The really great part about not seeing Bad Idea for some time is that when I do see him, it’s always explosive.
This time I even tried to set up self restraint ahead of time—we could play, but no penetrative sex (you can guess how well that worked out). And: lesson learned, it’s a bad idea to have Bad Idea over while trying to accomplish anything else. I was in the middle of necessary editing, but with him kissing my neck and breathing in my ear, his fingers gripping my nipples through my tshirt—well. Distracting’s the understatement. (When I peeked at the piece I edited this morning, typos and typos.)
Did I mention: some boys, even as I am making effort, as I’m gagging on cock, I may be hardly physically aroused at all? But him, even trying to focus on something important was completely ineffective from soaking my white lace cotton panties. (He had requested that I dress young, but in our last minute plan, I couldn’t manage the full outfit. Next time.)
I finished as quickly as I could and turned my attention to him. He pulled me down and began to properly suck and nibble at my clit. And, I was more than eager to reciprocate. His thick hard cock fills up my mouth and throat with painful, delirious pleasure. Even better was his whispered encouragement as I met the hazel twists of his green eyes: “Good little slut.”
The gagging, the tears—it didn’t make me want to stop. A moment later he flipped me over, on my stomach, and slipped his talented, hot tongue up my wet pussy and against my ass. I gave up my usual trying-to-be-considerate-roommate policy and allowed the moans to flutter from my lips, arching my back to allow him better access.
He finally slipped a finger inside my ass—and this time, no pain at all, I only wanted more. I wondered if my ‘no sex’ policy meant he’d try to fuck me in the ass instead—but instead we flipped into sixty-nine. Which, while fun, always tends to be too distracting to multitask properly. I wanted to be fucked. And though I wouldn’t let myself say it, still wanted to hold on to some hint of my self restraint—when he pressed his cock against the entrance and teased, asking if I wanted it inside of me, I couldn’t say no.
“Doesn’t matter,” he said, gripping my arms and pinning my wrists at my sides. “You don’t get a choice. I was just going to rape you later anyway.”
He fucked me hard and proper—violent thrusts that me writhing beneath him, played up as a struggle while he kept his grip. I was desperate to have more of him, and any time I leaned up to try to kiss his lips, he forced me down, and reinforced it—“You dirty slut. You just want to be raped, don’t you? Taken in a classroom and left, with cum in your pussy and your clothes torn. So you can tell all your friends what a real slut you are—”
After he came inside of me, and we folded against each other, his hand stroking my hair, our bodies still entwined, I realized that I could never really drop this, him. The unbelievably hot sex, or this moment, intimate, fragile, and wonderful.
As a bonus, in the morning, with his hair still rumpled from sleep, he declared: “I’m gonna jerk off in your bed.” And, did. I threw back the covers to watch. I suddenly understood why boys must like it when I fuck myself in front of them—watching a cute boy play with his hard cock, hearing his rushed moans, while I rested my head on his chest was unbelievably erotic. Not to mention: frustrating. If only we set an alarm for earlier. I already wanted to fuck again.
