He won’t be able to resist you!”Looking sad, she said, “When we all slept together, he never laid a hand on me. I don’t think he’s into me.”“He is,” I consoled. “He admitted that you make his blood boil. Don’t worry, you’ll blow his mind.”“And his cock, too!” she laughed.It was his fault! Yes, I know that I constantly cast blame outside of myself; this time it was true. It was his fault.He had a job, out of state, and had left late Monday night. We kept in touch via telephone and messaging. Our nights were spent reading erotica to each other, which is a slightly more romantic and cerebral version of phone sex. He had promised me that he’d always be thinking about me.To prove his point he had ten-dozen carnations delivered to work on Tuesday afternoon. The card read, “One flower for every time I’ve thought of you this hour.” I was blown away and would’ve thoroughly soaked my panties, had I been wearing any.I was ecstatic! Nobody could ever top such a romantic and grandiose gesture. He. "Why? Do you like that it's so--"--"So forbidden," I said."Thought so," she said. She put her hands on my chest and used me to push up and down. "You like the idea that I'm an innocent girl who does her math homework and cares about her family? You like the idea that you can shove your cock into this innocent little girl's dirty shit hole?"I was pounding her so hard, grabbing her hips and ravaging her ass as fast as I could. I couldn't help it.She grunted. "You like that I have flowing brown hair and I smell like flowers and wear cute summer dresses when it's hot? You like that I smell like a fresh teen girl, but that--" But that even though you smell like fresh flowers and perfume--"She picked up her pace. --"That eventually when you fuck my dirty ass real hard that smell of flowers is replaced with shit and naughty pheromone-filled pussy juices and sweat and all different kinds of nastiness? Huh?"I slapped her on the ass and slowed down the pace so I could give her full, deep.
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