Sinful Intentions

by Devon Hartford

  “Bad idea, Mike,” the doorbell warned. “You oughta turn tail before you make things worse.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I hissed, regretting it immediately. Talking to myself in front of Brooke would only confirm my lack of sanity. Not my fault. My dick was making me crazy.

  Pounding footsteps inside the house approached the door. Brooke’s muffled voice came through loud and clear, “This better not be fucking Mike or so help me I will—” she ripped the door open.

  Brooke stood there mere feet away.

  I had never been this close to her, never looked into her eyes face to face. Hers burned blue. She was perfection, the perfect mix of every internet photo of hot blondes blended together. A loose pink T-shirt covered her breasts without hiding their size. It was damp in places and her nipples were seductive shadows showing through. Other than that, she appeared to be wearing nothing. The bottom of the shirt hung just past her pussy. Did she have her thong on, or had she taken it off before getting in the shower and getting wet, only to throw this pink shirt on when I rang the doorbell?

  Based on how her pile of unruly blonde hair was barely tamed by her hair clip, I’d guess yes.

  The presence or absence of her thong was a fact I desperately wanted to confirm for personal reasons. As much as I was dying to look, I didn’t. My eyes were pinned on hers. If she caught me staring at her tits or crotch or anything other than her face, she’d probably slam the door in my face and I’d be back to square one, which was the public square where Dad would behead me in front of the tomato-throwing neighbors while Brooke watched, a satisfied look on her gorgeous face, which was the exact opposite of the nauseous scowl she wore now.

  Her upper lip curled and she shook her head in disgust, “You fucking pervert. I knew it was you.”

  What was I going to say to that? Yes? You’re right? You caught me dick-handed?

  “I thought about calling the cops, but I realized your dad will make your life a living hell when he finds out, so I opted for that.” She leaned one hand against the open door and cocked her hip, causing her pink T-shirt to shift.

  I tried not to look at her other pink.

  It was impossible not to.

  For a split second, I saw the slimmest sliver of her crotch.

  I had never seen Brooke’s pussy before, not outside of a thong. There it was flashing by, then it was gone. No matter. The fleeting image of it burned into my brain for all time. My dick missiled in my shorts and threatened to pop out the top. It could not have picked a worse time to introduce itself.

  She scowled, “Like what you see?”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Yes you did. You looked at my kitty. I saw you do it. You’re such a fucking perv, Mike!” She laughed bitterly and shook her head, eyes skyward. “I should’ve known! This isn’t the first time is it? How long have you been watching me from your window?”

  “I haven’t—”

  “Don’t lie to me, Mike. Tell the truth. How long have you been watching me tan?”

  I was scared shitless. Talking to women was not in my wheelhouse. Begging Brooke not to turn me in wasn’t either, but I had to say something. “Are you going to tell my dad?”

  “I should.” She shifted her weight to her other hip and folded her arms across her chest. This time, her T-shirt lifted high enough I saw pubic hair. Just a tuft above her slick lips, which were shaved. Was I seeing things, or did they glisten? And this time, the shirt remained where it was, riding high. “Go ahead and look. I know you want to.” Brooke’s full lips pursed into a smirk.

  I didn’t look.

  I stared.

  “How long have you wanted to fuck me, Mike? Be honest.”

  I didn’t hear her because I was staring at her pussy. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. To make it more incredible, I could definitely see a thin line of moisture seeping between the lips.

  “Mike? Hello? I asked you a question.”

  “What?”

  “How? Long?”

  For a horrifying second, I thought she was asking how long my dick was. I’d measured it. What guy hadn’t? I knew mine was average length and girth. There was no way a woman with Brooke’s experience would be impressed by my size, but that wouldn’t stop me from memorizing every line of her pussy while I had the chance.

  “Mike!” She let her T-shirt drop, covering her crotch. She lowered her voice to a whisper. “How long have you wanted to fuck me?” I met her eyes. They were no longer angry.

  She grinned a sin, “No bullshit. I want to know.”

  “Since you moved in,” I practically whispered.

  “That long?” She said it with a friendly tease.

  I smiled, “What can I say? You’re hot. Really hot.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Is that all the game you got, Mike? I’m hot?” It was a taunt.

  “You are,” I chuckled. “See, I’ve never, uh, I don’t, uh, I, uh,” I didn’t want to say more because the truth would make me sound pathetic. I didn’t have any game.

  “You’ve never been laid, have you?”

  “Well, uh…”

  She laughed, “That’s a no.”

  A loud rumble broke the moment and a UPS truck drove up and parked across the street. The driver saw Brooke in her too short shirt, and nearly fell out of the cab staring. He dropped the box he was carrying on the street with a glass-shattering thud.

  Brooke shouted, “What the fuck are you looking at, asshole?! Go deliver your package!”

  Undeterred, the driver called out, “Hey! What’s your name, babe?”

  “Jailbait! Do your job!” Brooke grabbed my wrist and yanked me into her house, slamming the door behind me.

  I would’ve jumped out of my shoes in surprise and left them on her doorstep if I’d been wearing any. Without them weighing me down, I flew.

  Chapter 3

  Suddenly, silence.

  Me and Brooke standing in her entryway with me staring at her entryway. The wet one. It was draped over by her pink shirt, but I stared anyway.

  She laughed, “You’re such a fucking horn dog.”

  I shrugged guiltily.

  “Virgins always are,” she offered.

  I was too embarrassed to respond. I tried to focus on the air-conditioned coolness of the floor tiles underneath my feet. Unlike my house, where in the name of saving money, Dad had programmed a secret passcode on the thermostat so no one could set it to the point it actually made things cool (something he never did, which made summers miserable), Brooke’s house was almost cold.

  She wasn’t.

  She was a bonfire of beauty.

  “You’re lucky I love to fuck.” She bit down on the corner of her mouth, her snow white teeth tugging gently on her naturally cherry-red lips.

  A nuclear bomb went off inside my chest and my eyes bulged as big as my boxers. My dick was throbbing against them, my balls tight, twitching, and ready to spit out another rapid-fire burst.

  “I want to shower first,” she said. “I’m all sweaty and gross from laying out. You watch. Come on.” She grabbed my wrist and led me upstairs.

  I couldn’t believe this was happening. But I did trip on the stairs a couple times like a complete doofus.

  “Careful,” she said.

  “Sorry,” I grumbled, feeling stupid and barely noticing the furniture in the living room as we rose above it on the open staircase. The Hillstrom’s furnishings were nicer than anything at my house. The couches, the TV, the wall art, all bigger and newer and more luxurious than ours.

  Brooke led me into her bedroom. It wasn’t decorated like I would’ve expected. No posters of boy bands, no pink everything, no plush stuffed animals on the bed. It was more grown up, almost like a college dorm room. Simple, functional, but feminine. With her taking classes at Greenville, it made sense. She’d legally left girlhood behind at least three years ago.

  She closed the bedroom door behind me, locked it and leaned against it. A slow smile spread across her lips.
“Now you’re trapped.”

  I wanted to tell her she could trap me in her pussy for eternity and I’d be a model prisoner.

  She slid past me and brushed one breast across my bicep, her taut nipple skimming my skin.

  The thrill of her touch went straight to my dick, which I could feel pointing sideways and dribbling pre-cum from the tip into my boxers.

  In the corner was a bathroom door. Brooke headed toward it and paused in the open doorframe, leaned her shoulder against it invitingly, and grinned. “Are you going to join me?”

  “Yeah,” I mumbled and followed her into the bathroom. It wasn’t big. Your standard shower, toilet, and sink, but again, everything looked more expensive compared to my house.

  “Close the door.”

  I did.

  “Lock it.”

  I did that too.

  Brooke peeled her T-shirt over her head and I died.

  Chapter 4

  First her tufted pussy, then her tan flat stomach, then those boobs I knew so well, then her pixie smile appeared from under her T-shirt. She tossed it at me and I caught it. The shirt, not the smile. Her smell was coming off it like a promise of things to come, namely me and her.

  Facing the mirror, she adjusted the clip in her hair with expert flair. Her boobs rose and fell as she did it, changing shape and emphasizing their natural fullness.

  “You like?” she asked, making eye contact in the mirror.

  “Of course,” I snorted, staring at her pert nipples. “They’re the best I’ve ever seen.”

  “The only ones you’ve ever seen outside the internet,” she snarked sarcastically. “Except your mom’s.”

  “Don’t bring her into this,” I chuckled. “Keep her as far from this room as possible.”

  “He speaks,” she giggled, her eyes twinkling. She was right. It was the first normal thing I’d said since getting here. She climbed into the shower and turned on the water. The glass doors were crystal clear, but she left them wide open. “Stand where you can watch,” she said. It wasn’t an order. More of a suggestion, one I was happy to obey.

  I leaned against the towel rack across from the toilet, hands behind my back pressing against the wall so I didn’t break the rack off with my weight, something I’d once done two years ago by accident. It happened in my bathroom and I was already going to get a Makita from the garage to fix it when Dad intercepted me in the hallway and made it clear that knocking off a towel rack was tantamount to treason in the Hunt household. I didn’t want to think about him right now.

  I wanted to think about Brooke.

  Standing under the spray, she spun her back to me and did a quick rinse from head to toe. There was nothing sexual about it. Until she arched her back and stuck out her ass. Water dripped down between her firm cheeks, across her pink puckered butt hole, and down her wet pussy. Other droplets may have dripped elsewhere, but I never noticed.

  I was mesmerized.

  When Brooke’s fingers came pushing between her legs and through her pliant folds, I nearly lost it, my dick trembling, a hot wave of sizzling pleasure fizzing in my stomach and tickling my balls.

  One of Brooke’s fingers laid a deep line between her lips and she moaned, stroking the groove. Looking over her shoulder with sleepy eyes, she said, “Do what you were doing when you were watching from your window.”

  “What?” I could barely speak let alone think.

  “Don’t play dumb, Mike. Do what you were doing.” Her fingers worked her wet hot flesh in lazy gliding lines until she plunged her middle finger deep.

  That rocked my world, yet I remained frozen where I stood. This situation was beyond overwhelming, every wet dream I’d ever had about Brooke rolled into one and come to life.

  “Pull your fucking shorts down and grab your cock, Mike. This isn’t just for you.”

  I reached for my waistband and hesitated.

  “Do it, Mike,” she moaned, working her fingers in and out. “Pretend you’re fucking me.”

  I pushed my shorts and boxers down and popped right out. Kicked clothes into the corner and stood there fully erect, still wearing my T-shirt.

  “There it is,” she purred, eyes glazed with lust. “Look at that big hot throbbing cock.”

  She was right about the throbbing, but I had not expected her to call it big. What did I know?

  “And take your shirt off,” she insisted. “I want to see that hot bod of yours.”

  No woman had ever complimented my body, let alone called it hot. Not once. I wasn’t going to argue. I ripped my T-shirt off and tossed it aside.

  “Mmm. Look at you.” Brooke’s eyes flashed desire and roamed over me. “You should walk around without your shirt more often.”

  I probably would have if Dad didn’t give me so much shit for trying. For the longest time, whenever I attempted going shirtless at home during the heat of summer, in a desperate but futile attempt to not melt, he loved to say things like, “This isn’t the beach. Put a shirt on.” Or, “You look like a meth-head. Put a shirt on.” Or, “Do you expect your mother to clean the furniture after you sweat all over it? Or were you planning on cleaning it for her? No? I thought not. Put a shirt on.” Because of Dad, my shirt-wearing habit carried over and I never went anywhere without one.

  Put a shirt on.

  Put a shirt on.

  Put a fucking shirt on!

  Dad rarely swore that I knew, but I sure fucking did, especially when I was pissed at him and he wasn’t around. Or in my own head, where like now, I was busily bashing his head in with a wrecking ball crane, me at the controls and laughing fucking hysterically.

  “Where’d you go?” Brooke asked.

  “Huh?” I was gritting my teeth without realizing it. “Sorry. Nothing. What were you saying?”

  A sly grin from Brooke erased my irritation when she said, “Fuck your hand like you want to fuck me, Mike.” Her voice was an invitation to corruption, a sinful seduction I couldn’t resist.

  “Can I, uh,” I cleared my throat. “Can I borrow some conditioner?” I saw she had several different bottles inside the shower with her. One had to be conditioner.

  “What?!” she laughed. “This is no time to wash your hair, Mike! Can’t you see what’s in front of your face?”

  “It’s for my,” I was embarrassed to say it but I did, “for my dick.”

  “Your dick?”

  “You know, for jerking off? It’s like lube?”

  She turned around in the shower and frowned, “You use conditioner to beat your meat?”

  “I thought all guys did.”

  “That’s a thing?”

  “It is for me.” I may have been an ignoramus when it came to actual foreplay, but I was a Lothario in the art of solo love.

  Brooke gave a girlish shrug, grabbed a bottle, and offered it out the open shower door. When I went to grab it, she yanked it back.

  I smirked at her. Having been on the losing end of countless games of keep-away, I wasn’t going there now.

  “I want to put it on for you,” she said, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes as she motioned with the bottle.

  “Oh. Okay,” I said warily, ready for her to squirt it in my eye.

  She clicked the top open and held the bottle’s nozzle over my dick, which I held in one hand. She asked sincerely, “How much do I put on?”

  “It doesn’t take much. I’ll say when.”

  She squeezed several big drops plopping onto my penis and giggled, “It looks like cum.”

  “That’s enough,” I said, working it into the swollen head.

  She put the bottle down. “Where were we? Oh yeah.” She turned her back, bent over, and presented her ass, Her fingers went back to working her wet slit and teasing her clit. When she did that, she moaned throatily.

  Six strokes in and I shot my load. I’d never seen it arc so high. The orgasm was hard, almost painful, and my dick pulsed in my fist each time I fired. Through gritting teeth I grunted, angry it was over so soon.


  “Already?” she laughed, looking over her shoulder. She turned fully around to watch my cum fall on the floor tiles and puddle between my feet. “Look at you. That’s a lot of jizz.”

  Without thinking, because I really couldn’t at the moment, I sagged against the towel rack, still holding my conditioner-covered dick. There was a click and a pop followed by a clang as the towel rack and towels landed on the tiles.

  “Oh, shit!” I gasped. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to! I should’ve! I’m such a!”

  “Don’t worry about it. My dad’ll fix it later.”

  “I can fix it. I just need tools. Do you have a screwdriver?”

  “You’ve got one in your hand already,” she quipped.

  I looked down at my dick. “Oh, I meant actual—”

  “Not now, Mike. Try not to ruin the mood, okay?”

  “Yeah, okay,” I nodded vigorously and looked at my conditioner-covered dick. Normally, I’d be in my own shower at this point and I’d wash it off. But I wasn’t even in my own bathroom. “Can I use your shower to rinse off?”

  Brooke hooked her hand on her hip and taunted, “Are you trying to put the moves on me, Mike?”

  “I just need to wash the conditioner off.”

  “Don’t let me stop you.”

  “Is that, am I supposed to, I’m not sure what to do.”

  “Get in the shower, Mike! Do I have to tell you everything?”

  I stepped slowly into the shower. It was a tight fit with both of us crowding around Brooke’s boobs. “I need to get to the water.”

  “Am I in your way?” she teased, arching her back and offering her swollen breasts.

  “Sort of.”

  “Then move me.”

  I squeezed up beside her until the stream of water sprayed between the two of us. Like a sex waterfall, it rained on her boobs and dribbled down the middle, rivulets spattering my dick, which was now at three-quarter mast. I had to admit, looking down between her cleavage was the best view of my dick I’d ever had.

  When I was done rinsing the conditioner off, I looked up into Brooke’s eyes. The heat was getting to me. Not from the hot water, from her. We were so close, I could see the freckles on Brooke’s tan skin I never knew she had. Her blue eyes were lustrous jewels flecked with jade. Little misty water droplets dotted her nose. Her dark eyelashes clung together wetly. The detail of it made her vibrant, more real than real.