery store tomorrow.

The tub draining signals she should be down shortly. Absorbed in the newspaper, the sound of Cheyenne coming down the stairs has me look towards the sound. The first impression, she looks much better, there is a sparkle in her big, brown eyes. My T-shirt looks much better on her, than it ever did on me.

"How do you feel? You look much better. Please sit down and eat and if you don't see something, just ask. I may have it."

"I feel much better, but my breasts really hurt. I am so full of milk. Do you know how long this lasts?"

"No, I don't, but I will make arrangements for you to go to the doctor tomorrow. What you need is a good meal and some sleep. Did the breast pump work?"

She shakes her head no. Just watching her is a delight as she devours everything in sight. After the meal, topped off with two glasses of milk, Cheyenne spirits have improved immensely. What a clean body and a full stomach will do. Watching her, I notice every time her breasts touch something, she continues too grimace. They are really tender. Her thong and bra are very evident through the thin material of the T-shirt. Her puffy stomach is outlined in the material. I know what I would love to do with her breasts, suck them dry and take the pressure away but that is out of the question.

"If you are ready for bed, I will show you the guest room. I don't have many guests. You will be the first one in five years. But I do have the room ready, just in case."

Her soft footsteps follow me. The guest room is a full bedroom, with a bathroom ensuite. In all the years since living alone, it has only been used three or four times.

"I think you will find it comfortable. Let me know if there is anything else you may need. We will talk in the morning, before I head out to work."

After cleaning up the kitchen, I head for the shower. Cheyenne has cleaned up after her bath; her dirty clothes are in a pile. Grabbing them, I head for the laundry room. Her blouse and bra are marked with milk stains. What really has my attentions are her panties. They are light blue with a lace trim, and very sexy. I can see pee stains and residue from her pussy due to the birth. I wonder who could have been so unthinking to get such a young girl pregnant. Loving such a young beautiful girl is one thing, but getting her pregnant, and then abandoning her, is another. I make two small piles and place one in the washer. After showering, the first load will go into the dryer and the other in the washer.

There are no sounds coming from upstairs, Cheyenne has settled down and gone to sleep. What will happen tomorrow? Will Cheyenne want to resume going to school? I think that would be best. These are items that will have to be addressed tomorrow morning. It has been a long day. Retiring, my mind is hashing over the many potential situations concerning Cheyenne. Finally, sleep overtakes me.

In the middle of a very sexy dream watching Cheyenne undress before she joins me and just as she is about to remove her bra and panties, some thing is poking me in the shoulder. Ready to take a punch at my instigator, I wake. Cheyenne is standing beside my bed, tears running down her face.

"Mr. Weeks, I am sorry to wake you, but I can't sleep, my breasts are so full and I still can't get the breast pump to work."

In the half light, she makes a very tantalizing figure. It is obvious she has taken off her bra, as the T-shirt is hanging from her protruding nipples and showing very large, darkened patches of dampness. The outline of the V-string panties I picked out for her, give an overall sexy image that I am sure Cheyenne doesn't appreciate, in this situation. Turning on the light, her face radiates beauty, what I wouldn't do to kiss those full, lush, lips.

"What would you like me to do, Cheyenne?"

"Anything you can, to stop the hurting."

The only way I can think of is to drain each breast by means of sucking. A taste I would love, but do I dare suggest it? Her face is now wincing with pain, something has to be done.

"The only thing I can suggest is having someone suck your nipples to drain your breasts, just like a baby would. I am really not the one to ask, as I have never had any children of my own."

"Would you suck my nipples?"

Would I? It will be a dream coming true. Not wanting to appear too anxious, I look into her beautiful, dark brown, pleading, eyes. Who could resist?

"Cheyenne, I am willing to try."

What happens next has me trembling. Cheyenne slowly removes the T-shirt, revealing two very beautiful, full breasts, with large oversized nipples, each is slowly leaking milk as one drop disappears, another forms. They look like two large thumbs, each one tipped with white drops of mother's milk. Her tummy is puffy and so soft, a result of the birth. The white V-string is tight against her pubes, giving me a fabulous view. Her luv lips are thick and heavy, they are bare, a result of shaving prior to giving birth. The only hair left, is a small mat of dark, curly hairs, just above her V-string, the sight has my mouth watering for more. It doesn't appear Cheyenne will have stretch marks, but I make a mental note to talk to the pharmacist and the doctor about what they would suggest to make sure it doesn't happen.

"What do we do, Dave?"

"I think you should sit down, with me lying across your lap. Maybe we should go downstairs."

Cheyenne doesn't seem to be listening as she moves towards me and then lowers a luscious, brown nipple, to my mouth. Mouthing her, and then sucking, the flow of thick, hot mother's milk is a pleasant but welcome surprise. It has a very distinct taste to it, very piquant. Unconsciously, I reach up and massage her breast, to help release all the built up milk. Cheyenne sighs with relief as the pressure is relieved. Me, I am surprised at the volume of milk from one breast. This is a sexual treat. It must have some sexual connotation for Cheyenne as well, her hips are moving back and forth and the look on her face is trance-like. Her body shudders, her eyes open, and there seems to be a look of embarrassment in her eyes. Did she just climax? When I am sucking air, Cheyenne provides me with the other nipple. The hot, thick fluid runs down my throat. Finally, she is totally depleted.

"That feels so good, Dave. I don't know how to thank you. I have never felt anything like it before."

She did have a climax; her nipples must be super sensitive. I am still mesmerized, studying her soft breasts and her luscious nipples.

"No thanks required. To tell you the truth, I wasn't sure how it would taste, but it is very delicious. I am happy to do it for you."

Thinking Cheyenne would get up and return to the guest room, she surprises me again. She curls up beside me, with her head on the spare pillow; she is naked with the exception of her panties. All of this does nothing for my throbbing erection. This is the first time in many years I have shared my marital bed with anyone. I had a fling with a neighbor two years after my wife left me, but she moved. All my shop related affairs have been consummated on a very comfortable cot I have in the back room of the shop. The youngest girl I have fucked was eleven, unfortunately her dad got transferred. She still visits me from time to time, when her family returns to visit friends, expressly to get screwed. Something I look forward too. What I have seen of Cheyenne's body has me panting for more of her, but considering what she has been through, I have no plans on pursuing my desires. Cheyenne is on my mind as sleep overtakes me for the second time tonight.

Waking up, Cheyenne's body is up against me spoon fashion. My face is buried in her hair. The scent of shampoo fills my nostrils. She has maneuvered into me, pushing against my cock that is now growing. There is no way she isn't aware of it. Finally she stirs, looking at me and smiling.

"Wow, I really slept. My breasts didn't hurt at all. But I am full again."

Cheyenne moves into position, putting her dripping nipple in my mouth. I drain both in record time as today is a work day. Cheyenne leaves the room, leaving me to head for the shower. All sorts of questions start running through my mind. What will I do about Cheyenne? She is still young enough to be a ward of children services at the minimum, but I really don't think they would help her. Besides, it is Christmas, and the last thing I want, is for her to endure more disappointments. She needs to see a doctor to ensure there are no after-birth problems. How in the hell am I going to approach my doctor to ask him to assist. How do I explain Cheyenne?

At breakfast, Cheyenne still has a ferocious appetite. After bacon, eggs and toast, she downs more milk. The beauty has come back to her skin. Her smile is genuine. She is a beautiful, young, desirable woman. A young lady I wish to know much better. She tells me she is planning to go back to school and will need clothing.

My doctor agrees to see Cheyenne, I don't give any explanation. It is actually none of his concern what the connection is between us, but he will likely be curious. Hell, I don't know the connection. Before leaving for work, I give Cheyenne my work number, then directions to the doctor's office. Her appointment is in the morning. I ask her to drop by the shop after.

My supplier is waiting for me when I arrive at the shop. Two hours later, I am waving good bye as he leaves with his returned stock and leaving me to unpack the newest styles, many with a Christmas motif. They should be appreciated by my clientele. It will take me the balance of the day to unpack and stock everything. It is nearly twelve thirty when Cheyenne comes into the shop. Bringing her to the back room, I offer her a coffee or milk. She takes the milk.

"So, how did the doctor visit go?"

"I am fine. He checked me all over and said he is happy with what he found. He gave me a prescription to help dry up my milk. He also gave me this prescription and said I should start taking them after my next period."

It is for birth control pills. With the four repeats, it will keep her protected for nearly a year. I remember my first time enjoying sex; I couldn't wait for the next. I wonder if becoming pregnant has turned Cheyenne off sex. I hope not, it would be such a waste.

"I will get both filled for you. Did the doctor have anything else to say, any embarrassing questions?"

"He asked a few questions about how it happened, but I didn't answer them. Any health questions I answered, if I knew the answers."

"Now that is settled, what do you plan to do next?"

"I don't know what I can do. My dad still won't talk to me. I called, but he hung up when he heard my voice. I don't know what to do."

"Do you want to go back to school?"

"Of course, I have no skills to get a job. Besides, who would hire a thirteen year old?"

"Well, I can help. We will have to think up a story as to how we are connected, any suggestions? Actually, I am not close to anyone in the area, all my friends are my clients, and my neighbors won't actually come into play. I have kept to myself since my wife left."

"I remember an old movie where a war buddy took care of a friend's family because he has saved his life. Were you in the army?"

"I had a two year stretch, and met a lot of very good people."

"Well, I am the daughter of one of your old buddies. My school doesn't have to know who you are. I will just change address in the office, they will just assume my family moved or split up. My friends won't think twice about it, as most of them have divorced parents."

"Give me the number of your school and I will call them, and tell them you will be back in a week. The pills should take care of the lacerating. What will they say about your child?"

"Nothing, there are three girls pregnant in various grades. It is not something out of the ordinary. My friends will ask me how it went, but once they know, they will understand."

"Good. Now, I have to get back to work."

"Can I help?"

"I certainly could use some help. All those boxes have to be unpacked and the inventory checked against this invoice."

"I think I can figure that out."

For the balance of the day, Cheyenne opens boxes, then checks the contents against the invoice and puts them on the shelves. I help between customers. Numerous times, I stare at Cheyenne when she stretches to put items on the higher shelves. She has a very sexy bum when her slacks pull deep into her ass crack. Her dark complexion seems to glow. The vision of her breasts, and large nipples, keeps coming to mind. A number of clients give her a curious glance, but as she is working, they assume she is just part time help.

At three o'clock, I put the "back in fifteen minutes" sign up, time to drain Cheyenne's full breasts. I am going to miss her liquid treat, not to mention feeling her soft breasts. If we keep this up, I won't have to buy groceries for myself. Breast milk is very filling. During the day, in the few breaks we have, Cheyenne selects additional clothing. We decide that a trip to the mall will be needed. At six, we close the shop and head home.