Jacks Adventures 13 Willow 1

This is the thirteenth story.

This is the story of Willow.

Willow was a barista at my local coffee shop, one in walking distance from my apartment, which in Los Angeles still meant more than 10 minutes away. I'd been going to this coffee shop for years, recognized generally the entire staff, and then one fall morning there was Willow. She was tall and thin, and achingly pale. Her dark brown hair was sometimes pulled back in a messy bun, sometimes hanging down in two wavy sheets running down to just above her breasts. Her breasts were small but she had a bigger bump of a butt, overall proportioned like she was still coming into her body. And she was, still in college, only 20, working the coffee shop on weekend mornings.

We were still in pandemic days when I first saw her, so the first thing I knew about her face was her eyes. Big, round, gorgeous things, a Caribbean shade of blue-green. They looked unreal, like a cat or an anime character, and I had many great nights imagining those eyes staring up at me, my cock buried in her mouth.

She was innocent, fresh and open and eager, but also with a little bit of an edge, a slight Aubrey Plaza anarchism. I think she understood the age dynamics at play between us and was excited by them. She wasn't a 20 year old getting preyed on by a 30 year old but instead a young woman getting to use her sexuality and put an older man in her pocket, to have that power over me.

The morning we met I asked her about herself, and when I found out she was in college I asked what she was studying.

"Poetry," she said.

I nodded, impressed. "I love poetry."

"Oh yeah? Who are your favorites?"

"Ilya Kaminsky. Carolyn Forché."

"I love Forché! Haven't read Kaminsky."

"You have to. I'll bring you something. Next Saturday."

Her head bobbed in a quick nod. "It's a date!" She immediately blushed scarlet, and shook her head quickly. "Not a date. You know."

I laughed. "I know. You're cute."

She looked down quickly, bashfully, looked away then looked back at me. I held the eye contact briefly, smiling with my eyes over the mask, and left.

The next weekend I brought her Deaf Republic.

"Oh my gosh!" she said, taking it. "Thank you!"

"I'd love to hear what you think," I said.

I grabbed a coffee sleeve, wrote my number on it, and handed it to her.

"Text me."

She looked down at it, then looked up at me, and nodded. I didn't linger, just walked away.

And the next day I got a text.

Hi! It's Willow

Excitement ran through me. I typed back:

Hey! You read the poems?

Immediately lol. So good!

I'm so glad. We should hang out sometime, talk poetry

A bit of a delay, and then:

I'd love that

What are you doing next Saturday?

Working

...until?

Oh lol. 2

I live close. Wanna come back to mine after? I can show you my collection.

It's a plan

And she followed that with a smiley emoji.

The next Saturday I didn't go for my usual morning coffee, waited to go to the shop until 2. When I walked up, there was a gorgeous girl, maskless, sitting at a table outside. My eyes lingered on her a full few seconds before I realized it was Willow.

"Hey!" I said.

She looked up and smiled. Well, fucking hell.

There are a lot of faces with really nice top halves and not so great bottom halves, and in the pandemic you truly didn't know what the full effect would be until the mask came off. I had gotten incredibly lucky. Willow was fucking beautiful. The lower half of her face tapered gorgeously, she had a nice nose and a wide, thin mouth, everything perfectly complementing the bigness of her eyes.

She was wearing a black-and-white striped t-shirt over a black leather skirt that fell to just above her knees. The shirt was tight, emphasizing her small breasts and skinny waist. She had a small backpack purse slung across her back and her thumbs were playing with the straps, very much the schoolgirl.

"Hi!" she said. "I got off early."

She stood up and I gave her a brief hug. I felt her long arms wrap gently around me.

"Ready to go?" I said.

"Yeah!"

We walked back through the neighborhood toward my place, chatting, talking poetry and college. She was starting her junior year, was excited with where the instruction was heading. Part of her wanted to be a poet after school, but another part knew how hard that life would be, was considering other options. I tried my best to convince her to try the harder path, to take the risk and live a little. She swore she would, her eyes twinkling as she did so, I think wanting to impress me with her courage.

We got back to my place. She wandered in and her eyes landed on the bookshelves lining the wall of my living room.

"The dream!" she said. She dropped her purse on my coffee table and hurried over to them.

I watched her eagerly scan the spines.

"Oh my god, Plath. I love Plath."

I smiled. Could've guessed that.

"Grab it," I said. "Read me something."

I sat on my couch and she pulled out a battered copy of Collected Poems. She skipped over to the couch and sat down next to me, kicked off her sandals, and put her feet up on the couch. She immediately leaned back into me and opened the book. I put an arm around her, rested my hand on her knee. I looked down at the top of her head, then at the page she'd opened to.

"'Nobody in the lane, and nothing, nothing but blackberries,'" she said, and kept reading.

She was a strong reader, with good intonation. I listened to her, let my hand gently stroke her knee. Her hair smelt citrusy. When she was finished the air hung silent for a moment, and then she looked up at me.

Her face was so close.

Those massive eyes, totally mine.

But she made the first move. She pushed herself up and kissed me. I made a surprised sound, kissed back. We stayed locked together for a second and then she pulled away, her face flushed but triumphant. Then she quickly looked back to the book, turned the page, and nestled against me once more.

"Want me to read another?" she said, the tone of her voice self-satisfied.

"Hey!" I said, in mock offense.

Her face turned back to me, grinning, fully aware she was being a tease.

I put a gentle hand on her chin, holding her face up, and I leaned down and kissed her, slowly, sensually. She responded, her lips pushing back, her body subtly pushing off the couch toward me. The hand holding the book extended out, and the book fell from it onto the coffee table. She stopped kissing me and looked at me, starry-eyed, and then shimmied her body down and put the back of her head across my lap. Her dark hair spread over my thighs, and I looked down at her face. She was breathing deeply, looking up at me like I was the only person in the world.

I looked down her body. The hem of her shirt was resting on her belly, just above the waistband of her skirt. Her legs were bent, her feet still up on the couch. I looked at the pale skin of her thighs, her knees, swaying back and forth.

I looked back down at her face, put a hand in her hair and started stroking it. I was getting slightly hard, and wondered if she could feel my dick starting to press against the back of her head. We just looked at each other for a bit, enjoying this dynamic. Then I put my other hand on her chin, caressed it, gently pulled open her mouth, pushed it closed again. Those massive eyes stayed locked on me the whole time. I moved my hand off her chin, placed it flat across her neck. Her mouth opened reflexively, her head pushed back into my crotch, against my hardening cock.

"Oh my god," she said softly, "you're so hot."

I lifted the hand off her neck and placed it across one breast. I gently massaged it, feeling its smallness beneath my palm, and her eyes closed and she pursed her lips and started moaning softly. Her hands moved across her belly and undid the top button of her skirt. Then, while one arm bent up, her hand coming to softly hold my elbow, the other hand she pushed down under her waistband toward her crotch, and started to finger herself.

"I'm so wet already," she said breathily, her eyes still closed.

I smiled, watching her body start to writhe subtly against my couch. I was getting a lot harder now, my dick pushing out down the leg of my jeans. She must've felt it, because her eyes opened and looked up at me, and she started pushing her head back and forth against my crotch, up and down part of my shaft.

"That feels good," I said.

She smiled, pleased to be pleasing me, and I increased the pressure of my hand on her breast, getting rougher. The motion of her hand sped up under her skirt and she let out a soft, high moan. Then she turned her head toward my stomach and used her free hand to lift up my shirt and expose my belly, and she pushed her face against it and started kissing it. Her whole body then turned, rotating onto her side, her knees now pointing toward the back of the couch, her hand still buried between her legs. I moved the hand off her tit and held her shoulder, and my other hand gripped the back of her head, holding her face to my stomach. She shifted her head as much as she could, rubbing the side of it now, her temple and her ear, against my hardening cock.

She then rotated her body further, turning onto her stomach, her chin coming to rest on my thigh, and her hand came out from her skirt. She propped herself on her elbows and put her hands on my fly. She looked up at me as she unzipped it, smiling like a naughty schoolgirl. Then her hand was through my fly, wrapping itself around my dick, and she pulled it up and out.

It stood tall in front of her face and she stared at it, her hand moving slowly up and down its length. She laid her head down across my thighs on the other side of my dick, her eyes locked on me.

Then she pushed out her lips and kissed the base of my shaft.

"Jesuuuuuus," I said, watching her eyes stare at me, feeling her drag her lips across the far side of my cock.

She smiled, opened her mouth, and, her head still on my thighs, her hand holding my cock up around its head, she wrapped her lips around either side of my shaft, like she was playing a harmonica. She then dragged her face up and down, and I felt her tongue start to drag against the underside of my cock.

"Fuck," I said, pushing myself back into the couch, the feeling insanely good.

I gathered her hair up in a hand and held it behind her head, and leaned my torso forward, trying to get close to her face, so turned on by her. I put my other hand across the back of her neck and held it firmly.

"You're fucking naughty," I said.

She pulled her mouth off my dick, smiled up at me.

"I'm not some innocent schoolgirl," she said.

"Apparently not."

She looked back at my dick and extended her tongue and dragged it up and down the base of my shaft. I groaned at the feeling and pushed my hand down off her neck and onto her body, wanting to explore her. Her breasts were unfortunately buried in the couch, so I ran my hand down her back and then leaned over and grabbed her ass through her black leather skirt, then gave it a light spank. She moaned and wrapped her lips around the base of my shaft again, and I ran my hand down her skirt and pushed it under the hem and grabbed the back of one thigh.

She took her mouth off my dick briefly, scooted her knees closer and pushed her ass in the air. She laid her head on my thigh and her hands went down to the hem of her skirt and pulled it down her thighs into a bunch at her waist, revealing her ass to me. It was nice and round and oh so pale, with light blue veins running here and there. She was wearing white panties, casual ones but with a lace trim. She pushed her knees back and lay flat on the couch and raised her face next to my dick again.

Before she could do anything I grabbed a rough handful of her ass. She gasped, looking up at me. I dug my fingers in.

"You said you're not innocent?" I said.

She bit her lip, shook her head.

I let go off her ass and spanked it, in an upward motion toward me. She gasped and the sound of the smack rang in the air, a vague red patch forming on her skin. She looked up at me, her expression mock aggrieved, trying not to smile.

"If you're not innocent," I said, "what does that make you?"

"Naughty?"

I smacked her ass again. She gasped again, then moaned.

"What else?" I said.

She looked up at me, her gaze piercing, a sly smile across her face.

"Your little slut?"

I slapped her ass again. "Very good."

Her hand went to my cock. She looked at it.

"I've dreamt of being your little slut from the moment I saw you."

"Oh yeah?" I slapped her ass again. A red palm print was appearing on the skin.

She tugged and twisted up my cock. Pre-cum leaked out. She watched it drip down my head.

"Yeah," she said. "Promise me I'll always be your little slut? Whenever I want you?"

"I promise."

The pre-cum had reached my shaft. Her tongue extended out and licked up it, all the way up to the tip, where she lingered over my urethra. Then her eyes rolled up into her head, her mouth opened wide, and she wrapped her lips around my cock.

"Holy shit," I said, and I immediately pulled her panties aside roughly and shoved my hand down between her butt cheeks toward her pussy. She moaned, a third of my cock buried in her mouth, and she started to suck on it, and I found her pussy, soaking wet, and pushed a finger up inside her.

For a few seconds there was just the sound of my finger running in and out of her and her mouth running on and off my dick, both of us just zeroed in on the other with lust running through us. I watched her butt cheeks jiggle around my wrist, and then looked to where her head bobbed up and down in my lap. Her form was shockingly good for a twenty-year-old, but I guess with her recent behavior I shouldn't have been surprised. This girl definitely had picked up a lot of experience somewhere on making guys feel good.

She wasn't able to get very far down my cock but her lips, tongue, and hand were working in perfect concert. Her lips looked full and relaxed, and I felt her tongue dragging along the underside of my head and shaft as she worked up and down. Her hand moved in short light twists up and down, perfectly synchronized with the movement of her mouth.

Then her mouth came off and she turned her head slightly, back toward where my hand ran in and out of her pussy.

"Fuck," she said, softly. "That feels so good."

Her pussy was so tight around my fingers, and her wetness was causing suction noises as I pumped in and out of her.

"You know what the benefit of being my little slut is?" I said.

She shook her head.

"My little slut gets to come whenever she wants."

Her mouth opened in a soundless moan and I put my hand on the back of her head and pushed her mouth onto my cock again.

She started sucking with abandon, moaning loudly around my dick, drool leaking out of her mouth and dripping down the sides of my shaft, lubing up her hand stroking me up and down. And then I pushed a second finger into her pussy and her mouth came off my cock briefly and she yelled "SHIT!" before diving back onto it. I blasted her tight pussy with my index and middle fingers, watching her pale ass cheeks bouncing around it, and she continued moaning loudly, and the sound grew in pitch, and then, keeping my cock in her mouth, she orgasmed, and screamed around it, her eyes shut tight, her body spasming on my couch as I kept fingering her.

Then I slowed up and her sound turned to a low moan, she pulled her mouth off me, I pulled my hand out of her, and her head fell onto my thigh. My cock was absolutely drenched with her saliva, and her hand kept working it slowly as she stared up at me.

"I'm so grateful," she said. "Your little slut is so grateful."

"Good," I said.

"What do you want your little slut to do now?"

"I want my little slut to get on her knees in front of me and let me see her gorgeous eyes as she sucks my cock and swallows my cum."

She smiled. She scooted off the couch.

And she stood up, pulling her skirt hem back down over her butt.

"We're gonna read more poetry first," she said, and she went over to my bookshelf.

I laughed. "You're cruel."

She bent forward toward my bookshelf, provocatively, her skirt riding up her ass, and I looked at her panties over her vagina. She looked back at me, smiling.

"Don't worry," she said, "I'll give you what you want, just on my schedule."

"Maybe I'll find a different little slut who'll follow my schedule."

She shrugged and looked back at the bookshelf. "Your loss."

I silently steamed, but she was pushing all the right buttons, and my cock throbbed even harder.

"Fine, but I'll make one demand," I said.

She grabbed a book and turned back to me. "Uh-huh?"

"When I tell you to take off a piece of clothing, you do it."

She narrowed her eyes, then rolled them and made an exaggerated groan. "Fiiiiine."

"So take off your shirt," I said, "then come back here and read me another poem."

She laid the book on a shelf and turned to face me. She reached down, grabbed the hem of her shirt, and pulled it up.