DAMAGED - A Bad Boy Romance (75 page)

I was in my underwear before long, staring at him with my arms stretched out to my sides.

“I want you to bend over for me,” he said, pulling my thong to the side.

He reached forward and pushed his hand against my labia. He and I had been through too much for me to be purely passive in all of this, so I got down and lowered his pants. He was already hard by the time my lips hit his cock.

“Always impressed with how big you are,” I managed to say. I had to strain my head backward so that I could look at the tip of his cock while my knee was beneath his legs. He tapped the head of his cock on my tongue, and I held the base of his shaft with my hand. He tasted good, and I enjoyed myself while letting my hand fall down the smooth muscles of his thighs.

There was less struggle in this fuck compared to the others. He and I no longer had anything to prove to one another, or to anyone else. I was free to enjoy him, just for the sake of enjoying him. My lips parted easily for him, and my hands turned gently on the surface of his cock. I smiled, and let my tongue do the subtle work that made him squirm in his body.

“Mmm.. I missed that,” he groaned.

He stood there for me, and let me take him at my own pace, which I felt was incredibly peaceful of him, considering the last time he saw me give head, I was brutally throat fucked by my previous boss.

“I want you,” he said, lifting me up and bending me over.

I could feel his hands pinching my ass gently, while his cock parted the lips of my pussy. He eased himself into my vagina, and then began to fuck me slowly. Feeling the fullness of him inside of me was a beautiful thing. We enjoyed a soft pace for a while, and then he picked up pace a bit more.

I loved how massive his hands felt on my body while he held me. Whether he was pulling my hair, holding my shoulders, or putting his hands on my hips, he felt so strong compared to me. The feeling was liberating.

“I think what I love about this,” I moaned in between thrusts, “Is how much power you give me.”

In response, he removed his hands completely, and let me push myself backward onto his cock. I enjoyed myself for a time, letting his cock be something independent for me to work my body against. This little game of ours held out for another couple of minutes before he lost himself and pinned me down not the couch.

“Oh God, yes!” I cried out.

It was obvious to me that I didn’t just love that he gave me power, but that he took power away from me as well. His cock was pumping inside of me, threatening to pull me out from the inside over and over. The couch creaked, and I could hear the wet sounds of his cock fucking he hell out of my cunt. I moaned and pleaded for him to keep going, and he slowed down in response, teasing me all the while.

When I would get out of line, squirming because of the pleasure, he would thrust deep and hard into me, and put me back in my right place. I could feel his body weight bearing down over me. His hands held me down on the couch by pinning my back shoulders. I gave up completely, and used my hands to either grab a hold of the couch, or spread my ass cheeks so he could have easier access to my body.

“I love you,” he grunted, diving down deep into my cunt.

“Fuckin’ cum on me then,” I replied, feeling a bit visceral.

He pulled out and shot his load all over the small of my back, then he leaned forward and licked his cum up off from the surface of my skin. His tongue moved slowly on my skin, and I swear I came just then — only knowing what he was doing to me. He kept the jizz in his mouth, and then came up to kiss me. The two of us spent a fair amount of time just exchanging the load between our mouths, swallowing each other’s saliva and cum until there was nothing to exchange besides our own kisses.

All in all, it was likely our most sensitive fuck until that moment.

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asked when we were done.  “I’ve got a bit of time before I head home, and I’d really like to go somewhere nice with you.”

“I was just about to leave,” I told him as we laid together on the floor of my living room. “This place will be empty tomorrow, and I might as well go with you.”

There was a pause in the conversation, and then my heart spoke what needed to be said.

“Mind if I bring a friend?” I said with a grin.

His response was laughter and a nod. We didn’t need much more than a will in order to figure out how to make that happen. Perhaps a visit to Rome was in order. No explanations or articulated plans were necessary.

We had been through this once before.

The shores of Crete are not so different from Lido, but they are far enough away that it feels like you are in another world; that was the point, more than anything else.

I sat on the sand, staring out at all of the beautiful men and women. It seemed like the people on this particular beach had nothing better to do than show me their tan asses through variously undersized bathing outfits. Naturally, I didn’t have any objections. This was infinitely better than whatever was happening back in Lido, that much was for sure.

We had to torch the lab, and by we, I mean, I burnt that fucking building to the ground, and everything in it, only after wiping every server that I had access to -- must have been some kind of problem with the pilot on the stove. Couldn’t be helped, I'm sure.

*Bites lip*

Fortunately, the accident took place when the neighbors were out, so looks like everyone wins. I mentioned to Piper that I’d make her cum on the beach. I had no idea how literal that whole prophecy would become, but I had learned at this point not to question fate. Could be nothing more than a problem of confirmation bias, but it truly seemed like everything happened for a reason.

Right about then, Piper tackled me.

“Again?” I asked, pretending to be worn out.

She only smiled in response, and kissed me.

“This is a private beach,” Tyler said, “and there are combinations that I feel we need to put to the test.”

His cock was out once more, and hanging in front of my face.

“Erm… Science?” I replied, not knowing what else to say.

Piper laughed, and the three of us fell in together in a heap on the sand.

“To Science!”

Needless to say, the three of us wasted little time in getting busy with one another again. Our entire trip had really been one giant fuck fest, from beginning to end. I had no idea how things would end up between the three of us, but I did know one thing for certain — it had been enjoyable and by all accounts, that level of enjoyment did not seem like it was going away any time soon.

We had a rough time, Piper, perhaps more than all three of us, but in the end, at least we had each other. When exhaustion sets in, and the afterglow of the orgasmic overload has subsided, I found that nothing is quite as satisfying as the warmth of the sun, and the company of good friends. The simple pleasures of life are not to be overlooked in face of some of the more decadent pursuits.

Really, it’s the love you find amid the pleasures that make this life worth anything at all.

- THE END -

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A Bad Boy Romance

By Gabi Moore

My name is Melanie, and I’m a pretty good girl, if I do say so myself.

I have just two secrets.

Judging from what a crazy mess the world is, and how awful most people are, I would rate I’m not doing too badly if I’ve only racked up two so far. Just two.

The first one is my hidden wedding Pinterest board where I collect millions of pictures of dream dresses, beautiful cakes, fun things to do with shells, wedding manicures and sexy yet classy bridal lingerie that has the name of your dream guy embroidered in tiny white stitches on a silky suspender belt…

The other is that I seem to be addicted to watching hardcore porn.

I always thought that the best colors for a wedding are obviously pastels, even though I know they’re a little predictable, right? Still, you can always go with a retro theme. There’s a whole section of my “Dresses” board that shows, like the stripes in a rock, the periods of my life where I was intensely interested in 50s wedding frocks with poofy skirts and the cutest little shoes.

But then I decided I wanted a bright Frida Kahlo style Mexican theme with paper cut outs and piñatas that rained down wedding favors when the guests hit them with sticks that had ribbons plaited on them. But I soon decided that would probably end up cheap-looking and that what I really wanted was something all mute and elegant – lace, you know, and pearls, and little desserts that look like roses with tiny cakes tucked inside.

My tastes in porn …well, that stayed pretty much constant. I always chose the same, nasty, horrible, no good stuff to look at, sadly.

Now, I like fitted wedding dresses the most, honestly, and find they flatter my butt nicely, even if I do say so myself. Like I said, I’m a pretty good girl, but lord help me I do think I have a nice butt, and it’s not too vain if I say so. Good girls wait for the wedding night, and listen to their mammas, and do well in school so they can be dental technicians and live the dream. And that’s what I did. A Pinterest board may have been jumping the gun a little, sure, but so what if I fantasized once in a while about what my groom would wear even before he technically existed? Only a bad girl would let such a small detail get in the way of her planning a decent wedding.

The porn though. Ugh. What could I say? God knows I tried my best to get over this filthy habit. I read “The Beauty of the Chaste Woman” by Reverend Peters. I took cold showers (does that only work for boys though?) and I wore my own makeshift pledge ring on my middle finger, where it was too small and so would hurt the most. I put special parental controls on my browser. Then I took them off again.

Nothing worked, which just goes to show you that even good girls struggle sometimes. Now, I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking I’m some poor repressed Christian soul. You’re thinking I’m a big old prude and that I’m like one of those girls on the TV who believes the idiot in her youth group when he tells her you can’t get pregnant on Easter or something.

Well, I’m not. I’m no fool. I may be on the inexperienced side but I know a thing or two about
you-know-what
. My family’s a bit uptight about these things, sure, but besides my Aunt Carol, we all just like to do things properly. The right way. What’s so wrong about that?

I’m young, I know (nineteen years old and ten months!) but it seems to me that living a good life is a bit like planning a wedding: you have to pay attention to the details, you have to plan ahead, or else you’ll have a big old flop on your hands, won’t you? Besides the nasty issue with the porn (don’t judge me, I’m working on it and
no
, I certainly won’t tell you what kind of porn it is) I was going to have that good life for myself. Right down to the last table arrangement and swan shaped bottle of bubbles. I thought nothing could possibly stand in my way.

Boy, how wrong I was.

“For Christ’s sake, Jenny, it’s not
lube
, it’s personal moisturizer” said my Aunt Carol, who had not only taken to using the lord’s name in vain, but had also joined a pyramid scheme, from what I could tell.

“Personal moisturizer? Well, for such an open minded company, they sure have some funny ideas about calling a thing what it really is,” said my mom, turning a green bottle over in her hands a few times before plonking it on the table like it was poison. If my mom had been in charge of what to call the stuff, she’d probably have gone with “slut water” but I told you, my Aunt Carol was a bit of an outlier in the family.

“Nonsense. ‘Personal moisturizer’ is just what everyone calls it these days.”

“Oh do they? And what does it moisturize? Your
person
?”

My Aunt Carol is the black sheep of the family, although with her fierce dyed-red hair and massive hippie earrings, she’s more like the red sheep. It didn’t used to be like that. A few years ago, my uncle died and left my Aunt Carol a ton of money, which she promptly used to fuel a long and obnoxious journey of sexual self discovery.

While my mother and other aunts watched in horror, she went to Spain and probably, I don’t know,
did things
, and then she dyed her hair and started to wear chintzy stone jewelry to channel her inner goddess; these days she was peddling lingerie and “personal moisturizers” from a company called “Oh! So Good” that made my mother’s ulcer tingle.

“Don’t decent people sell Tupperware anymore?” said my mom, drawstringing tired lips round her cigarette, looking for some strength there since God never seemed to give her any. My aunt’s hippie earrings were flapping now as she shoved all her goodies back into a branded tote bag.

“Just forget about it. Jesus,” she said.

It was a Saturday morning, one of those boring domestic scenes where you just drink coffee and wait for some activity to suggest yourself. Living at home was fine, I guess, except for these little moments of drama.

Aunt Carol had been given a decent amount of leeway, as a widow you know, but my mom was steadily losing patience. My aunt’s gift of the bestseller, “Sexual Freedom at Fifty and Beyond” didn’t sit well next to “The Beauty of the Chaste Woman” and found its way into the trash. My aunt packed up her bag of tricks - all those things that the brains behind Oh! So Good thought would make the average housewife happy – and made for the door.

“I should go anyway. Some of us have lives to live, you know?” she said, with a flick of her beet-red and newly liberated hair.

“Ooh! Aunt Carol! Am I still housesitting for you this weekend?” I asked as she reached the door.

“Yes! I nearly forgot. Get your mom to drop you off. Jared and I will be leaving at around 9 on Friday to catch our plane, so come then and see us off.”

“Jared? Is this a
new
one?” my mom said, freshly judgmental, smoke blowing out her nose like a dragon.

“He’s not a ‘one’, he’s a very nice man I met at gym, and he’s coming with me, and we’re both consenting adults” said my aunt, slowly.

“Consenting adults? Oh, well, I hope you and your
person
have fun with him,” mom said.

I giggled, and Aunt Carol left, not about to let family or advanced age prevent her from enjoying her youth.

“What’s the bet she’s paid for his ticket and everything? He’s probably less than half her age and twice as evil,” mom said, who was really very good at virtue accounting.

My mom had been mad at Aunt Carol’s indiscretions before, but this one had her particularly riled up. There was some extra energy in the way she spoke about this “one”.

“Have you met him? This Jared?” I said.

“Never. But Alice told me he can’t be a year or two older than you. It’s disgusting.”

Of course it was. Utterly disgusting.

So disgusting, in fact, that I had to find out more.