I'm a Very Bad Girl

I am a very bad girl. I know it the second I slip out of Jeff’s bed, his cum still leaking slowly from my sore pussy, the sheets twisted around his sleeping form. The house is quiet except for the low murmur of the late-night movie still playing on the old television downstairs. His parents never care. They never have. Jeff’s room smells like sweat and sex and the cheap cologne he wears, and I am still wearing nothing but his white button-down shirt, the one that barely reaches mid-thigh when I stand. The top three buttons are open. My tits feel heavy and warm, nipples tight from the cool air of the hallway. Black cotton string-bikini panties cling to the sticky mess between my legs. Bare feet on the hardwood. Long brown hair still in the messy ponytail he yanked while he fucked me earlier.

I always come downstairs after. Cigarette. Wine if there’s an open bottle. Tonight there is. I pour a generous glass of the red, the same one Mike prefers, and pad toward the sliding glass door that leads to the back porch. The light is on out there. One figure at the patio table. Broad shoulders. The familiar silhouette of Jeff’s dad.

Mike.

My heart kicks hard against my ribs. Pussy clenches around nothing, still tender from Jeff’s cock but already waking up again. I slide the door open. The night air is warm and thick, summer humidity that makes skin stick. Mike turns. Cigarette between two fingers. Glass of wine on the table. His eyes move over me the way they always do when he thinks I am not watching—quick, hungry, then carefully blank again.

“Mind if I join you?” My voice comes out softer than I mean it to.

“Of course not, Joanna.” He slides the pack of Marlboros across the table. The lighter is already in his hand by the time I take a cigarette. I lean in. The flame lights my face. I hold his gaze while I inhale, the way women do in old movies, and feel the heat of his stare drop to the open collar of the shirt, the soft swell of my tits, the way the fabric rides up when I sit.

I cross my bare legs under the table. The inside of my thigh brushes his. Neither of us moves away.

“Having a good night?” he asks. His voice is low, a little rough from the smoke.

“I always do when I’m here.” I blow smoke toward the dark yard. “You know that.”

He knows what Jeff and I do upstairs. The walls are thin. Sometimes I wonder if he lies in bed next door and listens to the wet slap of skin, the way Jeff tells me I am a dirty little slut while he spanks my ass red and fingers my dripping cunt. Sometimes I hope he does. Sometimes I touch myself in the shower later imagining it is Mike’s hand instead of Jeff’s, Mike’s thicker cock stretching me open, Mike’s voice calling me a bad girl.

Tonight the thought makes my panties soak through all over again.

I stretch, deliberate this time, letting my bare foot slide along his calf. His leg is solid, warm through the fabric of his jeans. He does not pull away. His eyes stay on mine.

“It always sounds like the two of you are having fun,” he says. A small, careful smile. “Not that I eavesdrop.”

“Of course you don’t.” I let my foot travel higher, resting against the inside of his knee. “Wouldn’t be interesting to you anyway.”

“I wouldn’t say that.” His voice drops. The smile fades into something heavier. “Sometimes I’m very surprised by what I hear.”

Heat floods my face. My hand shakes when I lift the cigarette. He notices. Of course he notices. His hand settles on my knee under the table, warm and heavy, squeezing once.

“Nervous?”

I nod. My throat is tight. “You make me nervous.”

“Why?”

I guide his hand higher, over the soft skin of my thigh, until his fingers brush the edge of my panties. The wet cotton is obvious. I press his fingertips against the soaked center and whisper, “Because you make me feel things I’m not supposed to feel.”

He strokes me through the fabric. Slow. Firm. My hips roll without permission. A soft moan slips out.

“You’re a very bad girl, Joanna.”

The words land like a spark in dry grass. I slide out of the chair and onto my knees between his spread legs before I can second-guess it. The concrete of the patio is cool under me. His cock is already hard, tenting the front of his jeans. I press my cheek against the thick ridge and breathe him in—smoke and laundry detergent and something darker, male.

“Please,” I whisper against the denim. “Punish me.”

His hand fists in my ponytail. He pulls my face tighter against his crotch so I can feel every inch of the hard length trapped behind the zipper.

“Unzip my pants and suck my dick, little whore. If you take me all the way into that pretty mouth maybe I’ll reward you with a nice hard spanking.”

My fingers tremble but I obey. Zipper down. Jeans shoved to his thighs. Boxers next. His cock springs free—thicker than Jeff’s, longer, the head already shiny with precum. I wrap both hands around the shaft and stroke once, feeling the heat of him, the heavy weight. Then I lean in and kiss the tip, tasting salt. My tongue swirls around the head, gathering every drop, before I open wide and sink down.

He is big. My jaw stretches. I take him slow, inch by inch, until the head bumps the back of my throat. I gag softly. He holds me there, both hands in my hair now, forcing me deeper. Tears prick my eyes. Spit runs down my chin and onto his balls. I look up at him while I choke on his cock and the pure lust on his face makes my empty pussy clench hard.

“That’s it. Take it all. Good little slut.”

He fucks my mouth in short, controlled thrusts. I relax my throat and let him use me. Every time he bottoms out I feel the pulse of him against my tongue. My hands brace on his thighs. The wet sounds of my throat being filled fill the quiet porch. When he finally lets me up I am gasping, spit-slick, mascara probably ruined.

“Is your pussy wet?” he asks.

I slip two fingers into my panties, drag them through the creamy mess, and offer them to him. He sucks them clean, eyes never leaving mine.

“Filthy little whore.” He stands, hauls me up by the arms, and bends me over the patio table. The edge digs into my hips. Shirt rides up. Cool air hits my bare ass when he yanks the panties down to my knees. One hard slap lands across both cheeks. The sound cracks through the night. Another. Another. I moan into my folded arms. Heat blooms across my skin. He spanks me until my ass is burning and my thighs are shiny with the juice dripping from my cunt.

“Please,” I beg. “Please fuck me.”

He rubs the head of his cock up and down my slit, coating himself in my wetness. Then he pushes in. One long, relentless stroke that seats him balls-deep. I cry out. He is thicker than Jeff, stretches me wider, fills every empty place. He starts slow—deep, grinding thrusts that drag against every sensitive spot inside me—then builds to a hard, steady rhythm. The table creaks. My tits bounce against the wood. Every time he bottoms out I feel him in my stomach.

“You like that, Joanna? Taking your boyfriend’s dad’s cock while he’s upstairs sleeping?”

“Yes—fuck—yes—”

He reaches around and finds my clit, rubbing tight circles while he pounds me. The dual sensation is too much. My orgasm hits like a wave, cunt clamping down, milking him, juices running down my thighs onto the concrete. He does not stop. He keeps fucking me through it, faster now, the wet slap of skin loud in the quiet yard.

When he pulls out I whimper at the sudden emptiness. He spins me around, lifts me onto the table so I am sitting facing him, legs spread wide. He steps between them and drives back in. This angle is deeper. I wrap my legs around his waist and hang on while he rails me. One of his hands cups my breast through the open shirt, thumb dragging over the nipple. The other stays on my clit. I come again, harder, shaking, moaning his name into his neck.

He still does not finish. He pulls out, flips me onto my stomach across the table again, and spreads my cheeks. The head of his cock presses against my tight asshole.

“Ever had anything in here?”

“No.” My voice is small.

“Good.” He spits on the tight ring of muscle and works the head in slowly. The burn is sharp, intense. I whimper and push back anyway, wanting it, needing the stretch. Inch by inch he sinks into my virgin ass until his hips are flush against my reddened cheeks. He stays still, letting me adjust, one hand stroking my back.

“Breathe, baby. That’s it. Take daddy’s cock in your little ass.”

When I nod he starts to move. Short strokes at first, then longer, deeper. The dual sensation of fullness and the residual ache in my pussy is overwhelming. I reach between my legs and rub my clit frantically. He fucks my ass with increasing force, the table rocking under us. Dirty words pour out of both of us—how tight I am, how wrong this is, how he is going to fill my ass with cum while his son sleeps upstairs.

I come with a broken cry, body clamping around the thick intrusion. The rhythmic squeezing pulls him over the edge. He buries himself to the hilt and floods my ass with hot pulses of cum. I feel every spurt, the heat of it, the way it starts to leak out around his cock when he finally softens and pulls free.

He sits back in the chair, breathing hard. I drop to my knees again without being told and clean him with my tongue—every drop of cum from his shaft, his balls, the crease of his thighs. He strokes my hair the whole time.

We light fresh cigarettes. Sit in the warm dark. His cum is still leaking from my stretched hole, sliding down my thighs. I can feel it cooling on my skin.

“Go back upstairs,” he says eventually, voice quieter. “Before he wakes up.”

I stand on shaky legs, pull my panties back up, and straighten the shirt. At the sliding door I look back. He is watching me with an expression I cannot quite read.

“Same time tomorrow night?” I ask.

A slow smile. “Don’t keep me waiting, bad girl.”

I go back to Jeff’s bed smelling like his father’s cigarettes and sex. Jeff is still asleep. I curl against his back and feel Mike’s cum continue to trickle out of me, soaking the sheets between my legs. Sleep does not come easily. My body is still humming, cunt and ass both tender, mind full of the next time.

The next evening Jeff has to work late at the garage. I text Mike. He tells me to come over after dark. The house is empty except for him. I wear a short sundress with nothing underneath. He meets me at the door, pulls me inside, and has me on my knees in the foyer before the door even closes. I suck his cock until my jaw aches, then he bends me over the arm of the living-room couch and fucks me from behind until I am sobbing with pleasure. He comes on my back this time, thick ropes that he spreads with his fingers before feeding them to me.

We move to his bedroom—the one he shares with Katherine when she is home. Tonight she is visiting her sister two states away. He strips me completely and lays me out on the big bed. His mouth finds my cunt. He eats me like a man starved, tongue fucking deep, lips sealed around my clit, two thick fingers curling inside me until I soak his face. Then he turns me onto my hands and knees and takes my ass again, slower this time, longer, talking the entire time about how he is going to ruin me for his son, how no boy will ever stretch me the way he does.