But I couldn’t stop. I loved the way her cock felt as it began to throb, and I loved the way she sucked on my thumb. I heard a whimper slip out through my own lips. My arms and legs were trembling uncontrollably and my heart was pounding. I was feeling up a biological boy—I knew it, but I couldn’t stop it. I was possessed by some strange sexual energy. I’d never been more charged up in my life.
I spun her around slowly and then I looked into her big, flashing eyes. She was wearing lots of eyeliner, brushed to the side to make her eyes look even bigger. I put my hands on her shoulders and I pushed her down. She stared into my eyes the whole way down to her knees. And she didn’t look away until I had my cock out and dangling before her lips. Finally she looked down at it and then she didn’t hesitate before grabbing it and thrusting it through her thick cock-sucking lips. She slurped and bobbed and made my cock even harder. Her mouth was warm and amazingly wet. It felt so good—I was worried I would come and end our romp before it even started.
I held onto my quartz countertop. I squeezed the edges as I tried to stop myself from coming. I clenched and bit down on my tongue and then I let out a long groan. She knew how to satisfy a cock. She had tons and tons of experience with her own cock, after all.
I heard her let a little giggle slip. I looked down and saw that she had her erection out from under her skirt, and she was stroking it while sucking me off. And I couldn’t look away. It was the greatest sight my eyes had ever seen. My body started pulsing with warm euphoria. For some reason, that cock only made the sight better. If she was just reaching down and stroking her pussy, it wouldn’t have been nearly as enticing.
She took my cock and rubbed it against her nose and her lips and her chin. She gently ran the tip of her tongue up from my ball sack to my tip. And then she watched as a drop of pre-cum drooled out from my tiny cock hole. She licked it up with another little giggle.
I had to take a step back, worried another lick would be enough to make my cock unload all over her face—and as much as I wanted to watch her pretty face get ruined by a thick load of cum, I wanted to give her what she wanted. I wanted to raw dog her from behind. I wanted to cum in her asshole and let her feel my warmth oozing out from her puckering anus. She stood up and I spun her around. I bent her over my counter and then I flipped up that tiny skirt, which was hardly in the way to begin with.
I slipped two fingers under that tiny strip of thong and then I pulled out until it snapped. Then I just pulled it away from her body and tossed it aside, and I heard an elated whimper slipping through her lips. I truly was fulfilling her fantasy.
I took my cock in my hand. It looked huge—bigger than normal. Maybe it was just harder than normal because I was so absurdly aroused. It was hard to aim down; it just wanted to be standing straight up like a totem pole. So I had to crouch my legs slightly to get myself lined up with her puckering boy-pussy.
I pressed the tip against her hole and then her hole gave my tip a kiss. A warm shudder ran through my body, and for a moment I was worried that I was going to come before I even had my cock inside of her. She swayed her bum gently, as if trying to invite me inside, but that only made my head spin faster. Before I stuck it in her, I reached around to feel her cock. She was hard and throbbing and warm. She let another soft whimper slip as I squeezed my fingers around her throbbing tip. Then she reached down and squeezed her fingers around mine, as if she didn’t want me to let go—and in that moment, I didn’t want to let go.
I pushed my hips forward and penetrated her tush. She gasped and squeezed my hand even harder around her cock. She squirmed and moaned and then she started to gently pull my hand up and down, making me stroke her shaft. Her throbbing was intense. I was worried I was going to burse a vein—if that’s even possible.
“You’re so tight,” I said, and then I realized I had just broken a nearly ten minute silence. She didn’t respond—not with her voice. Instead, she clenched her asshole tight around my cock, showing me that she could be even tighter. My legs trembled.
And then I felt a warm drop of fluid trickling down my fingers—a small bout of pre-cum, just for me. If she weren’t holding my hand down, I would have reached up to my lips and licked it up. But as that drop moved from one finger to the next, I had a moment of clarity: I had my cock in a biological boy’s ass. And not just any biological boy, but a boy who lived a floor or two above me, one who occasionally went to random apartments hoping to be fucked by strangers. And in case that wasn’t bad enough, this boy had commissioned me to draw him naked, and he currently had no idea as my cock pressed deeper into his tush—
Her tush—she was a girl. She had a cock, but she was still a girl, right? I mean, she had tits, and her voice was feminine enough. Her curves were definitely feminine, and that ass certainly didn’t belong to a man, even though it did. But what about that little skirt? No man could pull that skirt off, so she must have been a woman, right? My back felt cold now, beading with drops of sweat. I felt like I needed to back off, pull my cock out before I came. Maybe I wouldn’t regret penetrating her, but I would probably regret coming in her, without a condom. I could still save some of my dignity and some of my pride, couldn’t I?
But I couldn’t pull out. She puckered her tight hole around my cock again, and it felt too good—too good to pass up. I had to be inside of her. I had to come deep in that hole. I had to make her squirm and groan. And I wanted to feel her cock when she came. How could I ever live with myself after passing up such a rare and incredible opportunity? That picture of her naked on her bed would always exist, even if I deleted it from my hard drive; it would still be on the Internet, and I would always know where to find it.
I started thrusting in and out of her tight hole. Her rim hugged my cock, pulling back slightly with every deep plunge, and pulling out slightly every time I pulled back so I could pound her again. It was a mesmerizing sight—too hard to look away from.
But I had to look away so that I could appreciate the rest of her body: her succulent curves, her little back dimples, her long hair which bounced every time I slammed her little ass. I knew the hair was fake, but it still looked good on her. And it didn’t move when I grabbed a handful and pulled, as if it was clipped down in multiple spots.
She turned her head as much as she could to look back at me. She had a cute face—a face that belonged to a woman. I felt relief while looking at that face, as if it was proof that I wasn’t gay or crazy. No man could say no to that face… Or did I only find it attractive because I was secretly attracted to young men? I shuddered as that thought passed. And thankfully, it did pass—at least for the next thirty seconds as my cock began to bloat and throb like never before.
“I think I’m going to come,” I said, clenching back my orgasm.
And I could feel her cock bloating thick. I wasn’t alone. I was going to feel her cock as it unloaded her sweet, warm load. I clenched my hand tighter. Her legs trembled and she nearly toppled over in her tiny heels. I began to unload, beating her to the punch. I tried holding back, but it just felt too good.
She didn’t wait too long. As soon as that first gush entered her small body, she gave in. Her cock pulsed and I felt her hard rod twitching as globs of warm goo shot through it. She was coating the side of my cabinets, but I didn’t mind.
I pushed her body up against her own cum as I pushed my cock in as deep as it would go. I groaned as the final gush blasted inside of her, and then I stumbled back, nearly falling over as I hit the adjacent counter. She remained bent over my countertop. It was a few seconds before my cum started dribbling out of her ass and down her leg. I started to get worried when twenty seconds had passed and she still hadn’t moved. “A—Are you okay?” I asked. My voice cracked as if I was a thirteen year old.
She nodded her head and then she raised her hand with the ‘okay’ symbol. “Never been better,” she said between breaths. Then she flipped herself over and looked into my eyes with a big grin. “I guess I should be going. Thanks again for the wat
er—and the bowl.” I thought about stopping her to tell her that I knew the power never went out, and that I was the one who drew her naked. But the instant I considered telling her, I froze up. If she knew that I was her artist, maybe she would piece it all together and realize that I’d been stalking her online, that the only reason I fucked her was because I read her post about desperately wanting to be fucked. I didn’t want her to think that I was her stalker, because I wasn’t technically her stalker. I hadn’t been following her for months or even weeks—or even days for that matter. It was all just a big coincidence—a coincidence that no one would ever believe, so it was just better off being kept to myself.
CHAPTER VI
I was a bit surprised when she didn’t come around again the next day. I was even more surprised when she didn’t come by at all the day after, or the weekend after that. It was as if she got that itch out of her system and now she was done with me—and that was probably for the best, though I couldn’t help but dwell and assume that I’d done something wrong.
Of course I found myself on that website, between commissions, to see if she’d made any new posts. There were no new posts, as if she suddenly ceased to exist. And again: maybe it was for the best.
But I couldn’t help but feel a little bit helpless. I didn’t know where in the building she lived. I didn’t have her phone number or her e-mail address or even her full name, so I couldn’t even find her on Facebook or Twitter or Instagram. She was like a ghost who came into my life for one quick night of passionate sex, and then poof—she was gone.
I knew I could probably go to my landlord and ask him where she lived. There couldn’t possibly be too many girls named Tae in the building—if that was even her real name. I could also go door to door, asking every tenant in the building if they knew a Tae or any girl who wore little skirts and wigs. But I really didn’t want word getting around that I was trying to find her. I didn’t want people asking me why I was trying to find her, because even I didn’t know the answer to that. I knew that she was better off left alone.
But I had one other lead. When she first commissioned me, she sent more than just that lewd bed shot. There were a few tame shots that could have easily been on her social media pages. So I decided to run them all through Google’s reverse image search, and sure enough, I found her Facebook page. Her full name was Tae Jennings. She had four hundred and twelve friends, and about seventy photos of herself—mostly selfies taken with friends.
I spent a good hour slowly flicking through those photos. Each photo made me feel a little bit better about myself: a reminder that she looked exactly like a girl. It was a short-lived relief, because it made no difference. Did that mean it was gay to have sex with a woman who had a masculine look? I was just redefining words for my own convenience.
I searched through Tae’s Facebook page for any information I could get. More than anything, I wanted to know which apartment she lived in, though I still wasn’t sure why I wanted to know. Was I planning on confronting her? Did I want to come clean to her? Or did I just want to have sex again, even though I’d hardly slept since our kitchen romp. Falling asleep seemed like an impossible task with that memory constantly creeping back into my mind. I swear that I could still feel her throbbing cock, and I could still smell her perfume, as if was lingering in my apartment, determined to drive me insane.
A part of me was upset that she hadn’t come back. Did she not have fun in my kitchen? Or did she wake up the next morning tense with regret, like me? Was she struggling to understand why she’d gone through with it? She had unprotected sex with a stranger—surely she wasn’t just brushing that off as if it was nothing at all.
That afternoon I finished a commission and sent it away to the buyer. Then I looked through my e-mail inbox to pick my next commission. It was one of those weeks where I got more requests than I could handle, so I had to be picky about which jobs I took. Sometimes I felt bad passing potential buyers up, but sometimes it was nice because I got to pick the slightly better jobs over the completely deranged jobs—like one of the requests that was currently sitting in my inbox. “I want a drawing of my stepmom giving me a blowjob while my stepsister eats out my asshole. And I want everyone, including myself, to have cat ears and tails.” There were lines that were better left undrawn and uncrossed.
And maybe one of those lines was Tae. Maybe I would get over her eventually if I deleted all of her e-mails and her pictures and I removed her drawing from my site and blocked her account from my e-mail client. Eventually she would just become a distant memory instead of an obsession.
I deleted the strange pseudo-incest commission request and went onto the next request. And that’s when I saw her name dangling at the end of the e-mail: “Love, Tae.” She was in the market for a new commission, and she sent along a new picture for me to use as reference.
I quickly opened the picture up and felt a warm trembling surging down between my legs. In the photo, she was in a pair of tall heels, squatting down with a dildo pointing straight up and into her ass. She had an erection, which was outside of her black lacy lingerie, also pointing straight up like that dildo. She had the cutest and funniest face: her eyes rolled up, one squinting, and her tongue out. “In the drawing, I want you to show my cock coming—shooting straight into the air. I think it would be really cute.”
I accepted the job without hesitation. I was ready to accept any excuse to stare at that amazing picture for six to eight hours. And I planned on doing a good job, making it my best drawing ever. I got started on my sketch before she even replied with the money transfer. I must have done fifteen different iterations before I was happy with one—and the pose wasn’t even any different from the reference photo.
I inked my lines carefully in Photoshop. I wanted to make sure every line was perfect: no blips, all with the perfect weight. I must have spent an hour just on her eyes, getting that orgasmic face just right. I wanted to capture just how cute she was.
And I couldn’t see it in her reference photo, but I knew that she had a birthmark right on her inner thigh, which wrapped around slightly towards her bum. I included that in my picture. I even got the shape of it just right as I remembered it: shaped like a rounded heart.
I spent another hour just getting the details of her lacy garment perfect, and then I spent three hours after that colouring and shading—a process which usually only takes me about forty-five minutes. And once I was finished, I couldn’t wipe the smile from my face. The picture was perfect—my best ever. I could see no flaws in it, and the likeness was uncanny. She was going to love it, even if she only loved it half as much as I loved it. I sent it off without hesitated, and then I eagerly awaited her reply.
And it came later that night, just as I was getting ready for bed. I was expecting a glowing response, filled with excitement. Instead, I got, “How did you know about my birthmark?” My heart plunged deep into my stomach and I rushed over to my computer in a heart-pounding hurry. I looked at that reference photo. There was no birthmark in the shot. Then I opened up the other photos she’d sent me—and there was no birthmark. I went to her Facebook page and then I went to that sexual fantasies website, and there was no birthmarks to be seen in any of her photos.
I was as good as caught. How could I lie my way out of this mess? What could I possibly say to make her think that she didn’t know me? ‘Oh, I just added that for fun. What are the chances you actually have a birthmark right there?’ She would never buy it.
And she’d seen that picture up on my wall. Surely it was just a matter of time before she started to connect the dots. And there were plenty of dots to connect. I often used familiar landmarks as backdrops in my drawings. The last photo I posted on my website had the RH Tower in the background—a tower that was unique to our town. And in a recent drawing, I used the Peace Bridge as a backdrop—another feature that was unique to our city.
But I had to try to keep her from becoming any more suspicious. “It’s supposed to be a heart tattoo,”
I wrote. “I thought it was cute, and it filled in a bit of blank space in the photo.” I could feel a cold dampness all over my body as I waited for a reply.
“Thanks for the drawing. It’s really great,” she wrote, and that was it. That’s what she left me with for the night. And instead of sleeping, I paced around my apartment. My heart wouldn’t stop pounding. My excuse was terrible. I thought of ten better ones that night, but it didn’t matter—I’d already made my pick. Now all I could do was sulk in that horrible dread that wouldn’t leave me alone.
She probably thought that I was a stalker. But artists aren’t supposed to stalk their fans—it’s supposed to be the other way around. What was wrong with me? Why couldn’t I just treat her like any other client? Why did it matter that she lived in the same apartment building as me? Was I planning on fucking and stalking every client that lived within a certain radius of me? And what if I came across a client while on vacation somewhere—would I obsess over them, too? Or was Tae special?
She was special—she was my first female client, even though she wasn’t technically a female. She was my first trap client, even though many followed. She was definitely my prettiest client—there was no competition there. But what difference did it make? She was still just a client, and now she was probably on the phone with the police, filing for a restraining order.
CHAPTER VII
It was a week later and that anxiety still hadn’t gone away. I’d written a dozen different e-mails to Tae, but I’d sent none of them. I would read them over and my anxiety would worsen and then I would delete it all and shut everything down. I found myself drawing Tae in every commission I got. Every time someone asked for a picture of a sexy woman doing something, it was Tae’s face that ended up on that sexy woman’s body. I even drew Tae as a slew of different video game characters for horny gamers with cash to burn. No one seemed to mind. She made for an excellent character.
Big Hard Girls Page 18