When his father got engaged, it was a bit of a relief for Jonathan. Dad had been miserable for years after Jonathan’s mother had died three weeks before his thirteenth birthday. Now he seemed to be back to a vague semblance of his former self. Jonathan was glad - his Dad had been through a lot.
Jonathan had, of course, met Dad's fiancée a few times when she’d stayed at their house, but after a while, Dad asked him if he’d be all right if Emma moved in with them. There was concern on Dad’s face, but it was unnecessary – Jonathan was a quietly confident young man, who was simply happy for his father to have found someone.
But when his father came to pick him up from school, he did not expect to find what he did.
When he climbed up into the back of the four-by-four, there was a dazzlingly attractive slim redhead sitting inside, smiling at him. She was about his age, dressed in a disturbingly low-cut turquoise top and grey miniskirt. Her legs were covered in nylons.
"Hi Jonathan," said Dad.
"Jonathan," Emma smiled at him, "this is my daughter, Lucy."
"Hi," Lucy had an amazing smile. She gently shook his hand and he couldn't help but tremble.
Jonathan’s school was a school for boys, so he was completely unused to female company - especially such beautiful female company. But Lucy seemed to like him, and he found it easy to talk to her when he was at home. What he couldn’t help noticing, however, was that she seemed to like showing him glimpses of her body - showing off to him in the most outrageous ways.
If she wasn’t in her school uniform when he got home, she would be dressed in the shortest of mini-skirts, sometimes with sensual nylon stockings underneath and usually the very tightest, most revealing of tops - often leaving her midriff uncovered. Sometimes she wore nothing underneath her figure-hugging tops, letting her nipples really announce their presence and sometimes she would wear lacy bras that would show through a thin top to reveal the exotic swell of her young breasts.
She didn’t keep from showing him her assets above her waistline, however. Every now and then, she’d drop things and pick them up in front of him, making sure her tiny skirt rode up to show the tops of her stockings, her milky, tender thighs and her soft feminine panties - perhaps a flash of pink one evening, perhaps blue, perhaps patterned another evening - making no comment whether or not she thought he could see. It burned inside him when he saw her, especially when he saw her intimate underwear and it was obvious she enjoyed such flirting.
They’d go and sit in the lounge to watch cable until bedtime, eating their supper in front of the fire, chatting and relaxing. As she sat there, she’d flirt and smile, giving him magical smiles and sideways glances from her big round azure blue eyes. Like Jonathan, she was in her last year of school before college except that Lucy went to an all-girls school.
She’d cross her legs quite frequently, not worrying about the lack of coverage her skirt allowed her, to reveal her stocking-tops and a glimpse of underwear between her shapely thighs. Sometimes - maybe as they laughed at some triviality - she’d show even more, slipping off her shoes to pull up her knees and curl up on the armchair, allowing her skirt to all but vanish from view, her knickers very much on show. As long as Dad and Emma weren't looking, she flaunted herself in every imaginable way.
Jonathan tried not to make it obvious that he looked at her when she did such things - he was more than a little confused about his feelings, for one thing - but he did like to look. It was a real buzz inside, and he found his penis stiffening to the point that he had to alter his seating position to hide it. Sometimes, when she found herself in such a position that she might as well have been wearing no skirt at all, she would get less sure of herself, becoming a little embarrassed. She’d sit back as normal, conservatively covering herself until her confidence - and flirtatiousness - returned.
Every now and then, they’d be watching television and he’d notice out of the corner of his eye that she was looking at him, not the film. This happened a lot. He’d look at her sometimes, and she'd turn away quickly, blushing slightly. When she looked at him like that, she’d shift position in her chair often, and usually ended up excusing herself to go to the bathroom.