“Since I was thirteen,” I say. “I’ve had the biggest crush on you. You must’ve noticed. I wasn’t very good at hiding it.”

He laughs. “I had a feeling when you started coming out of your house every time I did. I saw you a few time staring at me too.”

I feel myself blushing, but I don’t care. I want him to know. “I was a little obsessed with you.”

“Oh yeah?” he says and kisses one of my nipples. “Did you fantasize about us being together?”

“All the time.”

He sucks nearly my entire breast into his mouth and starts to suck and nibble. The pressure between my legs builds until I feel like I might burst. When he lets go he asks, “What kinds of things did you picture me doing to you?” he asks.

His hand runs along the skin of my inner thigh, coming awfully close to the dip between my legs, but he never goes that far. It’s like he knows the agony I’m in and wants to torture me.

My hands go to the tight globes of his ass cheeks. I push his boxers down to his knees, as far as I can reach. He pushes them down the rest of the way until they’re at his ankles and he kicks them off. We are both entirely naked how. It’s terrifying and thrilling all at the same time. And though there’s nothing in the way now, he has amazing restraint. I arch toward him, but he manages to keep our hips from touching.

“I pictured you touching me—” I nod, “down there.

He smiles and chuckles. “You mean your pussy?” he says.

I blush. I don’t know why it’s such an embarrassing word for me to say. I’m an adult, after all. I’m eighteen. But for some reason it stills feels like a bad word to say.


“Yes,” I say. “My pussy.” I try the word out. It’s weird. A little naughty, a little embarrassing, but I like it. Feels sexy. And I can tell by the way Deacon starts to lose his smile, his features becoming sharper, intense, that it turns him on too. “I used to imagine you sneaking into my room when my window was left open on summer nights. You would strip me down and wake me up by licking my pussy.”

He makes low sound in his throat. His hands squeezing my breasts harder, painfully pinching my nipples until my pussy starts to leak everywhere. I can feel the puddle growing on sheets beneath my ass.

“What else,” he says, his voice barely a whisper as he spreads my legs apart and squeezes the skin of my inner thigh as if it’s taking all his restraint to keep from tearing me open.

“And then you would fuck me.” Suddenly these naughty words feel right and they come spilling out of me as if they were always there, held captive, just waiting for the right time to escape. “You would slam your cock so deep into me that I would have to bite my pillow to keep from screaming. When I became too loud, you would flip me onto my stomach and push my face into the pillow as you fucked me from behind.”

His hands are still gripping my inner thighs, but his face looks a little dumbstruck. He stays like that for several seconds and I start to wonder if I went too far. Then a smile forms on his lips and keeps stretching until it fills his entire face. “Wow. And here I thought when young girls have crushes on older men, it’s all about nice dinners and romantic gestures.”

I smile up at him. “Those are good too,” I say.

He laughs and kisses me on the lips, a quick peck that becomes a slow kiss until developing into a heated, sensual make-out session. His lips taste so good. While his lips move down to my neck, his hands move up my thighs, spreading my legs further. He’s massaging the puffy skin of my outer labia, pinching and pulling.

I wrap my arms around his neck, thrusting my hips up toward him, mewling and whispering, “oh fuck,” as the engorged feeling in my pussy becomes more prominent.

“I need you inside of me,” I tell him.

Though I’ve never had sex, something instinctual tells me that’s the only relief for the pressure I feel building up.

The tip of his finger finds the top of my clit and he starts to rub in slow circles, and I’m yelling his name, feeling as though I will launch out of this bed, right through the ceiling. I’ve masturbated a thousand times, but it’s never felt like this. It’s a completely different experience when you’re turned on so much that there’s no oxygen going to your brain and you feel half-crazy with lust, and someone else is doing all the touching for you. It’s mind blowing. It’s more that I can take.

The orgasm is on top of me before I even realize it’s coming. I’m making choking sounds and my body is lurching, spasming. At first I think we’re done, because when I’m touching myself, that’s all there is. The build-up, the release, and done. But Deacon keeps rubbing and I realize, no, it’s not done. That powerful feeling just keeps building and building, until it’s almost painful, and I’m thinking we should probably stop before the pain gets worse, but he keeps rubbing and instead of the pain getting worse, something inside of me breaks open and pleasure explodes in bursts and I’m coming and coming, and still coming. My mouth opens and a cry comes out without me even realizing what’s happening. He keeps rubbing and I keep coming for an entire minute until finally the ebb starts to take me back down.

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