Old Friends New Ways

I moved away from Auburn when I was 12. My dad took a stab as a security contract for an oil company, so we spent the next six years constantly moving to different, dangerous Middle Eastern countries. Eventually, he burned out and went back to being a PI in Auburn, and that's how I found myself here.

Here is Auburn, Mississippi – a small town with 400 students enrolled at the local high school. Here is where I grew up playing with my older brother, Tim, and his best friend, Matt, who was between us in age. The last time I saw Matt he was a gangly 13-year old boy who had cooties. Of course, I was a chubby 12-year old girl who had cooties too. We were still friends despite the cooties part, in the "I can climb that tree faster than you can" kind of way. A lot had changed since then. For example, I now had a reason to wear a bra, and I hear Matt finally made starting quarterback on the football team.

I wasn't sure if it was him at first. He was taller, but no longer gangly. 6'2" and well-proportioned, I recognized him more from knowing he was the quarterback than the image I had of a 13-year old boy.

"Matt! I haven't seen you in forever," I gushed. He paused, and my stomach clenched as I saw a shadow of doubt cross his angular face now lacking the prepubescent roundness, I remembered.

"Samantha?" He said after a moment's hesitation. My heart was, of course, crushed. The transition from new kid in school to dating the star football player wasn't progressing as hoped.

"Uh, no. Sarah, actually. Remember? Tim's little sister?" Maybe not the greatest way to be remembered, but it was something.

"Sarah? Oh, yeah. I remember now." He paused again looking me over, then I realized he was checking me out. I guess I had changed too. No longer chubby, my chest was topped with cantaloupe sized breasts, and my legs showed no signs of their former flabby selves, and my hair had gone from girlish pigtails to a womanly mane down just past my shoulders.

Nothing really happened for the first couple months of school. We had a few classes together, so we talked occasionally, even flirted a few times, but for the most part life was normal. Then November came, and guys started asking girls to homecoming. I turned a couple of guys down in hopes that Matt would ask me, but I was starting to regret that with only two weeks left. Then he did. I was walking on air for most of the day, and my girlfriends were congratulating me knowing how badly I had wanted to go with him. Except for Tara. Tara had gone out with Matt last year though, so I wasn't really surprised. Until we talked...

"Sarah, I heard Matt asked you out," Tara said as she primped in front of the mirror in the restroom.

"Yeah?" I replied somewhat timidly, aware of their history.

"He'll expect you to put out, you know."

"Not exactly surprising. He's the quarterback after all. I'd be surprised if he wasn't expecting it."

"So you're going to?"

"For him? I think so." Not that it was really any of her business.

"Well, Matt has a very... 'strong' personality, so just watch out." That was a bit mysterious.

"What do you mean?"

"Just don't be expecting missionary style."

That was an odd conversation, but I didn't let it worry me. The next two weeks were spent finding the perfect dress and gloating to my friends about my catch. The dance came, and it was wonderful. I looked gorgeous, and I could tell by the way the guys were looking at me as I hung on Matt's arm. After the dance was over, we headed back to his place, which didn't surprise me. I knew I would have to "put out", and for Matt, it was worth it. We pulled up to his house, and he pulled the keys from the ignition, but remained in the car.

"Sarah, there's something I have to tell you." I gave him my best expectant look.

"Sarah, I'm not looking for a girlfriend. Or a lover. Or even a 'friend with benefits'." Now came my best confused look.

"What are you looking for then?" I asked.

"Someone to fuck. I want to dominate and control, and I need a girl who's willing to let me do that." So this is what Tara meant. I was speechless for a moment. I really did want him though.

"Let's start with tonight..." I said trying my best to keep my options open.

"Fair enough. Strip." He got to the point, didn't he?

I took off my dress, then he had me walk in my bra and panties to his front door and into the house. Soon, my bra and panties were puddled on the floor as well, and the next ten minutes were spent with him ordering me through various positions. Arms over my head with breasts sticking out, bending over, spreading my legs (something I would be doing a lot of), on my hands and knees. Then he ordered me to play with myself. That I resisted. I whined and complained, but he insisted, commanded. I found myself with my fingers in my snatch. He had won. Just as I was getting into it, he brought a piece of rope and tied my arms above my head. Throughout my lewd display, he had still been in his suit pants and dress shirt from the dance. He unzipped, and it was pretty clear what was expected of me. I opened my mouth, and the rest was all him. To call it a blowjob would be putting it mildly. He was facefucking me. He quickly popped past my gag reflex and buried my nose in his pubic hair. He pulled back out, leaving me gasping for air, then wiped his cock with his precum and my saliva off on my face. My makeup which I had spent nearly an hour on was streaking. He pumped in a few more times then repeated the process slapping my face with his dick. My throat was raw, and I was sure I'd be unable to speak tomorrow. It continued until he finally erupted covering my face in semen. Oddly, I didn't wasn't mad. Instead, I sat contentedly on my heals with my arms tied over my head wearing this boy's cum on my face, waiting for his next command. I was satisfied... I think... because he was satisfied. He left for a minute.

He walked back into the living room (we had never made it past there) sipping the beer in his hand. I was on my knees, panting, trying to catch my breath. "Get up," he ordered, but he didn't wait, pulling me up by the hair. He roughly felt me up for a minute, squeezing my tits, cupping my pubic mound, then grabbing my chin, he fucked my mouth for a couple seconds with his tongue. Once again, he grabbed me by the hair and led me outside to his backyard. He pushed me down to the ground, and with my arms above my head, I couldn't catch myself and face planted in the mud (it had rained the night before.) He knelt down behind me and yanked my hips up. He must've had quite a site of me, my ass in the air, my face in the mud. He fucked me there. His cock pumping savagely in and out. His hands searching, then finding my nipples, he cruelly pinched and twisted and squeezed my flesh, mauling my breasts. My hands still tied above my head there was nothing I could do. With each thrust, my face was pushed farther into the mud. To an observer, it might seem like rape, but it was completely consensual. He didn't need to ask my permission to use me. I was completely willing to fulfill all his perversions, and I think he knew it. A moment later, he plunged deep, stiffened, and I felt stickiness fill my insides. He pulled out, leaving me once again gasping for air. This time my face was covered with mud and semen.

"Did you climax?"

"No." I was a little surprised that he cared.

Pointing to a log lying beside me, he ordered me to hump it until I did climax. Humbly, realizing I would be depending on inanimate object to satisfy me, I did so, rubbing my pussy raw in the process. It took me an embarrassingly short period of time, since I had already been on the precipice of cumming.

"Okay, time to get you home. Do I need to pick you up tomorrow night?"

Looking down, I meekly nodded. Even with my only orgasm coming from a log, I felt more sexually alive than I had ever before. And I wanted more.