Don't Toy with a Young Girl's Heart

I was a very late bloomer. Which is to say, throughout high school I looked like a tall skinny boy. I was as far away from 36-24-36 as Iowa is from Australia.

But now I am as fetching as a Porsche 911...with the headlights and all the gorgeous curves that a man has dreamt about driving cross-country since he was a little boy...

The truth is, I finally have a killer feminine physique, and I want to enjoy it to the fullest. But guys my age don't interest me at all--so shallow and too juvenal. But, you, are a real man--one who has lived and has experienced life, and knows how to pleasure a woman if she deserves it.

I started working at your coffee shop a month ago. Since then, we've seen each other every morning Mon thru Fri. You wear a business suit; though what you do for a living is a mystery.

It sure isn't the hell being a detective though...because I've been leaving clues for you since we first met--no, I don't draw little hearts on every customer's cup. I've just recently celebrated my 24th birthday...you are twice my age. Maybe that's the reason?

But somehow, I don't think so. Maybe it's all the mandatory sexual harassment training you're required to do every quarter of every year? I could test that theory...but blue-collar workers don't frequent my hip café.

Why would they want to be asked follow-up questions: "Was that 'real milk' or 'almond milk' or 'cashew milk' or 'lemongrass essence of milk' that you wanted?"

Our second month together, you hand me a cash tip instead of just throwing it in the jar that sits prominently besides the register. I gush 'thanks' then yell out 'big tipper!' before I toss it in the communal pot. Everyone working looks at you to cheer and offer up a salute of gratitude.

That bucks you up...

A couple days later, you toss an even larger tip directly into the jar, though you make sure I witness your generosity. No worries, I lean in towards you to ensure you get the full view of my amazing cleavage.

That seems to paralyze you a bit...but then you finally work up the courage to ask me my name. "Jocelyn...though you can call me Joss" is the friendly reply I deliver along with a smile designed to melt your heart.

Now at work, you try to focus on the task at hand but I'm dominating your thoughts... you marvel at the fact that I don't wear make-up...that I'm clearly an adherent of a 'my tits are so firm that I'm not wearing a bra' school of philosophy. More than that...when I had told you my name, my lips were hypnotizing-- full...soft...inviting.

You tell your secretary to hold all your calls, then you lock your door. You carefully take off your suit and carefully drape it over your chair. Then you close your eyes, drop to your knees, and begin to replay the images of me that have been seared into your mind's eye.

Your cock responds immediately and now you are as hard as a rock...you unbutton the front of boxershorts so you can pull the full length of your manhood through...then you lean forward on one arm in such a way, so that less than a minute later, you are erupting safely all over the floor while panting, "Joss...Joss...Joss."

Me? What am I doing right now? Well, I'm still working but you should know you are in my thoughts as well. I fantasize about what would've happened if you had just been brave enough to ask me when my next break was coming up. I would've confessed 'oh, I get a quickie in about 10 minutes.' You would've grinned at my choice of words because that's exactly what you were hinting at. That scene then fades to black...

My fantasy then flash-forwards: we're out back in the alley...between the shop's two dumpsters. Our eyes meet, I drop happily to my knees...even though it recently rained and there are puddles everywhere. As you unbuckle your belt, I excitedly unbutton and pull down your pants.

Flash-forward: I get to experience the full sensations of having your soft cock in my mouth and feeling it grow so that when it reaches full inflation, your bulbous head has already snaked down my throat. I don't panic initially...though I can't breathe. When necessary, I pull back to take in some air then push my face back into your stomach.

As much as you are enjoying this...you realize I don't actually know what I'm doing. (I really don't, this would have been my first blowjob ever) Anyway, you finally command me to put my hands behind my back...and then you take over and roughly fuck my mouth until I've pushed you over the edge. You cum down my throat then all inside my mouth before pulling back and shooting ropes of warm sticky goodness all over my face.

After you've finished, you try to catch your breath but I suck you back in my mouth because I'm not done worshipping. You marvel at my enthusiasm, realizing I crave every drop of your precious seed.

The next time we see each other...by some miracle...is when I'm just swinging in to pick up my paycheck. You've just collected your coffee -- no heart on the cup -- then we exchange "hey there's."

Outside, you track me down and ask if you could buy me breakfast. I tilt my head, smile, then ask if that's your best pick-up line. You blush...then rapidly explain that there's this really exceptional place just around the corner.

I already know that place...not because I've eaten there but because they have denied my applications several times. The bistro is posh and only those servers with years of experience and a fine pedigree have a shot.

I ask you if you are being serious right now? You say you've already reserved a table but your companion cancelled this morning because he wasn't feeling well. I point out that I'm not exactly dressed for the occasion--I'm not...these are practically pajamas. Okay, they are pajamas.

You pull out your mobile then place a call...I hear you asking an Andre if you can order takeout. Of course, nobody has ever done that...sure the food is exceptional but it's the ambiance that really delivers that fine dining experience. But you are you and Andre will be pleased to comply.

You hang up, smile at me...then we're in your limo and now Andre, himself, is rushing out our food curbside. Not in Styrofoam containers either. Actual plates...that we hold on our laps...with like large metal covers to keep everything at peak perfection.

There's also a French press...you tell me all about Paris while you work the plunger up and down. I am fascinated by the things you know. You then plunge all the way down...and pour us each a cup of the best France has to offer. You tell me to hold a sugar cube between my teeth as I drink. I obey and am rewarded.

Then you reach over and remove my topper... Eggs Benedict with fancy fondant potatoes, roasted vegetables, a small Friese salad.

I take a bite and gush about how delicious this is...then I keep gushing with every bite. No, I'm not pretending...you've just changed my life for the better, opened my eyes to a whole new world.

The next day: you tell your wife you've decided to go back to the gym, it's time to get in shape. You also buy a new cologne that younger women seem to swoon over.

She doesn't mind...her girlfriends have assured her this happens all the time. Yeah, some young woman somewhere did something and he's now been inspired to better himself. It'll all work out for her benefit in the long run.

Her Friend: "My husband actually went on Viagra...of course that young thing wasn't interested in him...but it was a marvelous couple of months."

I notice immediately, even squeeze your bicep right there at the counter...you are beyond fulfilled.

The following week, you mention there's an opera at the MET...do I have plans? I visibly blush. You explain that your wife is going out of town but she's cool if he attends with a friend--they've never missed an opening since becoming patrons of the arts. I excitedly accept...you'll pick me up at 5:00.

You can't wait to hug your wife goodbye at the gate...then she is through security and totally out of your mind. You literally skip the whole way to your car because in a matter of hours, your fantasies will be coming true.

You ring my bell...I let you wait several minutes, until your heartrate has increased and you feel like you just might faint. Then I open my door--I'm dressed in the gown you had personally picked out and had delivered to my door-- a fancy box with a lovely pink bow.

I giggle at the way you look at me then begin to turn and turn so you can drink me all in. On the ride over, I tell you this is the most beautiful dress I've ever seen. You positively beam with pride.

You have reservations at the most exclusive place in town--seriously, you need to know someone to get a table. I tell you how impressed I am...then beg you to order for the two of us.

You reflect on the fact that your wife always insisted on ordering for herself... then spent the rest of the evening complaining how the chef is a pompous ass who serves up the most prosaic fare.

Not me. I'm doe-eyed when you order our courses and eagerly smile as you explain the decisions you've made vis-à-vis our wine pairings. Nope, not an act...I am eager to learn everything you care to bestow.

Every single course delivered to our table is pure ambrosia. I make so many yummy sounds that you can scarce contain your excitement.

Our limo now pulls right up to the red-carpeted entrance. You help me out of the chariot then escort me up the stairs and towards the lights.

We have private box seats. I'm beyond impressed, on the verge of beguiled. You hand me opera glasses...I remember a movie I saw when I was a young girl.

Then you lean in and say the line I was beginning to recall, "You will either love opera or hate it. If you love it, you will love it forever. Otherwise, you might come to learn to appreciate it, but it will never become part of your soul."

As the lights dim, I send up a silent prayer that you will caress my inner thighs at some point to discover I'm not wearing panties. That as the tension builds in Act 1, your fingers will move inside me...match the intensity of the music...then you'll fingerbang me until I reach crescendo right as the curtains come down.

Alas, none of that happens...

As the cast takes their final bows, I stand and scream "Bravo, Bravo" along with you. Then I am soon whisked away to your favorite pastry café. The cake is delicate and there are different jams between the layers and it's topped with a special crème that come from London. I take a bite and almost reach orgasm.

Now escorted safely back to my door...I ask if you want to come in. You decline, pointing out it's quite late. I respond with my best pouty face, in hopes you might change your mind. I don't think you notice...so I give you a fervent hug...then pull back to gaze into your eyes with pursed lips.

You finally kiss me...I pull myself back against my door and wrap my leg around so I can pull you closer in. The kiss is neither too soft nor too hard, neither too innocent nor too lustful, neither too dry not too wet--it was just right.

I walk back inside my apartment, you don't follow, still I am satisfied.

The following week, after you've come & gone, a woman gives me her name "Stella" so I can write it on her cup. I ask what she wants...she notes my nametag... "Jocelyn, that's a pretty name." I thank her then without warning, she slaps me hard in the face. I know who she is instinctively...so I offer no resistance. Not even when it's clear she intends to slap me second time.

She does...so hard I drop my marker and my cup. As my fellow baristas rush to my aid, she turns to leave. Unfortunately, there is a patrolman in line...so now the 3 of us are soon together off to the side, with a whole audience, as I have to explain that "no, I don't want to press charges...I understand her reasons."

The cop is a rookie though...he doesn't understand what he just saw so I have to finally explain that I am having a love affair with this woman's husband. Please, just let her go. He finally acquiesces...then leaves me to face my deserved humiliations.

The next day, I call my manager to say that I won't be in...no, I'm done...need to move on and heal. She understands...wishes me well.

I'm to blame for all of this...that's clear in my mind. Also equally clear, is that you shouldn't be knocking on my door right now. I try to ignore you but you are relentless.

I answer...willing to give you another shot. Tell me that you are leaving her, that I'm all you ever think about...that you couldn't possibly live without me.

We sit together...you profusely apologize for what happened...then try to take full responsibility. I take your hand and beg to know what this means about us, our relationship moving forward.

You face is downtrodden, but your words are cold and calculated...even though I'm not pressing charges, there's a possibility that the police might pursue the case. They might try to convince me to cooperate...you and your wife, would like to just bury everything by paying out damages-- how does 25,000 dollars sound?

Your offer stings much more than your wife's assault did...then you are handing me a pen because your lawyer has drafted up this agreement, that is fair to all parties concerned...especially the aggrieved.

I tell you I'll need a day to consider...so come back tomorrow. Not a stalling tactic, I seriously need time to reflect on all that has transpired and what I think is fair.

The next day you return as I had bid. You are anxious...I'm quite calm. I say I'm willing to take the agreement but only on one condition. Your mood improves, then I tell you to sit here on this chair in my bedroom closet. I then open the slats so you'll have a private box seat to my upcoming performance. Finally, I wrap a cord tightly around the outside knobs so there is no way you can escape.

I leave you there while I shower...then I walk back into my bedroom completely naked. You can't believe your eyes; my body is even more nubile than you could have imagined.

I put on a skimpy negligee then draw close to you as I make a call via speakerphone. A man, with a deep voice, answers with one word, "Maintenance." I give my name then explain that I've just recently moved in so we've not met yet...but I seem to have a problem with my bed--the springs or something must be loose because it makes a tremendous amount of rocking noises.

He'll be right up. You try to warn me, I tell you to shut the fuck up and don't make a peep because otherwise our deal is off and your precious wife is going to jail.

My doorbell rings...you can hear the two of us talking...then I lead him into my bedroom so you can see. Yes, he's about your age and he's a tall glass of cowboy alright...and you can watch his eyes as I climb up on my bed on all fours and begin to rock back and forth.

Me: "Do you hear that? And it gets worse when I really start to exercise."

Dude: "So...by exercise...you mean?"

Me: "When I masturbate."

He's taken aback by my honesty...

Dude: "Ahhh, I see. And what about when you are with your husband...boyfriend?"

Me: "I wish...no, still single."

Dude: "So here's my professional opinion... we need to be proactive. I should fix things so in the very near future, when you do have a boyfriend, you're good to go."

Me: "I like the way you think."

He drops his tool belt...then approaches me from behind...I shift so my face is now sideways on the bed looking towards you in my closet...then I raise my ass in the air.

You want to close your eyes but can't look away.

He grabs me by my legs, pulls back, whirls me around, and dives his face into my delicate, virgin pussy.

Okay, I didn't see that coming...figured he would just take me to pound town. No, happily no...this guy knows a thing or two about a thing or two...

He's all tongue...at least for 10 minutes...then I finally lose my mind and raise my pelvis high into the air. He places his elbow solidly on the bed and easily holds me aloft. Then his magical fingers go to work...just one, now two...thrusting in and out.

You are still afraid for my safety but your cock is responding to the scene you are witnessing from the front row...you can't help yourself.

What happens next is pure acrobatics, just when I scream out that I'm about to cum, I'm hoisted high up into the air so my legs are wrapped around his neck, my back is pressed to the wall, I'm holding onto his neck for dear life...and his big tongue is lapping at my hood and flicking my clit.

I throw my head back...as intense pleasure waves wash over me, one after the other-- "FffUuuCccKkk..."

When I finally stop involuntarily spasming, he tosses me on the bed. It's only now that you realize how petite I really am...especially compared to this brute.

We both watch as the dude pulls off his shirt to reveal muscles...then he strips off the rest of his clothes. My eyes grow wide...yours do too...this guy is packing serious heat.

Dude: "I've been working here several years...and I've realized...this is about the time you might be having doubts."

I just stare up at him and nod my head.

Dude: "That's why I'm going to ignore everything you say from here on out..."

His cock is massive...I whimper as he slowly guides the fullness into my warm, wet, tight pussy. You see my face wince...then hear my words as I beg to be fucked hard.

Turns out, poetically, the dude is a true stud. He fucks me every which way...the entire bed actually breaks at one point and he has to pick me up from the rubble then fuck me gangster style up against the wall right next to the closet.

You strain to see...but can't...still you can hear his groanings and my operatic arias...you pull your cock out and jerk yourself silly as my man lifts me up into some orgasmic heaven.

We lie together...on the floor. You hear him say...he'll be back in a couple of hours with a new bed. That we'll have to test the integrity of that one because he needs to know the job has been done right.

Me: "I can't wait. Oh, could you place me on a plan... a stitch in time saves nine, as they say... maybe swing by every Wed night?"

Dude: "You are in luck, my lady, because my Wednesdays have recently opened up."

Me: "How so?"

Dude: "I fucked one of my tenants to death."

Me: "Lucky me."

Once he's left...I undo the closet binds...then I take your check and hand back the signed legal document that you desired.

Me: "I fell in love with you!"

You can't even look me in the face...

Me: "That guy...should've been you!"

You don't respond...just shuffle off out my door and out of my life. But years from now, my words will echo in your mind and continue to haunt you...because you know I was altogether sincere.

I was yours to use & abuse...