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“Yes, Trent,” she pants. “Harder.”
Aww fuck. Oh yeah, my girl is a butt slut and I fuck her even more forcefully, edging closer to an orgasm. I can feel tension building in my balls as they inch tight up against my shaft. I look down and watch her pussy clench in pleasure, juices pulsing out of it as I fuck her ass and press down on her clit.
“I’m going to cum, Trent,” she mewls breathlessly, her eyes squeezed shut. And I believe her. As I continue to pump her ass with my cock and jiggle her clit, I watch her pussy spasm as she cries out in rapture, clutching at my arms. I push her soft body down, groaning with clenched teeth, as I fuck her ass until my cock jerks and I explode, pumping my load deep into her ass with each thrust.
“Yes!” she screams. “Yes, just like that!”
“FUCK!” is my answering roar. “Fuck this shit! Shit fuck shit!”
Because oh shit, but I’ve done it. I just butt-fucked a virgin, the sweetest girl I know. All my baser instincts came to the fore, and I made a innocent little girl take me into her bottom. But at the same time, it’s clear that Janie wants it with her pussy and ass spasming and clenching around me as she mewls with orgasm. So what do I do now? Do I walk away? Or are we actually a match made in heaven, the ex-con and the innocent?
10
Janie
I expected it to hurt afterwards, once I wasn’t so caught up in the moment. But all I feel is a mild discomfort, and a memory that I hope will stay with me for the rest of my life. Because oh god, it was so good. Dirty and wrong, but at the same time, so impossibly amazing.
I’m thinking about this as I lay against Trent’s chest as we catch our breaths. His arms are folded around me and I can feel his heart beat slow and heavy beneath my cheek. Reality is incredible. Because what did I do to deserve this handsome man? I fight the urge to pinch myself awake.
And languorously, the massive male stirs.
“Are you okay?” comes Trent’s deep, gentle voice from above my head as it resonates in his chest. He can’t see me smiling and I feel him tense up. “Janie?” he continues. I look up at him and find his blue eyes, clouded with worry.
“Yes, I’m okay,” I answer. I see his eyes crease with relief. Creases that tell of our age difference, but also creases that I find incredibly attractive.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” he asks, smoothing the hair from my forehead. I shake my head, still smiling.
“No, it was incredible,” is my soft admission. “Although, um, I – I would still like you to take my virginity?” I ask timidly. “You know, the other way.” This is ridiculous. I wonder how I can still feel shy about him fucking me in the pussy after what I just let him do. But so be it. Trent averts his gaze and holds me closer.
“Maybe someday,” he says thoughtfully. My eyes are startled. What? What does that mean? What guy only does you in the ass, and not the pussy? That’s strange. But I let him cradle me because there are so many questions running through my head.
“Trent,” I say softly, craning my head to look up at him. “Are you really twice my age?”
His growl confirms this.
“Where were you living before you moved here?” He doesn’t answer, but I’m feeling brave, so I sit up on my elbow and look up at his face, with that strong jaw line and serious eyes. “What do you do?” I try again.
He meets my eyes and smiles finally.
“I’m a gardener,” he says lightly. I smile and he looks confused.
“What?” he asks suspiciously.
“Nothing. I like it,” I answer.
“You like that I’m a gardener? Why?” he asks, still a little defensive.
I shrug, my boobs bouncing a little with the movement.
“I appreciate hard, honest work, I guess. I think it’s hot that you work with your hands,” I add.
Trent looks surprised.
“Really?” he asks skeptically. “Most girls want white-collar guys like bankers and lawyers, that sort of thing. What’s wrong with you, kid?” he growls gently, and I enjoy the little spark I see in his eyes.
I shrug again.
“I guess I understand it,” are my words. “Because I love food preparation. Making a meal. Baking, pan-frying, kneading dough, all that good stuff. I wish I could earn a living working with my hands.”
Trent looks at me, genuinely curious.
“Why wouldn’t you be able to?” he asks. “There’s plenty of work for someone who loves to cook.” That causes emotion to run over my soul and I make a wry face.
“My mom never went to college,” I answer. “She never educated herself, and I suppose she wants better for me. You know, working in an office and all that kind of stuff.”
