He thinks I’m innocent. Can I convince him that I’m not?


27 years old


Blue eyes

Dark brown hair

It was the summer after my freshman year of college. I’d been single for awhile, with absolutely no prospects. I was 19 years old, probably the hottest I’d ever be, and still completely isolated, working a summer job at the little library five minutes from my parents’ house. But there was Max.

I’d gone to an indie concert in the gym of an abandoned high school, one night before school let out. I’d danced through the sets, but when the show was over, I pretty much knew no one. I was sort of looking around as the lights came on, feeling a little lost, when Max walked up. His hair was wild, he was ripped, covered in tattoos, and about three inches taller than I. He had a kind of bouncing, nervous energy, and he stuck out his hand, like we were executives about to network over a lunch. “Hi, I’m Max!” he shouted.

I shook, and gave him my name. “Nice to meet you!”

“I haven’t seen you around before!”

And that’s how I met Max. He was kind of cute, in an alternative sort of way. He found me online, I gave him my phone number, and I went home for the summer. But Max found a way to message me almost every day. He flirted incessantly, paid me lots of compliments, and seemed to almost constantly be in the midst of some sort of existential crises. He distracted me from my workday. I wanted to be distracted.

It started with little things: I’d whine to him about how lonely I was, cajoling him to tell me what he’d do if he was here. I’d ask him about his love life, his dates, tell him he needed to meet a nice girl. He’d tell me how much he loved girls with short hair (I had short hair), how he’d seen me across the room and thought I was so beautiful, how much he hoped he could help me feel less lonely. I wanted more.

Finally, I once asked him if sleeping around was worth it, if never letting anyone get close left him feeling empty. That worked. He started talking to me about sex. He talked to me about how unfulfilling his one-night stands were . . . how innocent and sweet I was, how wide our age gap, how different I was from the kind of girls he dated, how much we had in common. I knew I had him on the ropes.

Over the course of the summer, I strung him along. I stroked his ego, telling him how handsome he was, how interesting, how kind, then encouraged him to get with someone else. I made him tell me I was beautiful, how much he wanted to be with someone like me. I told him eight years’ difference was nothing. I told him I read erotic fiction, and I think he had a stroke. “You’re so innocent. In real life, it’s never like it is in books,” he said.

“What’s it like in real life?” I asked.

“I’m not going to tell you that!”

The best day of my entire summer was the day he told me, “Sometimes . . . when I’m talking to you . . . I find myself getting . . . bigger.” Ever the innocent, I replied, “What do you mean?” then watched him dissolve into a puddle of want and self-loathing. “Nevermind.” “Don’t worry about it.” “Forget I said anything.” Then I frigged my clit in the office bathroom, imagining him jerking off to the thought of me, until I came on my own fingers. Twice.

I went back to school in the fall. I didn’t meet anybody I liked, and I also didn’t see Max, didn’t see Max, didn’t see Max. Until October, when he invited me to a Halloween party his roommates were throwing: “There’ll be a bunch of people here, but I thought it might be fun for you,” he said. “You don’t have to wear a costume, but some people will be dressed up.”

So I put on my thigh-high boots, with an oversized, cream-colored blouse, unbuttoned as far as possible without revealing a pink lace bra. I borrowed a tricorn hat. I showed up to the party, as a pirate, and set a trap.

I didn’t talk to Max when I walked in. I knew he’d be too nervous to make the first move. I drank one beer, then two. I flirted with some dude in the open loft kitchen. I danced in the living room when I heard a song I liked. And, after an hour or so, flushed and buzzed, I went looking for Max.

He was sulking on the couch, nursing a beer. Uncostumed, his hair mussed, his sleeves rolled up above his biceps, covered in tattoos. Bright blue eyes studiously avoiding mine. I walked up to him, hitched my leg up on the couch next to him, and grinned. “Argh, matey.”

His eyes took in my exposed thigh hungrily, then skittered away again. “Hey. You look like you’re having a good time.”

I flopped down on the couch, making sure to land pressed right up against him, turning myself so my soft tits were on his arm, my face close to his, smiling breathlessly. “This is a great party! I love Halloween. Thanks so much for inviting me.”

He couldn’t resist. He turned to look at me, his face slowly lighting up. “You look great.”

I blushed and looked away, squeezing my arms to push my 34D tits up into the open neck of the blouse. “Tha-anks,” I responded. Inspired, I put one elbow up on the back of the couch, leaning into him, talking almost into his ear to be heard above the music. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

Now it was his turn to blush, and adjust his posture as he sat. “You don’t mean that.”

“I really do.” I looked around. “You know, it’s kind of loud. You wanna hang out somewhere quiet?”

He looked at me. “We could go outside?”

I smiled coyly. “Do you have a room? I’m kind of curious. I’ve been *dying* to see how the other half lives.”

He looked around, checking to see if anyone was watching, and cleared his throat. “Alright . . . if you insist. It’s this way.”

I followed him, trying to look inconspicuous, and nonchalantly leaned up against the wall as he unlocked the door. We slipped inside, he shut (and locked, I noticed) the knob behind us, and the noise of the party quieted to a dull roar.

I made myself busy wandering the room, taking it in, exploring the books on his bookshelf, the tchotchkes on his desk, the pile of clothes on a chair in the corner.

His voice cut the quiet: “Well? Is it up to your standard?” I looked to see him smiling, a real smile, still standing by the door, arms folded, watching my perusal.

I sat myself down on the corner of a perfectly-made bed. “It’s sweet! I feel like I’m learning so much about you.”

He crossed the room and busied himself fussing with his desk papers. “Not much you don’t already know,” he said.

I pushed myself further back onto the bedspread, tucking my legs to the side, leaning on one hand. I set the tricorn hat carefully to the side, brushing off imaginary lint. “No, it’s nice! Really. Like you.” I smiled sweetly.

He looked at me and swallowed. “I’m not nice.”

“You are SO nice.”

“Am not.” He came and sat down on the edge of the bed, watching me carefully.

“I think you’re the nicest.” I leaned in slowly, letting my gaze dart from his eyes to his mouth. I bit my lower lip.

It was working. He was watching me still, transfixed. “You can’t – ” he murmured.

I moved my weight to my hands, letting the neck of my blouse fall forward, giving him an eyeful of my tits, pink lace. I was practically touching him now. “Max, please.”

“You’re too young. You don’t know what you want.”

“I want you.”

He made a choking sound in his throat, and then, slowly, he leaned in and kissed me. So softly, so tentatively, like I might break. His hand floated up to my neck. I let my eyes flutter closed as he slid back on the bed closer to me. He changed his angle, and my lips parted, giving him more access. He kissed my cheek, my jaw, and my ear, feather-light kisses that made my stomach flutter and my body melt. “I can’t,” he murmured again, his lips brushing my earlobe.

I grabbed the back of his neck and pulled his mouth back to mine. I arched into him, crushing my lips against his, flicking my tongue between his teeth and retreating until he groaned and wrapped his arm around me, holding me tight against him, his mouth hot and wet and overpowering. His body was so tight. He was all corded muscle and I was all soft curves and I couldn’t help but rub myself up against him, purring like a cat. He thrust his tongue inside and I opened for him, sucking greedily.

He pulled away again, breathing heavily. “We can’t,” he said, a third time. I was panting. I had to up the ante. “Max, please,” I begged, “I can’t stop thinking about you. When you text me about other girls, all I can think is how much I wish it were me. I get myself off to your text messages. Please.”

Still, he hesitated, his hands actually holding my shoulders at bay. “I’m not *nice,*” he said.

I found the magic words: “I don’t care,” and he attacked, growling as he shoved me back into the mattress. His mouth crushed brutally against mine, bruising me, teeth scraping my lower lip. His body covered me, his hips weighing me down, and I ground up into him, already whimpering.

He was back at my ear. “I’m gonna make you pay for teasing me for all those months,” he breathed, biting my earlobe sharply, then laving it with his tongue.

I sucked and kissed my way inside his shirt collar, across his shoulder. “But wasn’t it – so much fun?”

He grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head, pressing his groin into mine until I could feel his cock throb. “I had blue balls for months. I didn’t want any of the bitches I went out with. I dreamt every night about those pretty little lips wrapped around my dick, only to wake up every morning like this.” He flexed his hips more insistently, the pain lacing into my lust. “Does that feel like fun to you?”

I couldn’t help it. I smiled, a little bit cocky, and arched back up into him, letting the pressure light up my aching clit. “Yes.”

His eyes snapped back into focus, and he grinned. “Fuck you.”

He tore my shirt up over my head, up to my wrists, exposing the soft pink set against my soft, pale skin. He growled, again, and took my mouth with his, claiming me, punishing me, I didn’t care. The hard planes of his body dug into my hips and side. Sharp and sweet, my head thumped back onto the pillow and he looked me in the face. “You planned this,” he said.

“What?” my head was swimming. I was writhing under him.

“This set,” he looked down my body, his face inscrutable, “you wore it for me.”

I arched my back, showing it off. I let my voice drop low. “I wore it for you, Max.”

“Oh, I don’t deserve you,” he groaned, kissing me again, flexing his rock-hard cock against my thigh.

I knew what to say to that. “I don’t care,” I breathed, and his mouth found its way to the top of my breast, sucking hard, lapping at the skin. It would leave a bruise. I wanted more.

“Let me touch you,” I begged, as his tongue licked across the edge of my bra cups, molding soft flesh.

“Only if you ask very nicely,” he said, breathing hotly across the nipple pebbling against the lace, teeth biting down sharply.

I moaned and squirmed as he teased, his other hand making its way between my legs, pushing aside the pink panties and shoving two fingers deep inside. “Fuck, you’re so hot, and I’ve barely even touched you.”

“Please, Max, please. Please let me touch you. Please. I’ll ask however you like,” I breathed, as his thick, rough fingers fucked my pussy. My hips arched into them desperately, stretching my abs tight, arms aching with the effort.

“Oh, alright,” he sighed dramatically. Still with one hand holding my wrists, he swung up over me so that he straddled my shoulders. With one hand, he unbuttoned his pants, unzipped, and pulled out the fattest cock I’d ever seen. He stroked it absentmindedly, staring at me, and I watched a drop of precum ooze from the tip, rolling off and dropping into the hollow of my throat. I swallowed.

He held his swollen mushroom head just above my lips, and it bobbed in his grip. “Lick it,” he demanded. In a daze, I did just what he asked, sticking out my tongue, laving the sensitive head. His eyes closed, enjoying my ministrations, and, inspired, I pulled my head up from the mattress, and planted wet, open-mouthed kisses over the inches I could reach, sucking and swirling the tip in my mouth. He groaned, and leaned over, gripping the headboard, angling the thick shaft toward my lips. I bobbed eagerly, taking as much as I could, sucking and slurping and tasting the salt leaking out the slit. His jeans dug into my neck as he pushed in further, slowly fucking my mouth.

“This is for all the times you left me throbbing, aching, dreaming about your lips, dying to hear you say my name.” He thrust faster, harder, and I took it, my tongue squeezing his shaft, his head slamming into my throat. I moaned desperately into him, tears coming to my eyes, scissoring my legs, trying to stimulate my swollen clit, my pussy soaking the blankets beneath me.

I felt his shaft swell, and he pulled out, still holding my wrists, stroking himself feverishly. He grunted, “I’m gonna cum all over that little pink bra, cum all over your tits, and then I’m gonna fuck you, again, and again, until you know you can never hold out out me again.”

“Max, please,” I could only whimper, eyes glued to his cock, as he took aim and jerked, his muscles tightened, his mouth a slight o, spraying rope after rope of pearly white jizz all over my perky pale tits, splattering across the lace of my bra, dripping down into my cleavage, coating the little bow in the middle.

Then he let go of my wrists, his body relaxing back onto his heels, breathing hard, watching me. I took one finger, wiped up a drop of cum off one of my tits, and carefully sucked it off. He was motionless. I sat up, sliding between his legs, and started unbuttoning his shirt. I leaned in, kissing up his neck, breath hot under his ear. His eyes fluttered closed. I got his shirt open, running my hands over the breadth of him. His abs, his pecs, the tattoos all over his biceps. “To think, I could have watched you jerk off for me a dozen times before,” I murmured, kneeling in close. My hands ran up and into his hair, nails scraping lightly over his scalp. “I’ve been missing out.”

His hands came around and grabbed my ass, squeezing softly, cradling his cock against the softness of my stomach. “More than a dozen times,” he admitted.

“That time you texted me, and told me I made you hard?” I said slowly. His cock surged. “I got myself off to it, in the bathroom at work. Twice.”

He breathed in sharply, kissing me, soft and hot. “Show me.”

“Show you?”

He kissed down to my shoulder, unhooking my bra, pushing off the straps. “Show me.” His hands cradled my breasts, and his thumbs circled my nipples, brushing softly against the ache in my center. My mouth gaped, my head fell back. “You owe me,” he whispered.

“I can’t!” I protested, weakly.

He planted a soft kiss on each of my eyelids. “How about this: If you show me how you touch yourself, I’ll show you how I eat a girl’s pussy.” My thighs and fists clenched at the thought. He rolled my nipples between his fingers, sending sparks straight between my legs. “Has anyone eaten your pussy before? Have you ever had your clit licked?”

My face was beet red. I swallowed, voice hoarse. “No.”

“Then it’s a deal.” He smiled. “Now lay back, and take off those panties for me.”

I did as I was told, slowly lying back, pulling them off my legs, and he stood to shed his pants. He got back on the bed, laying down next to me. “You’re so much more gorgeous than I remembered,” he said, his fingers trailing across my curves, down to my thighs. “Come on, spread your legs for me.” I obeyed, my breath shuddering in my chest. “Nice and easy, that’s it. Now take your hand, and put it on your clit.” I touched myself, and jerked, already so sensitive, my slit weeping. “That’s good, just like that,” he murmured, “Now, look at me.” I turned my head, and he swept in to kiss me breathless. His tongue thrust in and out of my mouth, and his fingers moved to pull and tweak my poor, aching nipples.

My hips jumped, and my hand started moving of its own accord, rolling the hard, aching nub of my clit between two fingers. He moved to caress my thighs, still kissing me, and my legs fell flat like jelly, letting him stroke my outer lips. “See, that wasn’t so hard,” he said, pulling back to watch my face. My eyes fluttered shut as I circled my clit, rubbing faster. “No,” he said, “eyes open, or I don’t lick you.” I forced my eyes open, biting my lip in concentration. He pushed up on his elbow to watch me, his fingers trailing along my body like a harp, pausing occasionally to pinch and twist my nipples. My hips jerked, my breath shortened. “God, you’re so beautiful,” he said, and did it again.

I could feel myself getting close, my muscles tensing, back taut. His big, warm hand covered mine, and two fingers slid deep inside my pussy, curling around to hit that magical spot. I cried out, my hips bucking wildly. “Shhh,” he whispered, fucking me slowly while I frigged myself. “You’re going to come for me.”

I shook, everything strained. “I can’t – I can’t – ”

“You’re going to come for me, just like you did in the bathroom at your office, thinking about my thick cock hardening for you.”

I saw stars as I shattered, crying out, my pussy working spasming around those beautiful fingers, release firing through my veins. Back arched, my tits pointed to the sky, his eyes burning through me.

I was coming down, falling, relishing in it, it felt so good, when I felt him move to kneel between my legs. I pushed up to my elbows with a start, just in time to see him shove his fully sheathed cock into my still-pulsating cunt. It was like heaven. I wanted to watch him fuck me, but I couldn’t stay up. I flopped down like a rag doll and groaned, tossing and turning, pressing into him, letting him stretch me fuller and fuller, as he started to pummel me. His hips ground hard into mine, slamming his length inside me. I was so sensitive. It felt so good.

“Fuck, I can still feel you twitching around my cock,” he ground out, every thrust sending lightning sparks through my clit.

“It feels. So. Good,” I whimpered.

“You looked so fucking hot cumming for me,” he grunted. He set up a punishing pace, fucking me fast and hard, spearing me on the end of his prick. “You look so fucking hot spread for me to fuck.” He grabbed me tight with one hand, holding me in place. My cunt clenched over his length, and we moaned together. “Fuck, baby, do that again.” I did it again, and his fingers bruised my hip.

I could feel my orgasm building. Just a little bit more, just a little bit more friction. I writhed beneath him, grinding my clit into his pelvis, his fat head stroking me again and again. I was tight around him, humping his cock, his balls slapping my ass. “Max,” I sobbed, “I’m so close.”

“Fuck!” he shouted, and shoved balls-deep in my channel, cum pumping through his shaft. I felt every spurt, his hips pressed tight against my clit, my cunt milking him for all he was worth. I shuddered around him, desperate. Finally, spent, he rolled off me, pulling off the condom.

By :youraveragegirl

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