Beyond Fantasies vol 3 Jasmine's Fragrance

Beyond Fantasies vol 4

Jasmine's Fragrance

Igor Pajic

Taboo Dreams

Copyright © 2024 Igor Pajic

All rights reserved

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

Cover design by: Taboo Dreams

Image created with Ai with some resemblece of Jasmine as I remeber her.

The bus's diesel engine rumbled to life with a grunt, the vibrations humming through the metal frame and into Ian's skinny legs. He sighed, his book bag slumping against the seat next to him like a defeated pillow. The last bell had rung almost an hour ago, but the line to the bus had been a snake of restless students, all eager to escape the school's clutches. Now, as the bus rolled away from the curb, the world outside the grimy windows grew a bit brighter. The setting sun painted the sky with broad strokes of pink and orange, and the buildings looked less like concrete monoliths and more like tired sentinels standing guard over the city's secrets.

Ian was in his own head as always, the sound of teenage chatter around him a distant murmur. He thought about the upcoming weekend, the same as he had every other weekend for the last four years—more schoolwork, maybe a little gaming, definitely a lot of masturbating. Girls, especially the ones at his school, had always been a mystery to him. He'd had crushes, of course, but they were like stars—beautiful from afar but always out of reach. His shyness was a barricade he couldn't breach, leaving him a virgin at the ripe age of eighteen.

The thought of his virginity gnawed at him like an itch he couldn't quite scratch. His mind often drifted to the graphic scenes he'd stumbled upon online, and his right hand had become his most devoted companion in the quiet of his room. He knew it wasn't the same as the real thing, but it was all he had. Each time, he'd imagine himself with a faceless girl, her moans echoing in his headphones as he found his own release. It was a hollow victory, but it was better than nothing.

His eyes often lingered on the curves and smiles of the girls he passed in the hallways—quick glances stolen when he thought no one was looking. He'd memorize the way they moved, the swish of their hair, and the sway of their hips. It was like watching a dance that everyone else knew the steps to but him. He'd see the boys whisper to each other, their eyes glinting with knowing smiles, and wonder if they had the same secret rituals at night.

Ian's obsession with sex grew with every day that passed without it. It was a siren's song playing on repeat in his mind, a taunting melody that grew louder with each failed attempt to interact with the female species. The internet became his escape, a vast library of videos and images that offered a taste of what he craved. His heart would race, his palms sweat as he clicked from one tab to another, his imagination running wild with the scenarios that played out before his eyes.

On the bus ride home, his gaze often drifted to the young women around him, their laughter and chatter a symphony of unattainable desires. He'd stare at the curve of a neck, the swell of a breast beneath a tight shirt, the way a skirt would ride up just a little too high when they bent over. His mind was a cauldron of fantasy, each fleeting glance a potential ingredient for his nocturnal concoctions. He knew it was wrong, that these were people with their own lives and stories, but to him, they were just vessels for his loneliness to cling to.

But today was different. As the bus pulled into a stop, the door hissed open and in she walked—Jasmine, his sister's friend, the woman who had haunted his dreams since the day she'd strutted into his life. She was a few years older, but she had the kind of beauty that didn't care for calendars. Long black hair that flowed down her back like a river of ink, medium size breasts that seemed to defy gravity, and a perfect round ass that had every man's attention. She was the kind of girl that made heads turn and conversations pause. The kind of girl that could make a saint sweat with a single wink.

Ian felt his heart stutter in his chest as she made her way down the aisle. Her eyes scanned the bus, looking for a place to sit, and for a moment, he thought she might not notice him. But fate had other plans. Those piercing green eyes locked onto him, and she gave him a smile that could melt ice in a blizzard. His cheeks burned as she sauntered over, her hips moving in a way that seemed to dare gravity to act. She slid into the seat next to him, her thigh brushing against his, and suddenly the air grew thick with an electric charge.

"Hey, Ian," she said, her voice a siren's whisper that made his stomach do flips. "How's the school year treating you?"

He gulped, trying to find his voice. "It's...it's okay," he managed to squeak out.

Jasmine leaned back, her posture relaxed and inviting. She smelled faintly of jasmine flower, a scent that seemed to wrap around him and make him feel both comforted and incredibly nervous. "Just okay?" she teased, a playful smile on her lips. "Come on, you can't fool me. You're a smart kid. I bet you're acing all your classes."

Ian nodded, trying to keep his cool. "Yeah, I guess so," he said, his voice a little stronger now. "Math and science are easy enough, but English is kicking my ass."

Jasmine laughed, a sound that was both musical and a little wicked. "Well, that's what you get for being smarter than everyone else," she said, nudging him gently with her elbow. "What's the toughest part for you?"

Ian felt his face flush, not just from the sudden contact, but from the way she talked to him. It was like she actually cared. "Probably the essays," he admitted. "I can't get the hang of all the flowery language."

Jasmine leaned in closer, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "You know, I used to struggle with that too," she said, her breath warm on his neck. "But I found a way to make it more... interesting." She winked, and Ian's heart skipped a beat.

"How's that?" he asked, his voice cracking a little.

Jasmine leaned closer, her long black hair brushing against his cheek. "You know, using stories to make a point. Like, for example, if you had to write about a tree, you wouldn't just describe it. You'd tell a tale of love and loss with the tree as a silent witness."

Ian nodded, his eyes glued to the curve of her breasts, which seemed to be fighting a losing battle against the confines of her tight shirt. He couldn't believe she was talking to him like this. It was as if she knew exactly what he needed to hear. "That sounds...different," he said, trying not to let his voice betray his racing thoughts.

Her eyes twinkled. "It's all about finding the right inspiration," she said, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms beneath her chest. The fabric of her black crop top stretched, giving him a tantalizing view of her cleavage. He couldn't help but stare, his heart racing. It was like the universe had conspired to give him the ultimate distraction from his mundane existence.

"I-I guess," Ian stuttered, his mind racing with thoughts he'd never dare voice.

Jasmine's smile grew a little sadder, mistaking his silence for disinterest. She shrugged and turned to face the front of the bus. "It's okay," she said softly. "I know you're a busy guy."

But the ride went on, and soon they were at the bus station. The bus groaned to a stop, and the students stood up in a clamor of backpacks and sneakers on the worn linoleum floor. Ian felt the warmth of Jasmine's body as she stood, and it was all he could do not to reach out and touch her. The bus emptied around them, leaving them in a little bubble of silence.

As they waited for the bus to pull away, Ian couldn't help but let his eyes wander over Jasmine's body. She wore tight white pants with black vertical stripes that hugged her ass like a second skin, and he found his gaze lingering there, tracing the lines of her curves. It was his favorite part of a girl's body, that perfect blend of strength and softness that could make his knees wobble. Her crop top rode up a little as she moved, and he caught a glimpse of her lower back, the skin there smooth and inviting. He imagined what it would be like to kiss his way down her spine, to feel the heat of her skin against his lips.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, a sound that startled Ian out of his thoughts. Jasmine pulled it out with a sigh and glanced at the screen. "It's my sister, Hellen" she said, her voice tinged with annoyance. "I have to take this." She slid out of her seat and stepped into the aisle, her hips swaying as she made her way to the front of the bus.

Ian watched her go, his eyes tracing the curves of her body as she moved away from him. He felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment—relief that he wouldn't have to hold onto his secret any longer, and disappointment that she was leaving so soon. He tried to focus on the scenery outside the window, but his thoughts kept drifting back to her. He knew he should get off the bus and go home, but his body seemed to have other ideas.

With a deep breath, he stood up and followed her, his legs feeling wobbly as he stepped into the aisle. He wasn't sure what he was going to say or do, but he couldn't just let her leave without saying something. He'd regret it for the rest of his life. As he approached the front of the bus, the driver looked at him with a raised eyebrow. "You getting off, kid?" he asked gruffly.

"Yeah," Ian managed, his voice barely above a whisper.

He stepped off the bus after Jasmine, the cool evening air hitting him like a slap in the face. The diesel fumes lingered, mixing with the sweet scent of Jasmine's perfume as she walked away, the setting sun casting a warm glow on her hair. She was talking animatedly on the phone, her free hand gesturing wildly as she recounted what must have been a dramatic story to her sister. Ian felt a strange mix of excitement and dread—he hadn't planned on following her, but they lived in same street, few houses away, he had no choice to wallking behinf her.

He quickened his pace, his sneakers slapping against the sidewalk as he tried to keep up with her. Jasmine's strides were long and confident, her hips swaying with an almost hypnotic rhythm. With each step she took, Ian's heart thumped harder in his chest, his eyes glued to her ass, which bounced with every movement. He could feel the blood rushing to his groin, and he had to force himself not to stare. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice the phone call had ended until she slid it back into her pocket with a sigh.

Her ass was a masterpiece, a round sculpture that moved with the fluidity of a dancer. The tight white pants and those black vertial stripes she wore did nothing to hide the perfection of her curves. He could see the muscles flex with every step she took, and the way the fabric clung to her skin made him want to reach out and touch her. The line where her thigh met her ass was a delicate crease that promised heaven. Ian felt his cock stiffen in his pants, a traitorous response that he tried to ignore.

He quickened his pace, his sneakers squeaking against the sidewalk. It was a struggle not to just grab her, to pull her into an alley and have his way with her. But he knew that wasn’t how it worked. Girls like Jasmine didn’t just get picked up by shy virgins like him. They had boyfriends, or at least they had options. Options that didn’t include awkward teenage fumbling in the dark.

But as he followed her, something strange happened. The material of her pants grew thinner, almost transparent, in his mind’s eye. He could almost see the creamy expanse of her ass, the way the muscles rippled with every step. It was like watching a porn video in high definition, except it was happening right there in front of him. He could make out the perfect curve of her ass cheeks, the way her thong cut into the flesh, leaving a tantalizing line of exposed skin. His cock strained against his pants, begging for release.

Ian’s breath grew shallow, his heart racing as if he were running a marathon. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, his imagination running wild. He pictured his hands on her hips, guiding her as she straddled him, her tight pants sliding down to reveal the treasure beneath. He could almost feel the heat of her sex, the softness of her skin. His palms grew slick with sweat, and he had to ball them into fists to keep from reaching out to touch her.

As they turned the corner onto their street, Jasmine’s house came into view. It was a modest two-story, the kind of place that looked like it had seen a thousand secrets and whispered promises. The thought of her being so close, so accessible, was maddening. He watched as she climbed the porch steps, her ass flexing with each rise. The door opened, and she disappeared inside.

.

Ian continued to his own house, his legs feeling like lead. His thoughts were a tornado of lust and frustration. He needed relief, and he needed it now. The moment he closed his bedroom door behind him, he was at his computer, his hand already reaching for his mouse. He opened a tab to his favorite porn site, the videos playing out before him like a silent choir, each one more explicit than the last. But as he clicked through them, his mind kept wandering back to Jasmine.

He tried to focus on the screen, but it was like watching a movie with the volume turned down—everything was there, but the connection was lost. He could feel his erection waning, the thrill of the chase replaced by the cold reality of his empty room. That's when he heard it—the sound of laughter coming from the window next to his bed. It was Ivy, his sister, home from her college dorm for the weekend.

Her laughter was infectious, a bubbly sound that always brought a smile to his face, even when he was feeling his lowest. But today, it felt like a taunt, a reminder of what he didn't have. He peeked through the blinds, watching as she and her friends lounged in the backyard, their bodies a tapestry of youth and vitality. They were all so carefree, so untouched by the weight of the world. He couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy.

The door to his room swung open without a knock, and in bounced Ivy, her blonde hair a halo around her smiling face. She was dressed to kill, a short dress that hugged her curves like a second skin and heels that made her legs seem to go on forever. "Hey, bro," she chirped, her eyes glancing over to the open laptop. "We are going out, mom and dad are working late again,"

Ian's heart sank. He'd been hoping for a quiet night in, his hand already reaching for his pants to ease the ache that Jasmine had stirred in him. But Ivy's excitement was contagious, and he found himself smiling back at her despite his reservations. "Where?" he asked, his voice a little too hopeful.

"Just the usual," she said, tossing her bag onto the bed. "The diner, the park, maybe a party if we're lucky." She flopped down onto the bed, her dress riding up to reveal the lacy tops of her stockings. "You should come," she said, nudging him with her foot. "Get out of the house for once. You've been cooped up in here too long."

Ian felt the tension in his body coil even tighter. He wanted nothing more than to be alone, to release the ache that had built up inside him since the moment he'd stepped off the bus. All his taughts was on that sweet sent of jasmine flower.

He watched as Ivy and her friends disappeared down the street, their laughter fading into the evening air. He closed his laptop with a sigh, his cock still throbbing with need. He knew he wouldn't be able to focus on anything else until he took care of it.

He lay in bed, his hands moving to his crotch with the familiarity of a thousand nights before. But tonight was different. Tonight, he had a real face to put to the body in his fantasies—Jasmine. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing the image of her into his mind.

Her green eyes sparkled with mischief, and her full lips curled into a knowing smile. She straddled him, her thighs gripping his hips as if she owned them. Her breasts bounced gently as she moved, and he could almost feel the brush of her nipples against his chest. His cock grew harder as he pictured her unbuttoning his pants, her slender fingers teasing the fabric away from his skin.

He started jerking off, his hand moving in a furious rhythm that mirrored the pace of his racing heart. His cock was like a live wire, pulsing with the electricity of his desire. The friction of his hand on his shaft sent waves of pleasure through him, but it was nothing compared to the thought of her touch. He could feel the heat of her breath on his neck, the softness of her skin brushing against his ear as she whispered dirty secrets that only she knew.

His eyes squeezed shut, Ian lost himself in the fantasy. Jasmine's hands were all over him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she rode him with an enthusiasm that was almost violent. Her moans filled his room, echoing off the walls and drowning out the sound of his own breathing. He pumped his hips upward, meeting her imaginary thrusts with a desperation that was almost painful. His balls tightened, and he knew he was close, so close to the edge of ecstasy that it was all he could do not to shout her name.

Her breasts bounced in his vision, the tips a perfect shade of pink that seemed to glow in the dim light of his room. He leaned in, his mouth watering, and took one into his mouth. He could almost taste her, feel the softness of her skin against his tongue. He sucked, hard, his teeth grazing her nipple, and she gasped, her hands coming up to grip his hair. He groaned around her, his hand moving faster as he felt her begin to tighten around him.

Her thighs were like steel, her grip unyielding as she held him in place, her hips grinding down against his hand. He could feel her wetness, slick and hot, and the thought of it made him want to burst. He bit down gently on her nipple, and she cried out, her body shuddering as she came. The sound of her pleasure was like a symphony, and he followed her over the edge, his cock pulsing as he shot his load onto his stomach.

Ian lay there, panting, his mind still reeling from the intensity of his fantasy. His hand was sticky with cum, a reminder of his unfulfilled desires. He knew he couldn't keep living like this, with girls always just out of reach. He had to do something.

With a groan, he pushed himself out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. The fluorescent lights buzzed to life, casting a harsh glow over the pristine white countertops. He opened the fridge and stared at the contents, his mind still foggy with lust. He grabbed a carton of milk and a box of chocolate chip cookies, the sweetness and creaminess a poor substitute for the taste of a woman.

The cold milk washed down his throat, the chocolate chips of the cookie leaving a trail of sweetness that briefly distracted him from his frustration. He took a moment to appreciate the simple pleasure, letting the coolness soothe his overheated thoughts. But even as he ate, his eyes kept drifting to the fridge calendar, where a photo of Jasmine and Hellen  with his sister Ivy hung—a reminder of the untouchable beauty that lived just houses away.