High School Smile Oh Yes

At the ripe old age of 28, she wasn't sure if she could get away with it, but she's got him this time, she's just sure. She was 19 when they met, almost 10 years ago, and she remembers his reaction to her then. To torment him with it now, after all these years apart is almost too good.

The short black skirt with its red plaid underpleats is painfully reminiscent of a schoolgirl's – except for the length. Her ass is still cold from the car seat. The little white thrift store shirt with its oh-so-sweet ruffles down the front is tight, pushing her tits up to be noticed. Under the nice girl shirt is a nice girl bra, white, a little lace, just enough to bring to mind thoughts of high school fantasies. The panties are also white. Cotton. Admittedly damp already. And disposable. She doesn't expect them to survive the night. Follow tanned legs down to sweet white over-the-knee socks, another investment she doesn't expect to be able to wear again. And she's quite sure it will be worth it. Her one concession to apparent adulthood lies in her shoes. Patterned after the more appropriate Mary Janes, they also give her almost 4 extra inches – and make her feel sexy as hell. She needs the moral support as much as the height to get away with her plans tonight. One final glance in the mirror convinces her that's she's ready – light make-up and long blond hair in double braids making her look younger than her years, the scent of bubble gum lip gloss battling with the lingering flavor of cherry lollipop perfectly.

Hoping they wouldn't even make it out of the apartment if they started there, she suggested meeting at the club. Almost as if he knew what she was up to – not that that would surprise her either – he insisted on taking one car. "Fine, damn him." Her heart beats faster as she approaches the door, will her nerve fail her now?

A tentative knock. Her head down as he opens the door. "Hi, I…" His strong hand pulls her in, ungracefully, by the wrist. She stumbles and gasps, glances up to see his face, and knows at that moment that no matter how much it costs her, she will play this through to the very end, and it will be so worth it. As he leans in to kiss her, she turns at the last moment. His surprised mouth glances off her soft cheek.

"I… I don't know. I'm not sure." He's never heard this tone in her voice. The disquiet, the clear case of nerves. It's almost as if she is actually unsure of something.

At first he shrugs it off, turns away to continue getting ready. But his brain is working, processing, thinking about his girl. When he's about to turn around and confront her, it's almost as if he can feel her eyes on his naked back, from the slope of his shoulders, sliding down his spine the way her tongue does, to linger just above his leather pants. He turns, slowly, head only, and catches her in this very act. Much the way her lower lip is firmly caught between her teeth. As he completes his turn, her eyes slide slowly up his chest, lingering on the rings in his nipples, focusing on the pulse point in his neck before meeting his eyes. His first instinct is to step back; the heat in her eyes is brilliant, even for them. But when she drops her eyes again it's like a veil drops down, hiding that extraordinary heat. The nervous little girl act is back.

Her hands are held in front of her, twisting together nervously. But he's on to her game now, and he's going to make her play it out. Walking slowly back over to where she stands by the door, he stands over her, waiting for her to look up. Although her breath quickens and he can almost feel her shaking from where he stands, she doesn't raise her eyes. He brings one hand up under her chin, lifting her face, forcing her to meet his eyes. At the moment their eyes meet, he feels something go soft in her, something melt in her body, and knows exactly how to play it. They aren't going anywhere tonight, except hell. Together.

"Look at me." As if she had a choice, the way he holds her face captive. But her eyes don't falter, and for a moment he thinks he sees a flash of temper before she finds her quiet again. His hands then slide down her arms to find hers, which grip tightly, a little girl caught in the grip of a nightmare she suddenly finds she likes. "This can be as easy or as hard as you want to make it, but it's going to happen." Her hands tighten on his almost painfully, then squeeze once before she relaxes.

"I'll be good." He releases her hands, and she stands exactly as he left her. Not afraid to move, but somehow hesitant about moving all the same. He stands perfectly still, staring hard at her until she's sure she'll die before fucking with his head again. At the same time, she's also sure she's never been wetter.

"We're not going out tonight, lover."

Soft blue shocked eyes. Pink mouth slightly open as she wets her lips. "I… um, okay." Damn, that tremble in her voice. It's always been her strength and intensity as a partner that's gotten him so hot – they're so well-matched, but that little quake. He's torn between his desires to comfort her – and to make her scream. He realizes there's no reason he can't do both.

"Pull up your skirt for me."

"But, I…"

"Don't make me repeat myself."

"Okay." Something softer in her voice that time, the beginnings of surrender. Her hands find the bottom of her little skirt, raise it just enough to show her panties. His harsh intake of breath is reward enough for her effort. From where he stands, he can see how wet they are, molded to her lips. As if his eyes offer a physical caress, her hips rock gently, almost imperceptibly back and forth as she stands before his scrutiny. Slowly, testing her, he falls to his knees – face close enough to her cunt that his mouth waters, and she can barely breathe. He can smell her arousal, as familiar to him as his own, but there's something else there, too. Something he doesn't recognize right away.

"What do you want, my good girl?" His lips so close she can feel his words better than she can hear them.

She pulls back, hips against the cold wall, and drops her skirt to cover herself protectively. He can see, though, that her hands are almost twitching with the effort not to touch herself – end the game now and beg to be eaten, fucked, taken.

"Oh, no. That wasn't one of the choices." God, his voice so soft, so tender, and so unbending all at the same time. His hands reach under her skirt to the hidden buttons. Moments later, it drops to the floor. Her hands flutter like little birds, free for the first time, and he takes pity on her, capturing them both in one of his and standing back up to raise them above her head. "I told you this was going to happen, your only choice is in how. Are you making that choice now?"

"No, I… I'm sorry. It's just that…"

"It doesn't matter why. Consider this your last warning, though."

Again, he goes to his knees in front of her. Her hands are flat against the wall by her hips. Damn, what is that smell? It makes him think of illicit things, things that shouldn't even be mentioned, but that harden his cock immediately. Not that he hasn't been hard in his pants since she showed up in her little disguise. As he leans in to her cunt, nose and mouth just touching the soft wet cotton of her panties, her hands scrabble for purchase against the wall.

Baby powder! Fuck her, the bitch smells like baby powder. With no warning, he pushes forward, biting down where he knows her clit is – he can see the ring. With a cry of pain, maybe some fear, and pure female need, her hands leave their precarious position on the wall in a vain attempt to push him away. As slowly as he went down, he moves back up her body, never leaning back, never giving her a chance to catch her breath.

"What are you…"

"Shh, quiet."

He undoes the buttons down the front of the sweet little shirt, but doesn't touch the cuffs. When he pushes the shirt back off of her shoulders, she realizes immediately that she is bound by her shirt as surely as if he'd wrapped her hands in leather. She starts to struggle, but he clearly has the upper hand. Literally. One hand wraps her shirt up tight, lifting her arms up over her head, looping the shirt over a hook she could swear wasn't there before.

She rests against the wall, heart pounding, breath gasping, as he kneels again. "I told you that was your last warning." Instead of returning to her cunt, though, his hands find her feet, helping her step out of her fallen skirt, and then removing her shoes. With the loss in height, her position is perilous at best. Her toes just reach the floor, and her control of her movement is severely limited. He leans back to look up at her: girl shirt tying her to the wall, breasts lifted almost free of the bra, white panties evidence of her arousal, rocking side to side as she attempts to maintain her balance, socks still perfectly in place.

He reaches back up, pulling the cups of her bra down until her breasts are just resting on them, nipples hard and exposed. Fingers hard upon her nipples, he leans into her cunt again. This time, there's not a damn thing she can do except rock her hips into and away from his mouth. He chews up and down her cunt, wetting her panties from the outside as well now.

Despite her best attempts, she's growing louder and louder in response to his actions. He pulls back, watches her try in vain to reach his mouth with her cunt. "Looks like the little girl knows what she wants, but she isn't very good at following instructions." Her eyes widen in something remarkably akin to panic as she struggles to defend herself. She is still laboring to find words when he rips the little white cotton panties from her and shoves them in her mouth. And just in time, apparently, if the muffled scream that his action generates is any indication.

Satisfied with his solution, his attention returns to her cunt to realize what else is different. She is completely bare before him, not the tiniest patch of hair there to hide herself from him. He mouths her whole cunt, tongue sliding between her lips. Like an overripe peach at the first bite, her cum runs into his mouth as she lifts her legs to rest on his shoulders. He torments her, offering the briefest moments of penetration between long attacks to her clit. He's kept her on the edge since the moment he touched her, and he can tell by the frantic tone of her cries that she can't take much more.

Even when he stops touching her, her response doesn't back down a bit. Her hips pump in the empty air, her moans increase in volume and hysteria, and from her eyes run a steady stream of tears. Taking two fingers together, he goes into her, hard, teeth finding her clit and hand driving her hard and fast and headlong toward what's been promised. He can tell by the way her cunt grips his fingers that she's coming, but nothing else in her demeanor changes.

Gently removing his fingers, he realizes he's underestimated just how into the game she was. Eyes and muffled whimpers pleading, begging, as worked up as he's seen her. He's almost worried. But he knows how to bring her down. He doesn't know exactly how it will work in this scenario she's put them in, but he does know her.

He reaches up to pull her shirt off of the hook, and she melts before him. Pulling the panties from her mouth, he uses them to wipe away her tears. "You know what to do now, don't you, girl?" A sniffle, a return of tears. "N-no." Mouth soft and trembling. He pushes his hips toward her, hard cock clearly outlined in front of her. Since her hands are still entangled in her shirt, he unbuttons his pants, pulling out his cock to rest it gently on her lips. Little sobs teasing him with bursts of air on his overheated skin. He pushes toward her again, cock sliding easily into her soft, open mouth.

Back and forth, but it's not a blowjob. He's fucking her mouth, and she's letting him. "Close your mouth around me, baby." She lifts her eyes to his face as she tightens her lips on his cock. Something tempers the wildness in her eyes as her tongue starts to move around him as he slides in and out of her mouth. In. and out. She's still letting him set the pace, control the rhythm. He owns her mouth. Slowly, each thrust slipping slightly deeper, until finally her little puffs of air are blocked briefly by the skin of his stomach and he lodges in her mouth.

Pulling back, he wonders if she's gone for the night. He's never seen her pupils this dilated, her breathing this shallow. But as he rests, assessing her, something flashes across her eyes, giving him only the briefest of warnings before she pushes herself up and takes off across the living room, toward the back door. Leather around his thighs hampering his speed, he still catches her easily before she's past the sofa, grabbing her by her trailing shirt.

He pushes her roughly over the high arm of the couch, one hand twisting up the braids to pull her head back, the other forcing her shoulders down - hips higher, his legs between hers, kicking them apart until she can't reach the floor. Brutally, he drives deep into her, the first violent thrust surprising them both. She wriggles under him, fighting or begging he doesn't know, but it doesn't really matter at this point. They don't have much farther to fall. Each stroke, harder, deeper, it doesn't take long before she's screaming and he's wishing he'd had time to put her panties back in her mouth just before he cums into her and doesn't wish for anything else.

The crisis past, his legs weak, he pulls out of her, pulling her back just enough that her feet can touch the floor. Slowly, he pushes the shirt back up her arms just enough to reach the cuffs so that he can unbutton them, pulling her shirt and bra off, leaving her in just her socks and braids. He lets go of her for a moment to stretch, she doesn't move. His smile soft and forgiving, he rolls her over and lifts her into his arms, somehow getting them both safely into the bedroom.

He looks at her, lying on the bed, their cum glistening along her lips, thoroughly defenseless. Though he would have denied the ability to do anything other than fall into bed himself a moment ago, an idea has come to him that he knows she won't (can't, right now) refuse. He arranges her on the soft sheets, hands out to the side, legs open enough for him to crawl between them and rest his head on her stomach. She moans softly, barely conscious, and struggles to raise a hand to stroke his hair. He knows what she expects. It's not at all unusual for one of them to clean the other after a night of play, but he's got other plans for her tonight.

Soft and open and wet as she is, his first two fingers slide in easily. Back and forth, stroking gently. She's gently playing with his hair. He pulls back, entering the next time with three fingers, drawing a low moan from her. Again with the gentle back and forth, working more of their cum around his hand, she settles into his rhythm and calms. With the fourth finger, though, her hand tightens in his hair and the pitch of her moans change – deepening, becoming more breathy. Her cunt tightens across the back of his hand, his knuckles barely entering her.

"Are you?"

"Yes, we are."

"Oh."

Finally, when she's almost become accustomed to his stretching presence, he slips his thumb into the palm of his hand and moves further into her. His mouth seeks out the edges of his hand, tongue caressing and soothing the sting of his entry. Her breathing is one long low moan. Her legs are boneless, spread before him. With a gasp and short cry, he gets all the way in, wet up to his wrist. She's crying softly again, but her hips rock gently again his hand, moving only millimeters, but that's enough when he's that far inside her.

Experimentally, he moves his fingers, sweeping around and behind her cervix. She gasps, almost sitting up, and tightens around him so hard he's momentarily afraid of losing feeling in his hand. Until he realizes what he can feel. All around his hand, her muscles are tightening and releasing, fluttering in her orgasm.

She falls back to bed, well and truly done in. Though she whimpers quietly as he slowly removes his hand, he doubts she's really aware of what's going on anymore. He paints her lips with their cum and kisses her good night.

"Good girl."

"Mmm."