by Sanya Sitter
Then I pushed two of his fingers into my wet hole, "Can you feel how tight I am for you, Mr. Thompson?" His fingers slipped in deeper, down to the second knuckle. "Don't' you want to feel this tight pussy around your cock?" His hand was trembling; his cock pulsed quickly in my hand. He was on the very edge.
"I'll let you cum inside me..." I say, caressing his shaft. Mr. Thompson's eyes closed and his whole body shuddered. He wanted so desperately to fuck me.
"But Cammy, we can't..." He put a hand on my bare shoulder and grabbed my wrist. "You have to stop." I couldn't believe that he was serious. There I was, asking for him to stick his dick in me, even giving him permission to cum inside me. But still he refused.
"You're my neighbor! I know your mother for god's sake! It wouldn't be right" The water pressure had put my hair in my face, which was now covering my tears. I sobbed into my hands as the water flowed between my fingers. I just wanted to help Mr. Thompson, but instead I had been humiliated. In that moment I could see in his eyes how bad he wanted to fuck me.
"Cammy I--just leave. Get out!" He motioned toward the door, picking up the small towel again. I could see his tight ass from the side as he turned away. I had to fight back my laughter at the hilarity of him trying to keep himself covered at that point.
I could tell then that he was going to be a lot more difficult than all the others. A more direct approach would be necessary if I was going to succeed at this--that is, if I could possibly get any more direct.
But this time I will succeed. Tonight, Mr. Thompson is going to find his motivation.
***
When I show up to Mr. Thompson's front door I'm already crying. They weren't real tears of course, but they would serve me and help me get what I wanted from him. Mr. Thompson may be a moral man, but I'll be damned if he isn't going to accept my help. All I want is for him to get me pregnant so he can be happy again. Why can't he understand that?
"Cammy? What're you--" I slip under his arm in the doorway. "What's wrong?" My face is buried in my hands and I'm sobbing.
"That jerk!" I stumble my way over to his living room couch while Mr. Thompson follows closely behind with a hand patting lightly on my back, trying to console me. When we get there, I flop onto the beige leather couch, sniffling and wiping away black tears of mascara.
"What happened?" He asks, looking genuinely concerned.
"My asshole client stiffed me." Mr. Thompson takes a seat next to me. I get one foot up on the couch; my legs are bare below my denim shorts. My pink tank top hangs low as I sprawl myself out in front of Mr. Thompson.
"You wouldn't understand!" I say, working up more tears and putting a throw pillow over my face. Then I feel his warm hand clutching around my ankle. He rubs there, making his way up the smoothness of my calf, trying to comfort me.
"But you're not an asshole like most guys, are you Mr. Thompson? You're such a good man..." He runs his palm up and down along the length of my shin.
I remove the pillow from my face, saying, "I mean, after what happened between us... it must be true." Mr. Thompson averts his eyes and stares at the immaculate carpet. He always was a bit of clean freak.
He is looking awkward--a little tense, even. I sense a bit of regret behind those sullen eyes. Regret about not fucking me wen he had the chance. Regret about not getting the opportunity to feel the tightness of my warm pussy around his cock. Regretful that he never got to cum inside me.
Lucky for Mr. Thompson, I'm here to give him a second chance.
"That feels good," I say, smiling as Mr. Thompson takes my foot in his lap and starts massaging it. I flex my foot, stretching the muscles of my leg, moaning.
"Y'know... your wife never deserved such a loving husband." His hands freeze. The thought of his wife brought up too many unpleasant memories. Mr. Thompson clutches my foot harder; the memories had triggered anger and resentment.
"I bet I give better massages than her..." I sit up on the couch and reach to massage his slumped shoulders. His eyes close softly and he lurches forward as I massage away the tension.
"I bet I fuck better than her, too." He wasn't expecting me to say that. His neck goes erect and his eyes shoot wide open. He turns toward me with an exasperated look and I can't hold back my giggling. I get up to saddle myself over his lap. To my surprise, Mr. Thompson doesn't react.
"Would you like to find out?" I tug down on my tight tank top to expose my bare breasts behind it. Mr. Thompson just stares up at me, looking totally perplexed.
"Go on... give them a little suck..." I grab one of my tits and bring the nipple to his trembling lips. I open my mouth a bit, encouraging him to do the same.
When his lips part slightly, I rub my nipple around the edge of them. I bring my hand to the back of his neck and run my fingers through his dark hair, nudging him in closer.
Then his lips form a tight seal around my areola and his eyelids drop. Mr. Thompson flicks his tongue wildly on my nipple, moaning and sucking with delight. My neck tilts back and my back arches.
Mr. Thompson opens his mouth wider to get as much of my breast inside as he can fit. I bring my other hand down to my crotch and dip my fingers beneath my shorts.
"Mmm..." I moan, rocking my chest against him while I finger my clit. "I'm so wet for you already..." My tongue darts to the corner of my mouth and circles the edge of my lips.
My legs wrap around his waist still on the couch and I thrust myself into his hard abdomen. Then I start to gyrate my hips and bounce around in his lap, dry humping the rising tent of his jeans.
I let out a playful squeal when he picks me up by the ribcage while my legs are still wrapped around him and tosses me back onto the couch. I stretch my legs out straight for him to tug my shorts and panties off while I lift off my tank top.
When I'm naked, my legs are spread eagle toward him, inviting him to fuck me.
Mr. Thompson pushes against my knees so they're at the sides of my head. My legs jolt in the air when he dives face first into my wetness and licks all around. He puckers his lips and slurps between my folds, lapping up the sweetness of my juices with total relish. His tongue flicks my clit and my hips buck against his face.
Mr. Thompson holds me by the ass cheeks and squeezes them tight, pulling me in closer against his mouth. His saliva dribbles from my pussy, down the line of my crack and around my asshole.
I grab the front tuft of his hair and run my fingers through it, holding his face against my pussy while rocking my hips in a circular motion.
"Cammy... you--you taste so sweet..." He says when he finally comes up for air, wiping the wet sheen of my fluids from around his lips. Then he dives himself between my legs again and thrusts his tongue into my entrance.
The tip of it curls inside me, stimulating my insides. My chest arches on the couch; my ribcage protrudes above the soft slope of my belly. I clutch my round breasts and shove them together, biting my lip and enjoying the immense pleasure.
A current of electricity is building in my core, flowing up my spinal cord. I wrap my legs around his head and push him deeper with my calves.
His tongue swirls inside me, lapping up my wet fluids as they gush from me, spilling over his bottom lip. My toes curl in the air while I'm squeezing tight around his neck. I want him to go deeper...
"Mr. Thompson... I want you--I need you inside me." He pauses, looking up at me with his head between my legs. Then he pulls away, apparently nervous. He stares at me, studying me.
The consequences of getting me knocked up flashes before his eyes. The potential risk is there. Still, he's gone too far with me to just stop now...
He breaks himself free from the grip of my legs and lifts his shirt, maintaining eye contact with me. Then his hand moves to the buckle of his jeans. He is committed now. The temptation of sticking his cock inside me is too much for him to resist. I could see by the lust in his eyes that his curiosity was beginning to override any the fears about getting me pregnant.
Mr. Thompson tugs down on his jeans and
briefs, and his erect cock springs out of them. When he's got them all the way off, he gets himself between legs and I gasp when I feel his cock spreading my labia. I can feel his racing heartbeat in the quick pulse of his throbbing cock.
I stick a stick a straight index finger at the corner of my mouth, saying, "Do it! Fuck me Mr. Thompson!" His shaft slips in my wetness, gliding between my folds. My thick fluids coat the length of his shaft.
"A--Are you sure?" His expression is one of apprehension. All he needs is a little bit more encouragement...
I grab the head of his cock between thumb and forefinger and guide it to my entrance. I bite down on my bottom lip, grinning slightly through my teeth. I feel the tight walls of my entrance giving way to his enormous cock.
Then it slips in the wetness of my insides and my legs twitch in the air. The walls of my entrance wrap tight around the neck, compressing the entire head as I pull him in deeper with my other hand on his ass.
"Ungh!" I yell, bucking my hips to the sensation of his cock entering me. My tightness grips around his thick shaft as he pushes in deeper with a certain hesitation. "Push!" I command, grabbing him by the hips and pulling him in closer.
Mr. Thompson squints hard; his jaw drops. "Fuck! You're so tight, Cammy..." He grabs hold of my tits and gives them a squeeze. I giggle and tense the muscles of my core to make my pussy even tighter for him. He groans and squeezes my tits harder.
Then his head drops to my chest when the head of his cock taps my cervix. His balls tap against my puckered asshole and my legs spasm at the hips--it hurts just a little bit. The pain quickly subsides in the euphoria of his enormous cock filling me whole.
"There we go..." I say, giggling at him and patting the back of his head resting on my chest. "That wasn't so hard, now was it?"
I rotate my hips, working the length of his cock like an expert whore. My walls clench tight around him, squeezing and compressing the whole of his stiff dick.
A bit of his precum dribbles out from me when he pulls out all the way to the tip. Then he pushes himself in balls deep me with a fierce thrust, clutching my tits and moaning loud.
Again and again, Mr. Thompson continues to drill me as I buck my ass against him. Beads of sweat drip from his forehead and roll in the crevice of my sternum. He huffs and groans, keeping his face scrunched in concentration. He must be using a whole lot of it to keep himself from cumming like this.
"I want you to cum inside me..." I say, staring up at him as my body jerks back and forth on the couch with each impaling thrust. Mr. Thompson shakes his head. He is still afraid. "It will be okay, I promise," I tell him bringing my hands around to his clenched ass to assist his thrusting.
"But what if you get--" He says, shaking his head again.
"Don't worry. I want you to. Cum inside me... please!" I moan loud for him. His face begins to relax; he lets out a long, hoarse moan.
"Fuck--Cammy--I'm... cumming..." My whole body shudders when his warm spunk filling my uterus. An explosion of euphoric tingles bursts from the depths of my core, spreading out to every extremity.
Again and again, his cock pulses and squirts more of his seed into me. My hips gyrate in the air, milking every drop of cum while our bodies writhe together.
My back arches and the muscles of my core convulse sporadically. The orgasmic energy washes over me, making my mind go numb with ecstasy. Mr. Thompson wails. His legs quake beneath him and his pelvis jitters.
His thick load fills my insides, seeping out from me and dribbling down my crack. His body jostles on top of me while my walls squeeze tight around the whole of his dick, holding him there relentlessly until every ounce of sperm has been extracted.
When the tremors in my limbs begin to fade, he collapses his full weight onto me. A wide grin spreads across my face as I pet the back of his hair, holding him to my bare chest glistening in the sheen of our sweat. I had succeeded in getting Mr. Thompson to impregnate me.
After all, I haven't taken any birth control for weeks and I am in my most fertile period right now. I set it up that way just for him. Thanks to me, Mr. Thompson has found his motivation.
LET’S BE NAUGHTY
Mr. Parker is the man of my dreams. And there he was, like every Saturday morning, washing his BMW on the other side of the cul-de-sac. I pull back the purple curtains of my bedroom window just enough to gaze woefully at his perfect body, scrubbing feverishly in the driveway with his shirt off.
Sometimes I wonder if he does it just for me. After all, he has seen the way I stare at him. The sweat of his ripped torso glistens in the sunlight, and the chiseled muscles of his thick arm flex each time he leans over the hood.
"Laura, get down here and do the dishes already!" Mom is yelling at me from downstairs, but I'm not listening. I'm nineteen years old now, about to go off to college, and yet she still treats me like a damn child.
I watch as the streams of soapy water roll off the front of his car, his whole chest seems to bulge with each squeeze of the sponge. My panties are getting wet. And they are the only thing I'm wearing.
I have known Mr. Parker since I was a little girl. In fact, he's been a lot like a father figure to me growing up. My own dad passed away when I was three, but Mr. Parker did favors for me all the time.
He used to help my mom out by dropping me off at school in the morning since it was on his way to work. He taught me the important things I needed to know about boys and how to watch out for the bad ones.
And it's only recently that he seems to notice that I've grown into a woman. When I brought him some of my homemade cupcakes for his 40th birthday last week, he had trouble keeping his eyes off my tits in a low cut tank top.
He was so cute standing in the doorway, stammering and looking for the words to thank me while struggling to keep his attention above my chest.
It's true that he is much older. Old enough to be my Dad, even. But it doesn't bother me. Especially with that statuesque body and those handsome, still youthful features to go along with it. In fact, he doesn't look a day over thirty.
Although he has a scar that travels down to his cheek bone from the left ear, and I can tell he is self conscious about it sometimes. I just think it makes him look rugged--sexier, even. And I desperately want to tell him that.
I want to whisper into Mr. Parker's ear just how much I worship every part of his body while I've got one hand down his pants, stroking his cock when his wife isn't home.
I glide fingers down the soft, pale skin of my belly as I watch him work. He was bent over now to get a good shine on his headlights as a bead of sweat rolled down the back of his muscled lower back.
My panties are all soggy now.
Slowly, I slip my index and middle finger together underneath my scarlet lacy panties. I gasp as they connect with my wet clit and eyes roll to the back of my head. My legs shudder and spread apart on their own.
I have to get one foot over the edge of the desk near my window to keep my balance.
I rub sensually on my clit and feel the wetness of my warm pussy. I pull the two fingers up to my mouth to taste my sweet juices.
"Mmmm..." I moan softly. I wish that Mr. Parker could taste me for himself.
I had been trying for months to find a way to seduce him, but I was having terrible luck. Most times, I would spend all day finding the perfect skimpy outfit to wear before going over to bring him a gift.
Except that most times his wife would answer the door. And even though I insisted on giving the gift to Mr. Parker myself, she just took it from me and told me goodbye.
I think that bitch knows I want to fuck her husband.
And finding the chance to fuck him in secret will not be an easy task. She works from home and hardly ever leaves the house. In fact, Saturdays are the only time I ever see her gone.
I heard him saying that she goes to some book club or something, but I don't give a shit as long as she isn't home in time to catch us being naughty.
The truth is, I want nothing more in lif
e than to be a mother. And ever since I started babysitting my neighbor's little baby Brandon, I have been searching for ways for Mr. Parker to give me one.
Taking care of Brandon, changing his diapers, holding him when he cries--it ignited a deep maternal drive within me. And now I will do anything to have a child of my own.
But I want Mr. Parker to be the father. Fuck going to college for four years to work until I'm old, just for some career I don't love.
If Mr. Parker will have me and support me, I will make being a mother my life's passion.
And I'll do a much better job of it than my own mother has done. Sure I turned out okay, but a lot of the credit goes to Mr. Parker, too. He was the one who taught me the sort of stuff Mom never bothered to tell me about.