So, this is a little something I’ve been working on, and I have it mostly plotted out at this point, so I figured I’d, ya know, share~
“Son, I know all about you. I want her home by ten, or you can kiss my deal with your daddy goodbye.”
The man standing between me and the beautiful southern belle who has already fucked me on a number of occasions, is the same man about to make my dad’s business lots and lots of money. You can’t tell from his ripped blue jeans and oil-stained hands and messy curls, but Mr. Oakley is worth millions upon millions of dollars. His only daughter, however, just turned eighteen and is therefore in my territory. I let him know as much with a little smirk as I sneak a glance behind him and wink at her. She blushes, peering up at me through her eyelashes.
“I mean it, Luke,” her fuming old man says, “be even a second late and I won’t give that deal another thought.”
I nod slowly, flicking my brown hair out of my eyes and redirecting my smirk his way. “Gotcha, pops, I’ll be sure to have her home by nine fifty-nine on the dot.” I look beyond him, reaching out and grabbing her by the wrist. She giggles and wiggles around him, scampering behind me and blowing her dad a kiss goodbye. His face pinches in obvious anger as I follow behind her, blowing him a saucy kiss as she hops into the passenger seat of my new car.
He holds up a hand before I can stroll around. I watch him curiously as he comes up right in front of me, grabs my hand, and whispers, “Whatever you do to her, I’ll do to you. Don’t test me, boy.” Before I can so much as wrap my head around his words, he’s dropping my hand, smiling at his little girl and heading back inside.
Shaking my head, I climb into my seat and pull away from the curve. Per usual, her hand finds my thigh in the darkness. Unlike the first time, I don’t have to guide it up, it naturally slides. She slips her hand into my already open zipper, reaching in and taking me into her nice and warm palm. She scoots to the edge of her seat and leans across, kissing at my neck and whispering if I missed her. I fight back a smirk. If only her daddy could see her now.
I tilt my head back, keeping my eyes on the road and enjoying her soft, eager touch. “I did, baby girl. I thought I’d have to knock your old man aside, I wanted to see you so bad.”
She giggles. “We’re going there today, right?”
I turn onto the dirt road and glance down at her with a wicked little smirk. “What do you think, babe?”
She does a little squeal and jerks me even faster. I groan, head tipping back dangerously as I turn down the familiar path. As soon as the deserted barn comes into view, I’m turning my head and locking our lips, my tongue plunging into her mouth. She sighs into me, shifting even closer as she takes my hand and leads it up her skirt and between her legs. She’s soaked through her cotton panties.
She pants as my fingers curl upward, stroking her puffy lips through them. “I may have liked watching you stand up to him a bit too much, Lukey,” she confesses in a murmur, hips squirming to press herself even harder into my fingers.
I promise to take care of her soon enough as I reach over and open my car door. She waits in her seat, happily letting me take her in my arms and carry her into the barn. Inside, I’ve lit the place with plenty of lanterns and cleaned the bed of any signs of the Latina I had this morning. Since Maryanne just moved in with Mr. Oakley a few weeks ago, she hasn’t met Flora yet, so I figured it was safe to enjoy both of them at the same time.
Seeing the sweet little girl I’ve been slowly bringing out of her shell lift her skirts, hand me her wet underwear and spread her legs sends a wicked thrill down my spine and straight to my dick. When I first met her, she thought kissing was scandalous, but here she is, sprawled out in the middle of nowhere about to let me fuck her in the same place I took her v-card. That’s what I love about all the cute girls that move here from the country: they’re all virgins. They’re so unbelievably sensitive and tight that all other girls bore me. I like my women tight and blushing and wet at all times. As soon as they get sloppy down there, it’s time for me to leave them. Unfortunately for Maryanne, she’s getting looser and looser with every day that passes and Flora is only getting tighter.
I think of the cute little Spanish girl as I sink into her quivering, eager folds. Her creamy legs wrap around my waist and pull me in deeper as I remember the way Flora’s needed a bit of licking in order to take me. She was sweet. Delicious, even. I ate her happily, listening to her scream when my tongue was replaced suddenly by my cock. Mary’s moans breach my concentration, and I suddenly remember why I keep screwing her every chance that I get. She calls out for her daddy during sex.
“James!” She gasps and pants his name, hips squirming and muscles clenching all around me. It doesn’t bother me in the least. In fact, I find her little daddy complex cute. It’s the only thing that makes screwing her enjoyable. The second time I did her was when she started calling out his name, and since I didn’t know it was her dad, I was furious and came without her, letting her beg for a good five minutes before finishing her off.
Then, Mr. Oakley came by.
Mr. James Oakley.
For a while, her calling out his name was amusing, but now, it turns me on. She gets to fantasize about her big ol’ daddy doing her raw, and I get to determine if he does her nice and tender or wrecks her already loose cunt with a powerful, merciless pounding. Today, I decide he’s denying her an orgasm until he’s had his fill.
She cries and begs, writhing on my cock as I keep her on the edge, listening as her cries get more and more desperate. She calls me daddy and James and baby, and tries to push back on me as I hold still in her, letting the frantic squeezing of her walls do all the work for me. Then, I grab at her hips, pull her ass up hard against my abdomen for God knows how many times, and shoot into her stomach. Tears stream down her face as I pull out and give her my fingers instead, cherishing the starved, miserable look on her face before I push her over the edge, watching the relief come over her features. Once that’s done, I pat her panties in their place in my back pocket and pull her up off the bed.
She moans softly and sits down on the edge, legs opening as she lifts her skirt again. “Do me again, Luke!”
I eye her oozing core for a moment, just watching the juices drip free, and shake my head. The quicker I get her home, the faster I can get over to Flora’s house and have some real fun. “Not tonight, baby girl. Maybe in a couple days.”
She pouts but follows me out, not bothering to ask for her panties back for once. It’s because of how much she drips that I take them, loving the way she squirms whenever I bring her home. The truth is Maryanne is a huge worry wart. After every time I take her, she tells me to go to the store and buy her birth control since I refuse to wear a condom, and she’s constantly telling me her dad knows we’re screwing there, but if he did, I always argue, why does he let her go out with me anyways. He’s a man, he definitely knows that two hours is more than enough time to flip up a skirt and dump a load in some sweet little girl like Mary. Especially when she comes prepared to take off her panties and lift her dress for me.
Once I get her a water and the pills, she’s finally content enough to go back to her house. Unfortunately for me, today is the last day of the college football game, so the traffic is thick and slow, progressing at less than the speed of a turtle. Sighing under my breath, I tap my fingers on the steering wheel and check the time on my watch. Nine fifty-eight. I lean back in my chair at the ridiculously long line of cars in front of us. Two minutes to get all the way from the center of town to that far off shack he calls a house? I might as well call my father now and tell him I fucked his business partner’s daughter and screwed him out of the big break he’s been waiting half his adult life for.
I groan under my breath. My dad just might disown me this time if I tell him something like that. There’s no doubt in my mind that no matter how my step-mother may protest, he’ll really put me out on my ass. I wonder who would take me in then. Certainly not any of the girls I’ve slept with and left to be put back together by some other guy. Well, there goes a good percentage of the town.
By the time we make it to the light at the end of the street, I’ve already calculated how many people I can rely on in a time of need. None. I glance at my clock. Eleven ten. I’m so fucked. Mary tries to make conversation, but I completely ignore her. Because she wanted that stupid medicine, my life just might be ruined. We’re over an hour late, not ten or fifteen minutes, but a whole fucking hour! For pills!
I groan, rubbing at my forehead and hoping her dad might’ve gone out or fallen asleep. But when I turn onto his street, his driveway is lit up with his bright red pick-up truck parked outside the garage, and he’s sitting on the porch. Of course, he doesn’t look upset, instead there’s a short glass of liquor beside him, a rifle beside it, and a book in his hands as if he’d settled in long ago for my arrival. I am so fucked.
I glance at the clock. Eleven thirty five.
I’m beyond fucked.
Getting out of my car is perhaps one of the most nerve-wracking experiences of my life. My dad needs that deal more than he needs me, that little annoying thought runs through my head over and over as her daddy stays where he is, calmly licking his thumb and turning the page.
“Maryanne,” he says at last, making his little girl flinch behind me, “go on inside now.” She scurries to safety as if the hounds of Hell are at her feet instead of mine. Minutes tick by with just me, him, and that damn book.
Huffing, I cross my arms over my chest and snap, “Honestly, say something already!”
He blinks up at me, pretending like he didn’t know I was there. “Why are you still here, Luke? Run along now and tell your daddy that I’ve changed my mind.” He dismisses me with a lazy wave of his hand.
My teeth grit. “No.” There’s always some way to appease a girl’s parents, and while usually I’d appeal to her mother, Mr. Oakley doesn’t have a wife. What does he want? I look him over. I could give him money for new clothes.
Before I can attempt to be charitable, he’s chuckling under his breath and finally setting the book down on the little end table next to him. “Boy, you must be out your Goddamn mind,” he drawls, a smirk stretching his lips. “Do you think I’m stupid? Believe it or not, I grew up ‘round these parts, and know all the places guys like you take girls like my daughter. And I’m a man that stands by my word. Your father won’t see a penny from me whether you tell him why or not.”
“That’s–!” I cut off, throw my hands in the air in frustration, and decide to just try again tomorrow morning after some rest. “Don’t think this is over. I’ll have words with you to–!”
I come to a halt, one foot poised to take a step and the other just landing. He tugs at my back pocket, something giving way, and a great cluster of unease gathers in my gut. Suddenly, I’m very much aware of the rifle I’d seen earlier and how far, far away my car seems.
“Son,” his voice calls, as cool and calm as ever, “what did I tell you before you left?”
I whirl around and, sure enough, clutched between his fingers are Maryanne’s panties with their white floral design. That’s just my luck today, isn’t it? I palm my forehead and try to remember what useless shit he must’ve said earlier. Did he threaten to shoot me? I can’t recall for the life of me!
“Come on inside, son. Wouldn’t want to disturb the neighbors.”
Before I can plant my feet, his calloused fingers are curling round my upper arm and yanking me forward. I keep one eye on him and the other on the gun, chest heaving in relief when he completely ignores it. It’s only when the door to his house slams shut behind me that I realize that I’m in his house and there could very well be a quieter hand gun somewhere nearby.
“L-listen, sir, now I didn’t–!”
“Save it, boy.” He strolls forward, taking a right and entering the kitchen, without hesitating in the least he goes right on through to a door at the end. When it opens, there’s a set of stairs going down into darkness. He folds his arms over his chest and leans against the door. “If you accept your punishment, I’ll consider sparing your daddy’s contract.” That’s more than enough to get me down the stairs. He stops me at the first step with a hand at my shoulder. “You’ll be needing this.” I frown, reaching out blindly for the railing as he ties something thick and heavy around my eyes. His mouth appears at my ear, “Once we reach the bottom, you’re to tell me everything you and my daughter did, starting with the handjob in the car.”
Oh my God, he saw that?! “You saw?!” I demand loudly, tilting my head back instinctively.
Something clicks closed behind me. “I did. C’mon get a move on. Don’t fall.”
“Why don’t you go ahead of me then? Or take this damned thing off me, huh?”
“No,” is all he replies.
I wait a few seconds, and then hesitantly stretch one foot out, sliding it along until the step I’m on ends. I do the same thing again, just taking them a step at a time with the constant pressure of Mr. Oakley watching me from behind. If I slip up, do I fail whatever test this is? Almost immediately, my foot presses down on nothing but air and I’m pitching forward. Thick arms catch me around the waist, pulling me back against a broad chest. I can’t help but feel small against him both physically and because I’m blind. He’s bigger and stronger and . . . and warmer, I realize with a start. His front radiates warmth almost as well as a bonfire. Instinctively, I lean back on him, welcoming the heat over the chill of the unknown in front of me.
“Didn’t I say to be careful?” He grumbles, breath gusting past my neck and making me shiver and turn away. Despite his complaining, he holds me to him and whisper-orders for me to move my foot forward. I reach out hesitantly, hands unconsciously grabbing at his arms in case he’s trying to trick me into falling into something. Instead, when he tells me to step down, I feel nothing but the solid wood of the steps. “That’s it. Good boy. Now, move it forward again,” he murmurs, bottom lip gently caressing the shell of my ear, “and step. Good boy. Keep going.”
I want to say something about how I’m not even remotely part canine, but decide against it considering he’s trying to help me. Besides, by the time he guides me to the bottom, I don’t exactly mind his insanely belittling word choice. Instead, I almost miss it in the silence and stillness of the room. It’s almost like there’s nobody here, but I know better. He’s here. I can feel his warmth somewhere in front of me. Biting the inside of my cheek, I hesitantly reach out, flinching when my fingertips connect with him. I can’t tell if it’s his back or front, so I just pretend it’s the latter.
“Now what, pops?”
Fingers wrap around my wrist, tugging me forward. I stumble towards him, anticipating the collision only to be guided round in a circle. Dizzy and discombobulated, I feel him step up close to me, his hands lifting mine above my head, and his breath hot and even on my face. I tilt my head up, looking to where my hands should be even though I can’t see them. As soon as I do so, his fingers are replaced by something cold and hard. The thick bands are unwavering and consume most of my wrist, leaving me feeling shackled and very, very uneasy.
I tug on them and hiss at Mr. Oakley, “What the fuck is this?”
His hand finds my jaw, grabs onto it and pulls until my face is turned towards his general direction. “You have a story to begin.”
Despite him being right in front of me, my body goes cold at his words. Something in his voice is different, not at all like his usual calm one. It freezes all the words in my throat and makes me pull harder on my hands. I’d look up, but his grip on my chin is firm, far too solid for me to have a prayer of breaking it.
It tightens. “Speak.”
I lick my lips nervously, eyes squeezing shut where he can’t see them as my mouth opens, giving in so easily to that one, cold word. “I just took her to the old barn on fifty-third.”
“You’re skipping parts. Car first, then the barn.”
“All she did was give me a handjob!” I bark, cursing and attempting to rip my head out of his hand.
He hums under his breath, and says, “Well, since your hands are out of the question, we’ll just do this.” Before I can ask what this is, his hands are leaving my face in favor of my pants.
“Woah!” I thrash backwards wildly at the first touch of his fingers on my button. It hardly even fazes him. Instead, he presses into me, traps me between him and a freezing flat surface. He reaches in, finds my cock and wraps those thick, rough fingers around it. He gives it a stroke and my hips buck, my teeth biting into my lip as he guides me out, exposing my dick to the chill of the room.
I shiver, horror flooding through me as he tightens his grip on me, lets me feel every callous-toughened inch on my smooth skin. This is definitely not the hand of a woman, he says with his touch, mocking me with it as he pumps me in his tight fist. Despite the fact, I can feel myself reacting, heat pooling in my stomach as he strokes his heavy, calloused thumb across my head. I twitch to life in his hand, lips parting in horrified wonder at the delirious pleasure of being jerked off in such a hot fist. And I’m glad then that I can’t see him. His expression can only possibly be taunting my weakness to pleasure. I lean my head back on whatever’s behind me, biting at my lip at how slow his touch is. It’s nothing like how Maryanne had touched me. She wanted me to come. He wants me to beg.
“Faster,” I murmur at last, “she jerked me faster.”
Another chuckle. “And? Did she make you come?”
No. “Yes,” I breathe on a sigh, hips lifting into his teasingly light grip.
His lips find my ear. “I don’t believe you,” he whispers, his hand completely avoiding my head. He takes my earlobe into his mouth, nipping it with his teeth and teasing it with his tongue. I shudder, swelling in his hand and exposing my neck to his mouth. “Good boy,” he praises in a husky murmur, his thumb rubbing my head round and round as his lips descend on my skin.
His kisses are hot and lingering, like he’s frenching my neck and loving every second of it. The idea makes me drip. He smears my juices down my length, mouthing at my neck as my shaft jerks in his grip. I want to come. If I could, I’d fist my hair at how beyond ridiculous this is. I’m being jerked off by a man, and I like it. There’s no denying it, either. Here I am, wet and hard and held in a tight, coarse fist that could only ever belong to a man. And he knows it, revels in it as he stops touching me altogether.
I groan, body hot and throbbing as I sag back against the cold surface. I can still feel his touch, it sizzles across my throat and dick, and makes me ache like some pathetic bitch in heat. But I don’t mind nearly as much as I should. Instead, my lips are opening and words are spilling out. “I kissed her and brought her inside. She gave me her underwear, and I fucked her until she cried.”
He doesn’t say anything just slams his lips on mine and tugs at my dick. I pant into his mouth, head spinning at the ease in which his tongue dominates my mouth. I can hardly think beyond trying to keep up and not turn to mush, but I certainly notice when his hands yank down my pants. They hit my knees and then I’m kicking them off, swaying into his chest as he gives my shaft one last long pull. It’s when he sticks his fingers into my mouth that I realize something I should’ve a long, long while ago: I’m not the one doing the fucking this time.
I remember my words then. Until she cried. Despite my obvious fate, I find myself getting hotter. I suck on his fingers readily, licking and stroking at every single one as if they’re the sweetest candies ever to enter my mouth. He groans, and then they’re gone, curling over my hip and finding my crack. I sway into him, lips parted in wonder as he wets my hole with his fingers, caressing it back and forth and back and forth. I gasp when on a random pass he slides a finger into me.
“Good boy,” he praises, his other hand kneading my ass cheek as the hot, slick digit pushes inward.
I moan at the wicked thrill that moves through me at his words and touch. Tonight, I’m going to let a man fuck me. His finger gets a friend, and the two of them curl up into something that makes my entire body light up like fireworks. I bury my head in his neck, legs trembling and back arching as he rubs it round and round until I see white and my cock is shooting with abandon, emptying a load onto us.
“St-stop,” I gasp, hands fisting as he continues playing with it, rolling and pushing on that spot until I’m fully hard again and trembling on the verge of coming once more.
“Come,” he says lowly by my ear, shoving his fingers hard into my sweet spot. I do so with a muffled scream into his neck. My legs give out as my cock twitches and jerks and splurts erratically. Dangling by my wrists, I feel almost grateful when he lifts me up by my thighs and settles my legs around his hips. “Such a good, good boy.”
I moan pitifully, leaning into his chest and tugging at my aching wrists. “I want to touch you.”
I whine the word, sighing in relief when the bonds come undone. Weaving my fingers through his hair, I pull his mouth down to mine and kiss him feverishly. I want it, I admit readily, arching my back and rubbing myself on the hard bulge of his pants. “Fuck me.”
He groans, tells me what a good boy I am and wets his cock in his slicked fingers. I feel him at my entrance then, waves of his heat crashing against me just before his thick, ridiculously big head shoves its way into me. I squirm on the large bulbous tip, lips parting in disbelief at how scalding hot and wide it is. He burns me on it, branding me deeper and deeper with every thickening inch until my hole tingles numbly and he yanks me down the last few inches. I can taste him on my tongue he’s so far in me, and it makes me impossibly hard and eager to feel his cum spill into my stomach.
“You should see your face, boy,” he murmurs in his thick, hard voice, “you want this cock so bad you’re drooling.” I lift my hands to my face, but he quickly pins them down, holding them against the thing behind me as he gives me a sharp thrust of his hips. I moan like a bitch. Feeling him rub his thickness on that spot does incredible, sick things to me. He entwines our fingers, pressing me hard into the wall as he pulls out and dives back in. He does it over and over and over until I’m nothing but another woman on his cock, crying his name and begging to come.
Instead of giving me what I want, he pulls out of me, sets me on my feet, and turns me around. I stick my ass out without thought, hands flat against what can only possibly be a wall, and welcome him back into me. He fists my hair and smacks my ass as he pounds me into nothing, whispering in my ear that Maryanne can hear me and that he’s nowhere near done.
He takes me hard and fast and mercilessly keeps telling me all the things he’s been wanting to do to me, all the times he saw me and wanted nothing more than to fuck that smug smirk off my face. When I’m on the verge of coming he stops, bites my ear and makes me come by squeezing on his dick and listening to his words. In bright, colorful words, he describes all the ways he can punish me with cuffs and cocks and dirty, dirty games that make me squirm. I can hardly stand it. Every dark, taunting word that leaves his mouth makes my dick drizzle my juices down my legs, makes me realize that I’m no better than the girls I make go home with wet thighs and dripping cunts.
And I know when he rams in ball’s deep and relieves himself in me that I like it.
“My good boy,” he says as I spread my legs wider, let him sink all the way into my drenched heat, fist my hair, and yank me up and down that thick, thick cock of his. Mr. Oakley’s lips find my ear and I’m submerged in the scent of sex, the feeling of his skin smacking against mine, and the sound of being called a “good boy” over and over again until it’s all that my ears can recognize.