by Sanya Sitter
There is a rustling from behind as he works to get his belt buckle loose, followed by a chafing sound of leather against the denim hoops of his jeans as he whips it free.
I lie there, still and waiting. My toes curl, my whole body tenses with anticipation. He brushes the rough leather across my butt and follows the length of my leg with it. My hands clench into fists, my eyes are shut tight.
SMACK! I cry out, moaning loud and long. The force of his blow on my ass causes my body to writhe.
SMACK! My legs shift in the sheets as the shooting pain travels up my spine. My breasts tingle and my nipples go hard.
SMACK! I scream in ecstasy. The sensations of Mr. Johnson pummeling me from behind has got me dripping wet.
He is breathing hard again. There is a heavy thud as the buckle drops to the floor. But I continue to lie still. He is rustling at his pants, and then there is the unmistakable sound of them unzipping.
It is finally happening. Mr. Johnson is going to fuck me the way I always wanted. I want him to take me and fuck me like animal. I want him to ravage my tight pussy and make me his little whore.
I take hold onto the edge of the mattress this time for what is surely coming next.
His hard cock presses against my sacrum. The head of makes half circles across the top of my crack, lubricating itself with the beads of sweat that have welled up there. It slips between my ass cheeks with ease.
He inserts the entire shaft along my crack and slides himself around my labia. My wet juices coat the head and length of his shaft as he slips up and down.
“Mr. Johnson… stick your cock in me… please?” I bite down on my bottom lip as his thick cock brushes my clit. My ass shudders and jiggles at the feeling of it. He glides between my wet folds with the head, stopping at my entrance.
The tightness of it wraps the very tip as precum from Mr. Johnson’s cock dribbles and tickles as it flows down my crotch. He moans and pulls away slightly.
Is he really going to fuck me without a condom? I spread my legs further apart, inviting him to enter me.
I squeeze the mattress with all my strength as the massive girth of him parts my wet hole. He’s so big, even just the head of his cock hurts a little. As he pushes himself in deeper, I have to push my face into the bed to stop from screaming.
Deeper and deeper, he pushes himself into my tightness. When he finally bottoms out at my cervix, I can’t help but scream.
Then he grabs hold of both ass cheeks to force every last inch of his cock as far in as it will go. Mr. Johnson’s eyes roll back when he’s completely balls deep inside.
His balls tap against my clit and my legs squeeze themselves together out of reflex, wrapping themselves around his bare ass and pulling him in even closer.
“Is my pussy tight enough for you, Mr. Johnson?” But he can only muster a grunt. His pulse beats against my walls as they squeeze the whole length of his giant cock.
Then he begins a slow rock while still holding on to my ass, leaning back a bit then thrusting himself all the way back in. There is a wet squishing sound every time he impales me on his cock, and my whole body jolts.
He is grunting like a wild beast. I can tell Mr. Johnson is really enjoying himself. At the rate he is going, I just know he won’t be able to hold on.
He is going to get me pregnant for sure. But it all feels so damn good.
With every thrust, we grunt and moan in unison. The vigorous beating against my cervix is enough to lift me off the bed at my hips. But behind all the pain there is an electric warmth building deep in my core.
His grip on my ass tightens. His thin nails dig in deep enough to the skin to almost draw blood. The pace of his thrusting is growing more rapid.
“Cum in me, Mr. Johnson… I want you to!” His hard thighs beat against me, slapping rhythmically against my skin. The pain of it all has nearly subsided completely. Now there is only pleasure. I want to give in to it fully, but I want him to cum first.
I squeeze the walls of my pussy as tight as I can and hold it there. Mr. Johnson’s grunting gets even louder. I’m so tight that I can tell he’s struggling to stop himself from ejaculating inside me. So I buck my ass against his cock to keep it in deep.
My back arches and my shoulders shiver as his balls collide with my clit again.
“Kate… I’m…”
“Please, Mr. Johnson! I want to take your hot load inside me!” I shove my ass up against him one last time. It’s too much for him.
His legs begin to quake. He grabs hold of my lower back for balance. I moan long and deep when I feel his warm spunk filling me.
The rising electricity in my core becomes an explosion of ecstasy. My whole body writhes and twitches all over as the warm tingling spreads to every extremity. My hips buck against him and my ass pounds on his abdomen, coaxing every last bit of cum out of his cock.
Then my body goes numb and limp. His hands slip on the sweat of my skin, upward alongside my ribcage until I feel his weight collapse on top of me.
His legs are still shaking. I finally release my death grip on the mattress, trying desperately to catch my breath. Mr. Johnson sure knows how to fuck.
I had taken his punishment like a true slut. And as we lie there together, all I can think about is what naughty things I’ll have to do to get him to punish me some more.
A bit of his cum trickles out from my pussy and off of his ball sac. I can’t hold back a mischievous grin when the idea hits me. I wonder how Mom will react when she finds out Mr. Johnson put a baby in my belly.
“I WANT TO TAKE EVERY INCH OF THAT BIG COCK INSIDE MY TIGHT VIRGIN PUSSY…”
When I stole Mr. Peterson’s credit card, it was a relatively harmless thing. At least at first.
It’s not like I’m a klepto or anything like that. It was just a little bit of fun. Mostly to see if he’d notice. A girl has got to explore her naughty side once in awhile, you know?
But the reality is that I’m a girl with expensive taste and a shit job that doesn’t afford luxuries.
It was innocent enough in the beginning. First it was a cute little skirt that was on sale. With a matching handbag. And just some shoes to complete the look. Totally harmless.
Hell, Mr. Peterson even got to see me prancing around in those skimpy little outfits. I always get a kick out of watching the bulge in his pants get bigger whenever I stop by to say hello.
It’s fun watching him try to hold his attention on my face instead of on my busty tits in a low cut tank. I know he likes to catch glimpses of my tight round ass whenever I give him the right angle. It’s good fun teasing him with a little show.
He just doesn’t know he’s paying for all of it.
I sort of figured the card would start getting declined, at least at some point.
But it kept going through. It was like having a rich boyfriend in my pocket. My little magic plastic buddy who could conjure money out of thin air.
And the best part of all—it didn’t ask for blowjobs in return. Not like all my other boyfriends. Getting what I wanted before always meant putting out.
Except I’d never go any further than giving head. It’s ridiculous how every single guy expects me to just spread my legs in the air for every little favor. And usually it’s more than that. Like the last guy I dated who wanted me to let him put it up my ass just for getting me a birthday present. Which was a bottle of lube.
Needless to say, that relationship didn’t last. I’m only nineteen, but I’ve got standards to maintain.
So technically that means I’m still a virgin. But if dildos counted then I’d be a dirty silicone-loving slut.
After all the small items—new clothes, purses, shampoo, lipstick, tampons—I guess I kind of went overboard. Suddenly, when money wasn’t an object, I found myself wanting to sample every kind of naughty toy I could get my hands on.
I started out with the basics—an assortment of dildos and vibrators—then I went on to explore my kinkier side and shopped for stuff to stick up my as
s. I bought everything—anal beads, butt plugs—you name it. With a magic wand in my pussy, a plug deeply embedded in my tiny asshole—I didn’t know it was possible to cum so hard.
That is, until I started masturbating while thinking about Mr. Peterson.
And so what if I’m saving myself for an older man? All the other guys I’ve been with have treated me like shit anyway. But Mr. Peterson is different.
Ever since I moved in next door, we’ve had a unique kind of relationship. There was sexual tension in the air even the first time we met. I could read it all over his face. He’s dying to know what it’s like to get inside this tight little pussy.
Now I derive a certain kind of satisfaction watching him blush. It must drive him crazy seeing me flaunt this sexy ass around him all the time—he probably deserves a piece of it.
Plus he’s really good looking for his age, and I’ve always been more attracted to older men. He is tall with broad shoulders, and his handsome face has managed to maintain many of its youthful features. He likes to wear plain tight fitting shirts that really showcase his commitment to staying fit.
You’d never know he was in his mid-forties just by looking at him. I’ve often thought about what it’d be like to be cradled in those arms at night, sleeping soundly in the comfort and safety of those rippling biceps. And of course, the security that comes with being filthy fucking rich.
So in that respect, Mr. Peterson is wealthy on all accounts. Which is why I didn’t feel that guilty when I slipped his Platinum Credit Card into the back pocket of my skinny jeans one night when he invited me inside. He had at least four others, so I wondered if he’d even notice.
And so far, he still hasn’t.
But things got a bit out of control when I graduated to the hardcore stuff. I racked up thousands of dollars in a mega shopping spree for fuck toys, each one even better than the last. The orgasms were so intense that before long I was squirting like a porn star.
I never even knew I could do that. The hard part was always keeping quiet so Mom wouldn’t hear.
And with every new toy, I imagined that it was Mr. Peterson inside me, fucking my brains out and making me cum like never before. I’d think about getting pinned down by his chest, every bulging muscle carved perfectly from marble, grinding against me and thrusting himself up to my hilt.
When the orgasm came in an explosion of twitching in my floral sheets, I’d think about all the ways I wanted to return the favor. After all, all this pleasure was made possible by Mr. Peterson’s credit card. It’s only fair that I should offer some compensation.
Sometimes I’ll stick a giant dildo down my throat just to see how far I can go. Good practice for when I get the chance to deep-throat Mr. Peterson’s enormous cock.
And it wasn’t long before long started craving the real thing. It’s like an obsession, the carnal thoughts spreading like wildfire in my mind of every naughty thing I want Mr. Peterson to do to me.
I want to see the look on his face when I choke down his cock and milk the cum from his balls. I want to gargle his hot load in my mouth and savor the taste of him before swallowing it all in one giant gulp.
Then I’ll lick my lips and beg for more.
But I get the feeling Mr. Peterson is too shy to ever make a move. Besides that, he probably thinks that I’m way too young for him.
That’s why I’m going to be the one to initiate—by coming clean.
I’m going over to his house first thing in the morning to confess. I’ll tell him all about stealing the credit card and the insane amount of debt.
Then I’ll burst into apologetic tears and ask him to hold me. I’ll sob into his chest while he comforts me, tells me it’s all going to be okay.
And then I’ll offer my body to him. I’ll tell him to take me any way he pleases, in any hole he chooses. I’ll grant him my flesh in return for the mess I’ve put him in.
He’s going to understand. Everything is going to be totally fine in the end.
I hope.
******
I knock on the double doors of his home while I smile at the peephole. He might be loaded with cash, but Mr. Peterson hasn’t bothered to fix the doorbell.
I’m wearing a super short black ruffle skirt and fuck-me pumps to match. I’ve got a pretty blouse over my push up bra that makes my tits look huge.
I bite down on my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. I try my best not to calm my nerves, to stop myself from getting too worked up. I don’t really have any idea how he’s going to react when I tell him how much of his money I’ve stolen.
But I’m committed now. It’s too late to change my mind.
“Maddie?”
I’m patting my skirt down in the back, admiring my ass when Mr. Peterson opens the door.
“Good morning, Mr. Peterson!” I give a shy little wave, elbow tucked at my side, heels clicking together. His eyes give me a quick up and down, pausing on my breasts longer than he probably meant to.
The sun peeking over the suburban homes behind me illuminates my slim physique, radiating on my sleek blond curls. I beam at him, twisting at my waist with hands folded behind my back.
Is he blushing?
The redness in his cheeks makes him suddenly self-conscious. He glances down at his Rolex saying, “Wow, you’re up early! What’s up?”
I’m not sure how to say it, so I just ask, “Do you think I could come inside for a bit? I really need to talk to you.”
“About wha—I mean, sure,” he says, then he glances behind himself to look into the dimly lit hallway. He steps out from behind the door and I can’t help ogling at his shirtless body. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
I pinch the corner of my bottom lip, eyes fixated for a moment on his crotch. The giant bulge in his pants sends a wave of heat from my chest down to my slickening pussy. My pink manicured nails dance at the edge of my lips, giddy with the excitement gathering between my legs.
“Just let me grab a shirt. Come on in…”
“Oh, I don’t mind. really.” I smile wide, allowing my eyes to take in as much as they want before returning to his flushed cheeks. “I’d rather you be comfortable.”
He shoots a quizzical look, curious about what exactly I’ve come to talk about. Then he shrugs and opens the door wider to invite me in. “Well, if you don’t mind…”
There’s a momentary pause. Our eyes meet, staring blankly between slow blinks. Then we burst into laughter at the same time and the brief awkwardness is dead.
My heels click on the immaculate tile floor leading to the living room. Mr. Peterson has an adorable maid that keeps the place totally spotless.
I told her once how I feel about Mr. Peterson. I asked her to keep it a secret, but I don’t think she really understood me anyway.
“Yes, yes… Mr. Peterson very good man,” she said. Her English isn’t that great.
But she wouldn’t be here on a Saturday.
“Well, have a seat,” he says, motioning to the brown plush couch. “Can—can I get you anything?” I can tell he’s nervous, but that’s pretty typical around me. Especially when I’m dressed like a hot little slut.
“I need to tell you something,” I say. I pat the cushion next to me and he takes a seat there. “The thing is—I…”
Fuck. This is harder than I thought it was going to be. I turn to him, tucking a glossy strand of hair behind my ear. I can’t help sneaking another peek at his crotch. The sheer size of him apparent through the bulging fabric.
My lip starts to quiver. My breaths are becoming rapid. My knees rub together at the slick desire building in my needful center. My pussy pulses and aches to the rhythm of my quickening heart.
Fuck it—I can’t bear to see the disappointment on his face.
“I think you’re really hot, Mr. Peterson.” The words just came out on their own. His eyebrows rise in time with a noticeable flinch of his dick.
“You what?” Shit. This isn’t how I was expecting the conversation to go. And yet,
all I can think about his what his cock must taste like. “Are you feeling all right Maddie?”
“It’s true. Ever since we first met, I’ve wanted…” I make a bold move and place a soft hand between his legs. I can feel him throbbing, swelling under my palm, the blood rushing from his face down to his stiffening dick. “I’ve wanted to fuck you.”
Mr. Peterson’s dick twitches in my hand, growing more erect at every spoken word. His eyes are locked with mine like orbs of swimming hazel. He’s mesmerized, unable to muster a response.
