by Sanya Sitter
******
I’m wearing the short black dress Mr. Johnson gave to me last week when I ring the doorbell of his home. I know it’s his favorite because he had an erection before I’d even tried it on. I’ve got matching black pumps and my hair down just the way he likes it.
When the door creaks open, I put on a perfect smile. It’s been two days since Mr. Johnson left me a hot mess of humiliation. Plenty of time for him to drive himself crazy thinking about what he missed out on. Lucky for him, I’m back with a second chance of opportunity.
“Tammy?” He’s got an undone tie hanging from his neck, just home from work. Perfect.
“I wanted to apologize,” I say, ducking under his arm holding the door.
“Uh, yeah—come on in.”
“It’s been eating me up inside.” My heels click against the immaculate white tile floor of his hallway. The smell of Lysol is overpowering. I knew Mr. Johnson was a clean freak, but damn. “You know, after what happened between us.”
“Look, Tammy, you don’t have to—“
“Can we sit down somewhere and just talk?”
He glances down at his watch, saying, “I don’t know. It’s not really the best time right now.” What the hell? What could be more pressing than seeing me out of this dress? I know he wants to, if he’d just cut the act already.
Instead, I ignore what he’s saying and saunter down the hall into his living room.
“Really, Tammy. I’ve got work to fin—“
“Please?” one hand caresses his cheek. “It won’t take long. Promise.” I bite down on my bottom lip and give him a little wink.
For a moment he is lost in my gaze, and the real purpose of my visit becomes clear.
“I should have never let it get this far,” he says, shaking his head.
“But you did, Mr. Johnson. And now you need to finish what we started.” My fingers drape over his broad shoulders and I lean in until my cheek grazes the stubble of his jawline. Crimson lips part, the warmth of my breath at the nape of his neck. The words emerge, soft and direct, “Did you know that I’m a virgin?”
My fingers roll over the hardness of his chest, feeling the bulges of a perfectly toned abdomen through his shirt. “Do you want to know what it feels like?” My fingers are working at his belt buckle. “To cum inside a tight little virgin pussy?”
Mr. Johnson’s expression goes blank when he feels my hand groping his balls. His eyes roll back and his head nods in subtle apprehension.
He swallows hard to stifle a groan as his cock begins to swell in my hand. Then there is the snap of leather and his pants fall below his trembling knees.
My hands stroke his stiffening cock; my tongue wets the scruff of his chin. I go to lift his shirt. Mr. Johnson raises his arms in cooperation—in full resignation to the moment.
I guide him to the sofa, a gentle hand pressed against his chiseled features. My own panties are off before he’s even lying down.
I straddle myself over his cock, leaning over. He gasps, flinching at the cold wetness of my tongue circling his hard pecs. Manicured nails dig into tough skin, playfully scratching along his chest. I rock my hips, grinding myself between his legs.
My wetness glides on his stiff dick; fluids gush from my warm pussy, coating every inch of his throbbing shaft.
“Ungh…” Soft moans escape between rapid breaths. Mr. John’s rock of a chest heaves as my body writhes against him.
I bring his hands to my ass and he latches on with a grip tight enough to startle me. My pussy quivers at the size of him, slipping along his hard cock, longing to be filled.
“Are you ready?” I say. But I’ve lifted myself up, knees at either side of him, guiding his cock to my wet entrance before he has a chance to answer.
“Tammy?” is all he can muster. His legs are restless; his heart pounds in his chest.
I drool a bit of spit into my hand and stroke saliva on his shaft. The head of his dick presses into my folds. His dick slip into my tightness and his eyes roll back.
My back arches and we moan loud together. My nails clutch his chest like a vulture finally catching its prey.
I lower myself onto him, surprised at my sudden apprehension. Is this really happening?
But any and all thought vanishes in the moment of my lips give way to his enormous size. My walls wrap tight around the head and my whole body shudders. One hand holding his shaft, I continue to lower myself. Down, and down…
Mr. Johnson watches his dick disappear inside me. I can’t help but wince at the subtle pain of his penetration. But then it subsides, dominated by a wave of euphoric tingles running up my spine.
“Holy s—shit!” he says, holding the bulk of my round ass in a death grip. “You’re so fucking tight…”
My tongue circles the edge of my lips—I can almost taste him filling my insides. He holds my entire weight up by the ass, taking control. His girth spreads my tight walls as my slick insides lubricate the long descent.
Then my whole body spasms when his cock bottoms out at my cervix. He’s so deep I just want to scream. My fluids trickle down his shaved ball sac. My tight pussy wraps his entire length from head to shaft.
My body begins to move on its own, bucking wildly against him, relishing in the sensation of his cock filling me whole, spreading my insides apart.
Mr. Johnson lifts me with fierce thrusts into the depths of my pussy, gyrating his pelvis, drilling into me with abandon. My nails dig deep into his chest, enough to scratch the skin.
I bite down hard on my bottom lip to stop myself from screaming. Mr. Johnson impales me, again and again, like he’s splitting me in half.
And then an unfamiliar pleasure is all consuming. Electricity seems to flow out to every extremity, overwhelming my senses. My mind goes blank.
Ecstatic wails fill the room as I ride Mr. Johnson’s cock, my heart lost in a sea of orgasmic fluttering.
Sweat pools at the small of my back, trickling between ass cheeks now red and raw from Mr. Johnson’s vice. He holds me down on his cock while my body quakes against him. The tight muscles of my core contract and squeeze the enormity of his cock. Neck tilted back, my long hair clings to me. My vision blurs—a white void sweeps across my senses.
“Agh! Fuck!” He lifts me up with his powerful hands to stop himself from cumming.
Dammit! He’s so close.
“What’s wrong?” The internal tremors subside; the energy of the orgasm begins to fade.
“I’m sorry, I—“ His cock throbs beneath my legs, dribbling precum, right on the verge.
I give it a few gentle strokes, finding pleasure in the facial contortions of him trying so desperately to hold back. Mr. Johnson is at my mercy. Too bad for him, I won’t be letting him off this time—until he’s getting off inside me.
I get myself turned around, a hand resting on the arm of the sofa, my sopping pussy in front of him. I reach between my legs and spread the lips apart with two fingers, juices pouring out and running between them. I give my ass a little shake, inviting him to enter me from behind.
“Mmmm…” I moan out, fingering my sensitive clit. “I need your cum! Please!” My soggy pussy quivers and aches, pleading to be filled.
My head droops and my dark hair fails over my face. I spread my legs wide apart, and wait…
And then I feel it—His girth spreading me again, splitting me nearly in half.
Mr. Johnson goes wild with animalistic grunts, pounding into my pussy with arms wrapped tight around my waist.
My hips buck against him, working his cock, coaxing it to cum.
“Ungh!” My insides go into a fit of orgasmic tremors while Mr. Johnson humps and moans and fucks. This is it. I can feel him. Yes! Yes!
My whole body jolts when he cums inside me, his hot spunk filling my uterus.
The muscles of my core spasm uncontrollably, squeezing and milking every drop of semen from his stiff dick.
“Oh, God!” he says. The pulse of his throbbing cock beats again
st my walls, again and again, ejaculating his thick load into the depths of me. The warmth of his seed is comforting.
Mr. Johnson collapses his weight on top of me, slipping in the sweat of our skin. I can still feel his cock twitching inside me, emptying every last bit of sperm while he's still holding me in a tight embrace.
Our bodies writhe together, clinging to a fading orgasm. I want this moment to last forever—the moment when Mr. Johnson impregnated me.
“WHAT IF I LET YOU STICK IT IN MY ASS?”
I smile wide just before my head collides with the airbag. Glowing headlights shatter into a million shards against crunching metal.
I didn’t hit Mr. Jameson’s car on purpose, but it wasn’t a complete accident, either.
More like I just let the wheel go and let fate take me where it wanted—like right into my neighbor’s brand new Bentley.
Innocent enough.
Black windows light up in the suburban cul-de-sac around me. A blaring car alarm rings in my ears as people peer through their windows to see what all the commotion is about. I keep my face buried in the softness of the deployed cushion, waiting for Mr. Jameson himself to come out and see what I’ve done to his car.
Besides, is it my fault it was parked on the street?
After all, sometimes a girl has got to work to get a little attention. And Mr. Jameson’s attention is something worth getting my hands a little dirty for.
In fact, I’ve been trying for weeks now to get him to fuck me. Just like every other slut on this block, apparently.
Like just last week I saw Mrs. Andrews knocking on his front door in a low cut dress and come-fuck-me pumps with a tray full of fresh brownies. And that bitch is fucking married.
Well she’s going to have to try a lot harder than that if she wants Mr. Jameson to go down on her. He’s a man of principal. A man of class. Seducing a real man like that requires much more drastic measures.
Like crashing into his car, for instance.
I can’t really blame them though, seeing how he’s the hottest, richest man in the neighborhood. He’s probably somewhere in his mid-forties, but I swear that guy could pass for thirty.
I love watching him from my bedroom window when he comes home from the gym—the guy never misses a day. Seeing his tight pecs taut against his sweaty tank makes my panties all wet.
Sometimes I like to finer myself, two fingers spreading my labia, feeling the wetness there while I fantasize about all the naughty things I want Mr. Jameson to do to me.
Usually I end up on the bed with my legs spread eagle in the air, grinding against a dildo deep inside my pussy, moaning softly so Mom doesn’t hear.
I think about him entering me, embracing me between his broad shoulders, pile driving himself into my tight slit as I plead for him to cum inside. I imagine bucking my hips against the sweat of his six-pack, coaxing his massive cock to fill me with his hot load.
The truth is I’m still a virgin. But that doesn’t mean I never daydream about being a dirty little slut.
I’m nineteen and still haven’t felt a real cock inside me. Plenty of guys have tried to get in my pants, but really I’m just a girl with expensive taste, and I never settle.
I’m holing out until I strike gold, baby.
Call me a gold digger—call me whatever you want. I know what I’m after and nothing gets in my way.
So it’s only natural that I should let my wheels drift into Mr. Jameson’s car. Easiest way to get into someone’s life—just make fireworks.
“Brenna!” Mr. Jameson opens the driver side door to see me slumped facedown against the airbag. “Are you okay?” He reaches across my chest, brushing my tits with the bulk of his arm to unbuckle the seatbelt.
I lift my head up and shake like I’m just coming to. But really I’m just thrilled he remembers my name.
“What—what happened?” I blink slowly, pretending to become aware of my surroundings. I feel the warmth of his hand on my bare shoulder, the strap of my pink tank hanging loose. His hand against my tan skin sends a shiver up my spine that makes me sit up straight in the leather seat.
“C’mon, let’s get you out of there.” He brings my arm over his neck and cradles me behind the knees. Suddenly he’s holding me and I’m staring into those perfect amber eyes, the sun peeking through a storm cloud casting a rim of light around his chiseled features. Am I in heaven?
“Mr.—Mr. Jameson?” My dark eyelids flutter and my cheeks flush.
“You were in an accident,” he says. No shit. I pretend to look surprised.
“Oh my god! Your car! I’m so—“
“It’s okay. The important thing is that you’re okay.”
I try my best to look sincere, but with him holding me like this, all I can think about is the slick heat between my legs. My toes curl and fidget in the air to the carnal thoughts swimming in my head.
“I guess this isn’t the best time to tell you…” I say.
“No, it’s okay.” The way he smiles at me makes me squirm against his hard chest. The toned muscles of his thick biceps flex to hold me in place. Him holding me like this, staring into eyes with such deep concern—it’s exactly how I imagined this would happen.
If things continue going like I planned, I’ll be riding on his dick in no time. Preferably without a condom.
“I’m unprotected…”
“You mean uninsured?” He looks rather stoic, considering. His tie is loose around his neck, the top buttons of his dress shirt undone. The muscles of his toned pectorals twitch beneath the white fabric, cradling me like a helpless damsel. “Don’t worry about it.”
I flinch to a drop of rain landing on my soft, pale cheek. Thunder roars from a distance.
“Let’s get you inside before you get wet.”
Too late.
******
The rain is already pounding by the time we get inside Mr. Jameson’s house. My damp hair clings to his arms as he carries me carries me to a plush brown couch in a giant living room.
Mr. Jameson sets me down with the gentle ease of handling a newborn, my limp body spilling onto the soft cushions like I’ve just been saved from a burning building.
“Does anything hurt?”
“Not really,” I say, placing a palm against my forehead and massaging there, “My head’s just rattled is all.”
“Well, let me get you something to dry off with.”
I can’t believe I’m inside Mr. Jameson’s house. I’d pinch myself, if not for the fear that I might actually wake up.
A thin ray of light pours through the sunroof above me, illuminating the polished antiques set along wooden shelves. A tall grandfather clock ticks away, filling the silence as Mr. Jameson rummages in a closet down the hall.
“Here you go,” he says when he returns.
“You’re so sweet.” I flash a bright smile and catch him blushing slightly, breaking eye contact to stare down at his bare feet. “I must look like such a hot mess.”
I sit up and ruffle the towel over my hair. “It’s so humiliating that this happened.” I bury my face in my hands and shake my head. “I couldn’t even drive twenty feet from my driveway without hitting something.” I toss my hair back and tuck a dark strand behind my hair. “I’m such a stupid klutz sometimes.”
“Nah, you’re not stupid.” He puts a gentle hand on the side of my arm.
“But I’m a klutz.” I start giggling and Mr. Jameson smiles with his eyes, then we burst into laughter.
“Lucky for me, you were there to make sure I was okay.” He rubs the back of his neck when I beam at him, patting my cleavage with the towel. There’s a long, awkward pause. Is Mr. Jameson getting flustered?
“Yeah, well, I heard a loud crash and—“
“I’ve made so much trouble for you,” I say, standing up. He looks surprised that I’m able to stand at all. “Is there… anything I can do to compensate?”
“Nope—well, I have good insurance, so…”
“That’s not what I
mean.” My manicured toes sink into the soft beige carpet as I advance toward Mr. Jameson with a smooth confidence. “Look, you’re all wet!” I bring the towel to his chest and press it between the open buttons of his dress shirt.
Mr. Jameson catches my wrist, “It’s okay, you really don’t have to.“
“Relax,” I say, patting across his broad collarbone. My tongue sleeks across my upper lip, maintaining eye contact as I peel back one side of his shirt. “Let me dry you off, silly!”
Mr. Jameson relinquishes his grip with some hesitation. My eyelids droop as I continue working my way across his bare chest. His massive pecs rise and fall with slow, heavy breaths. An intense shiver runs the length of my spine, emanating from my slickening pussy.
