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Disclaimer: This is a work of erotic mind control fiction with factors of coerced sexual activity; all characters are 18+
[Part 1 Here](
**TURNING MY INNOCENT NEIGHBOR INTO A CUMSLUT: BOOK 2**
“Charlie . . . what happened Sunday?”
My face pales and a jumble of emotion runs through me. Ever since last weekend, I’ve been dreading seeing Sydney’s gorgeous face again. I’ve been dreading this question. I’ve been dreading facing the terrible thing I did (and like a coward, I’ve barely been coming home, going so far as to take extra shifts at *Everything Outlet* and then using my shit car to run pizza deliveries at night).
“What do you mean?” I ask slowly, wishing that I’d hurried a little faster from the house to the car.
Sydney’s obviously been waiting for me to leave for work. She’s obviously been skulking around and hiding until she saw me coming out to my car, and she’s obviously been planning an ambush. It seems a lot like something I would do. It doesn’t make me very happy.
Plus, I’m gonna be late for work if she has too many questions.
“Well, my brother said I came home looking dazed . . . like I was on drugs or something . . . but the last thing I remember about Sunday morning is washing your car.”
“Yeah, you came over to wash the car, but you were in your church clothes so I told you to wait until after the service. You never came back to do it though.”
She gives me a look that makes me think she doesn’t quite believe me and whispers, “Well, everyone says neither of us showed up for church.”
I shrug, hoping that my face isn’t giving the game away. “I didn’t go, but I don’t know about you.”
I’ve been very careful to give as few details as efficient to anyone who asks about Sunday. Originally, I was gonna tell my mom that my boss called and needed something, but involving other people in my story would have been too risky and stupid. Other people would need to agree to the lie first, so instead I just told my mom that I went for a long drive to settle my stomach (which she wondered was corrupted by too many cups of coffee, but was actually *pre-drugging-Sydney* nerves). I’d also made sure to mention that Sydney had shown up in church clothes to wash my car and that I’d sent her home. Those were the safest and most honest details I could come up with, most of which had even been witnessed, and those were the details I was gonna die sticking to.
“So did you see me walk home then?”
Technically I did see her walk *towards* home, but it was when I dropped her off on the side of the street, after our excursion to the park.
“Yeah. Not trying to be rude, but if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for work….” I brush past her and get in the car, pausing to say, “I really don’t think you’d take any drugs. You don’t seem like the type….”, before I shut the door and begin the engine, taking off without giving her another glance.
I know I’m acting sketchy and she can probably sense it. Normally I’d be over the moon for her to so much as give me a passing, ‘Hello’, and now I’m rushing to get away from her. I’ve been so caught up in just trying to let Sunday blow over that my focus has been on nothing else. It doesn’t really matter if she feels weirded out by me, as long as she doesn’t have any memory of me making her suck me off in Sugarman’s park, and as long as no one else has any idea that I drugged her, then I’m completely golden.
Memories of her warm wet mouth on me have me rock hard by the time I pull into the parking lot at work. She’d done such a good job of worshipping my cock that I’d nutted harder than I ever had in my entire life. Then she’d swallowed it all down like a perfect little slut. I still think the risk and reward was entirely worth it. I just have to make sure no one is the wiser before I attempt something so insane again. I just have to plan it out better next time. I just have to get through another hideously boring day—and then maybe a handful or two of other days—while the dust settles . . . Then I can face Sydney again and do what I really want to do to her.
***
“Becker,” my boss barks at me. “Customer service desk. People.”
I hardly ever know what the hell he means but I’m used to blindly following his orders. I walk out from the back, where I’ve been taking inventory, and head to the service desk. My blood runs cold as I spot a familiar and petite blonde, her hands clasped in front of her. It’s Sydney and she’s not alone. Her younger brother glowers at me, towering menacingly above everyone else like some kind of overgrown schoolyard bully.
*Prison-yard bully,* my mind corrects, because he’s nearly eighteen and there’s not much I want more than for him to head straight to the clink*.*
“Can I help you?” I ask politely, even though my heart is hammering against my ribcage and the jittery feeling is making me want to be quite rude.
There’s no reason for my next-door neighbors to show up where I’m working and a tendril of rage threads through my anxiety. What in the hell do they think they’re doing harassing me here?
Stanley pokes me in the chest. “Why’d you take off with my sister on Sunday, Carl?”
“It’s Charlie,” Sydney murmurs.
Normally I’d feel touched that she’d correct her stupid brother for getting my name wrong, but I’m too shocked that they’re both here, confronting me in public at my workplace.
I glare at him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Stanley says louder, and this time Sydney’s face turns beet red and she shushes him.
“I didn’t say for sure,” she whispers, her gaze fixed to a spot on the floor. “His car was in the driveway when I got home. I just—”
“Cause he gave you something and dropped you off somewhere,” Stanley interrupts, so loudly that I swear everyone in the store must hear our conversation. “Right Becker?”
Well, he obviously knows my last name, at least. Something, inside me tells me that I should laugh, like we’re all joking around, so I do. It’s clear that they don’t have any real proof and that no one actually saw her in my car, or they wouldn’t be coming at me like this; they’d have gotten the police involved.
“Are you guys accusing me of something? Do I need a lawyer?” I ask in a very soft, joking manner. I’m so proud of myself for keeping a calm, unperturbed voice that I can’t help but smile.
Sydney shakes her head, still looking at the ground, and her frown deepens when her brother says, “Maybe.”
“Look. If you don’t want to wash my car, that’s fine. There’s no reason to come up with some elaborate story. I don’t really care.” I raise my voice when Stanley begins to interrupt me. “It’s been fun chatting guys, but my break isn’t for another hour.”
“We’ll go,” Sydney says, placing a hand on her brother’s arm. He already looks bored of the situation, probably disappointed that I didn’t rise to the bait and take a swing at him (if only so he had an excuse to pound me into the ground). “Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to go like this….” she tells me softly.
I shrug like I don’t give a toss and start to turn away when I hear her say, “Is it okay if I come by later to talk?”
“Yeah sure.”
It’s clear to me that the only way out of this mess is through it. If I keep pretending that I have no idea what happened with her on Sunday and that I have nothing to hide, then it will have to blow over sooner rather than later, right?
***
It’s funny that now that I’ve started to avoid Sydney, after all this time of desperately wanting her attention, that she’s enthusiastically and persistently started to seek me out. Even though I know I should face her head on, a part of me knows that the more time I put in between *The Drugging Event* and when we actually have our heart-to-heart, the more she’ll begin to doubt herself and the events that may or may not have happened.
I know that she thinks something may have happened. I know that she’s confided it all to her brother, of all people, at bare minimum. But I also know that because she confronted me with him in the store a few days ago, instead of with her parents or the police, that she truly doesn’t have any real clue, and that the ball is in my court.
So I drag out the big encounter with Sydney for the next few days, thankful that no one at *Everything Outlet* seemed to care about the scene, and continue taking on evening pizza deliveries, while also leaving extra early in the morning for my work-shifts. We never agreed to a time we’d meet anyway, and I want to make sure it’s on my terms, not hers.
I decide that Saturday will be the best time. I don’t have work that day, unless I want to deliver pizzas (and I don’t; I’m willing to quit entirely, as my car is on its last working limbs and doesn’t need the extra stress) and because my mom will be busy having a girl’s day with my sister.
As I expect, someone knocks on the door on Saturday morning, and when I answer it, I’m not surprised to see Sydney’s gorgeous face, wide-eyed and flushed, looking up at me.
“Hi,” she says, wringing her hands nervously. “I’m glad I finally caught you.”
I know she means this as: *you sure have been gone a lot*, but I don’t answer the accusation, merely greeting her with a pleasant, “Good morning. Would you like to come in?”
She looks like she wants to tell me no, by the way she’s twisting her hands, but she finally unclasps them and nods, following me inside like a half-frightened animal that’s determined to bravely face the lounging tiger.
Part of me wants to test if she’ll follow me into my bedroom, but I know that’s too risky, especially when I have the house all to myself anyway. I lead her into the living room and gesture to the couch. After she takes a seat, I sit in the lounge chair, off to the side, and remain silent.
Silence is a good tool, I’ve learned; it forces the other person to lay out their thoughts before you respond to them.
“I’m sorry for showing up at your work like that.” She laughs nervously, looking at me like she hopes I’ll tell her I forgive her or didn’t mind, but when I don’t say anything, she continues on quickly, “I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. It’s just that I don’t remember what happened after you told me we could wait to wash your car . . . and then when I got home, it was after church was already over, even though—”
She cuts herself off, blushing a becoming shade of pink while shaking her head. She clearly doesn’t know how to explain the situation to me—and I’m definitely not gonna help her.
“Even though what?” I ask.
“Well, you didn’t go to church and neither did I.”
“I went for a drive,” I admit. “I wasn’t feeling well enough to attend the service.”
“I didn’t go with you?” she asks timidly.
“No. Last I saw, you were walking back home, but I expected you to come back like we agreed….”
I make sure to let annoyance lace my tone so that she flushes again, but she merely stares at me, considering something.
“Are you sure?”
“Look, Sydney, I don’t know what you’re trying to imply.”
If she’s gonna accuse me of something, I want her to just come out with it. But I know she’s not brave enough, and that she must not really believe it, because she just shakes her head, her expression defeated.
“I just don’t get why I have a gap in time between when I last saw you and when I was back at my house,” she says finally.
“Are you sure you didn’t go visit a friend or something?”
I don’t really listen to her answer; I’m too busy contemplating that if I use the powder on her again, she’s definitely gonna have some kind of troublesome memory loss to deal with. I’ll have to plan it out really carefully and make sure it’s not as noticeable next time.
“I really don’t know,” I say, although I’m not sure what words I’m answering. “But if you just don’t want to keep your promise to wash my car, I don’t care about it anymore. There’s no need for all this.”
Her flush returns, but this time her face twists with anger. “It’s not that! I wouldn’t lie to get out of that!”
I shrug. It’s interesting that the less I look at her or seem interested in what she has to say, the more she seems to want my attention. The more she nearly demands to be heard and understood.
“Okay then,” I say, making sure the words sound like a dismissal.
I want her to think that I no longer care about her or her stupid excuses. She’s blown me off plenty of times before, and I’m sick of it. She should know that, at least.
“Do you still want me to wash your car?” she asks softly.
The sincerity and vulnerableness in her voice surprises me. I’m torn on what to say next, knowing that we’re doing some sort of weird dance, so I merely shrug again. I don’t want to give any validity to her concerns about me. I want to keep her unsure about my interest and intentions.
“I could do it now,” she offers.
“Fine. But I have plans and won’t be joining you.”
The hurt look she gives me fills me with a giddy warmth. It seems so easy to manipulate her now. It also seems like everything is finally blowing over. There’s just nothing left to say about it. It’s done. A distant not-memory (for her, at least).
I’ll just have to be more careful next time.
***
I take my time planning out my next attack. On the Saturday that she’d come over, Sydney had left my car’s exterior spotless and gleaming, even making sure to scrub the tires and undercarriage. I hadn’t even bothered to thank her, or seek her out for several weeks. I also hadn’t acknowledged her birthday (June 18th; she’d turned nineteen and had the usual gathering in her backyard—and okay, I snapped a couple secret phone pictures from my bedroom window, but nothing like last year), and I refrained from giving her more than a casual nod the times I saw her in passing.
No one spoke to me about that Sunday again and soon I was certain that it’d been mostly forgotten.
But just because I wasn’t paying attention to her actively, didn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about her constantly. I couldn’t help but replay the events in the park to myself each night, masturbating furiously as I remembered her large, tear-drop shaped tits and the way her nipples were mostly pale like the rest of her, only darkened by the slightest of pinks. I obsessed over the way she looked up at me as she sucked so obediently, slurping on my cock like it held a lifeforce she needed, and the way she swallowed every last drop of my cum, even as she gagged because I was in so deep, with her throat closing around my twitching erection.
Mostly, I can’t help but replay how she touched my lips as we parted methods. I hadn’t asked her to do it, and yet she’d shown me real intimacy. Like she might actually like me. Like she might actually enjoy my attention and the things I had made her do.
It’s with all those thoughts that I carefully decide on stealing her dog, Baxter—a Golden Retriever that she absolutely adores. As I restock shelves, at work, one morning, I methodically go over the plan in my head: *I’ll drug him so he’s docile and sleepy, then hide him in my room on one of the day’s mom goes out of town to visit her parents. Must coincide with a day her brother and parents are busy, too*. Part of me worries that this strange alignment of the stars will never be, but I overhear a few coworkers talking shit about Stanley, and how now that he’s turned eighteen he’s running off to live with Jeff Parker’s aunt—a woman in her mid-forties who apparently likes them young.
Later I understand that it’s all happening this weekend, and that my mom has decided that my grandparents need her to stay with them from Saturday afternoon until Sunday evening.
When Saturday rolls around, I watch from the kitchen window as Stanley and Sydney’s parents load her dad’s old truck full of stuff, wondering if Sydney will join them. There’s not enough room for four people in the truck—and Sydney doesn’t seem like the kind of person to help her brother move anyway. We’re both sort of the same in that way. Selfish.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?”
My mom’s voice makes me flinch and I turn around with a queasy smile, shaking my head.
“Papa and mema would really like to see you, you know.” She’s fussing with her purse and doesn’t seem to notice that I’m standing at the window like a weirdo. “They have extra guest rooms, Charles. Please come for once.”
“Sorry mom, I promised a friend I’d help them move.”
Her dark eyes snap to mine. “What friend?”
Shit. I hadn’t meant to say that, but with her pleading at me, I’d just spit out the first excuse that came to mind.
“Stanley’s moving out.” I jerk my head towards the window and front door. “I was just leaving to go help him.”
“I didn’t know you two were friends.” She purses her lips and then begins digging through her purse again. I watch her eyebrows shoot up as she says, “Ah-ha, found it!”, and then she shows me a little tube of lipstick, smiling.
“Congratulations,” I say, thankful that she’s momentarily distracted.
“Well, it’s nice of you to help out, I guess….” she says between swipes of painting her lips a dusky pink.
I realize that I actually have to go over there now and offer my help—or that it’ll both look weird and that I’ll have holes in my story. Fuck me. Stanley will definitely tell me to go fuck myself. Maybe Mr. and Mrs. Rosenblum will, too. Sydney might think it’s nice of me to offer though, especially because she doesn’t seem quite as cold to me anymore. Even going so far as to smile at me when I give her my aloof and casual nods….
Her smile at all times brightens my day, so I steel myself for the rejection from the other Rosenblum’s, anticipating that Sydney will at least be charmed by my helpful attempt, and hope that I can find out a way to stall over there until my mom leaves. I suppose I could come back and tell her they didn’t actually need my help . . . but then I’m gonna get stuck going off with her for the weekend, and I definitely can’t have that.
No. This weekend has to be for me and Sydney. I can’t wait any longer. I have to be inside her again, staring down at her gorgeous face while I explore her stunning body—her mouth, her tits, her pussy. I still haven’t seen her pussy yet, and I’m nearly rock hard thinking about how perfect it will be when I stroll up the Rosenblum’s drive.
Surprisingly, they don’t look pissed to see me.
“Charlie!” Mr. Rosenblum calls out, giving me a wave. “You come by to help us, son?”
I hope my face doesn’t show the shock that I feel. None of them have ever liked me, so why such a warm welcome, now?
“Yes, sir,” I call back.
Stanley doesn’t even scowl; he glances at me as I join him, and his father at the truck, and says, “Hey Carl”, before returning his attention to his phone.
He’s facetiming an older woman on what looks to be a brand-new device. I can tell it must be the aunt of my co-worker Jeff by the way Stanley is talking low and flirty with her. I wonder if she bought the new phone for him. Boy-toy privileges, I suppose.
“It’s Charlie,” I mutter. “How can I help?” I ask Mr. Rosenblum.
“Well, this old thing can’t hold anymore of Stanley’s shit.” He laughs and pulls a pack of cigarettes out of the front of his shirt pocket. “Mind helping us out with your car?”
Shit. I really don’t want to go with them as that totally defeats the point of being left here alone with Sydney.
“Car’s not running all that well,” I lie.
“I could take a look at it. Let’s give it a try,” Mr. Rosenblum insists.
We walk back to my car, beads of sweat gathering along my hairline with each step. The car is gonna begin just fine and I’m gonna look like a liar or an idiot. Mr. Rosenblum puffs on his cigarette and makes small talk about the weather. I think about just offering to let him take my car while Stanley takes the truck—but I have three of the white bags of powder in the glove box (with the fourth bag in my pocket). It’s just too risky. I begin the car with a surprised, “Huh, seems fine now,” and am thankful that Mr. Rosenblum doesn’t even acknowledge it. He just pops into the passenger’s seat and says, “Alright, I’m going to have Sydney ride with you after we load it up. She knows how to get there.”
My car’s gonna reek like cigarettes now, but I’m happy that at least Sydney will be with me on this hellish adventure that I’ve roped myself into. No good deed goes unpunished, and all that….
A half hour later and I’ve got a car full of Stanley’s sport cards and magazines. Who knew this kid collected so much shit? Weirdly, they didn’t seem to want me to go inside their house or help load up the car—and I still haven’t seen any sign of Sydney.
*That’s okay if you don’t want me in your home*, I think bitterly to myself, glaring at the back of Mr. Rosenblum’s head as he smokes another cigarette. *Soon I’ll be inside your daughter.*
I don’t know how I’m gonna carry out the plan now that we’re all going over to Stanley’s new place, but I’m certain I’ll find out something. Maybe we’ll “break down” and I’ll finger her virgin pussy while making her stroke me off. Maybe we’ll stop for gas and I’ll cum on her big tits in the station’s dirty bathroom. Maybe we’ll take a detour and I’ll fuck her tight ass in an alleyway somewhere.
I know all of these thoughts are just furious, horny thoughts and not very strategic or clever ones, especially when Sydney comes out of the house—looking stunning in a modest sundress with a cherry print—and Mr. Rosenblum says loudly, “Now don’t go getting lost, you two!”, while giving us both a smirk.
Fuck. What the hell’s that supposed to mean? I barely have time to worry about it when Sydney shoots me a radiant smile as she climbs into the passenger’s seat. My heart flutters. Is she wearing a little more make-up than usual? Her lips look glossier and redder than what her ordinary lip balm would do. I smile back, getting lost in her smoky eyes, realizing that she also applied more than just a little mascara. Was all of this because she knew she’d be hanging out with me? I breathe in her warm, clean scent—knowing that she must have just finished showering and doing herself all up—and am giddy the whole way over to Stanley’s new place, not knowing just how naïve and wrong I am.
***
“Is Jeff around?”
I hear Sydney’s whisper float out from the kitchen, and it cuts through me like a hot knife. She’s cornered Stanley’s sugar-momma, Linda, and I suddenly realize who she got all dolled up for. My co-worker. Jeff fucking *pump-and-dump* Parker.
Jealousy boils in my gut as I pretend not to have heard anything, still stacking boxes in one of the closets, and listen intently to Linda’s response.
“No sweety. He went upstate with some friends for the weekend.”
“Oh.” The disappointment in Sydney’s voice nearly tears me aside.
Who the fuck is Jeff to her? He’s nearly thirty, and even though he’s tall, jacked, and has that certain *All-American-Fuckboy* look that dumb girls go for, I’m shocked that someone as innocent as Sydney would ever notice a guy like him. Plus, he lives here with his aunt apparently (and now Stanley), like a complete penniless loser.
“I could let him know that you asked about him,” Linda says slyly, and I really want to punch her in the mouth, especially when Sydney giggles and says, “Okay.”
“Sydney, your daddy and I are taking off. We’re going to visit the Brenneman’s for a few hours. Would you like to come?”
“No thanks, mama.”
“Thanks for helping out, Charlie,” Mrs. Rosenblum tells me.
I’m so furious at Sydney that I barely manage to give her mom a polite nod and smile, slamming the next box into place with a little more force than needed. “No problem, ma’m.”
“Ma’m?” She pouts jokingly, flipping her blonde hair over one shoulder.
Sydney definitely got her good looks from her mom, but I’m too put out to play this game with her. I force out a, “Miss….”, anyway, ignoring her irritating titter, and wonder if Sydney’s gonna ride back with me or try to wait around for Jeff.
It doesn’t sound like he’ll be home today, but I’m still scared she’ll want to hang out here. I also really don’t know how to dismiss myself from this situation. Linda brings out a tray of fruity looking drinks and a platter of meats and cheeses.
“Sorry it’s not pizza and beer, but some of you aren’t of age,” she says as she passes me and heads for the living room’s coffee table.
“I should head out, too,” I mutter, listening to Mr. and Mrs. Rosenblum say their goodbyes to Stanley. “Think we got everything?”
“Yeah, thanks Carl,” Stanley calls out—and at this point I’m pretty sure he’s only calling me that because he thinks he’s funny, so I just shrug it off, and make my way to the front door.
“Sydney, your ride is leaving.” I hear Mr. Rosenblum tell her, and I smile when I hear her call out, “Oh, wait for me, please, Charlie!”
I’m glad I don’t have to ask her if she’s coming with me or not, but I still sort of hate her for the Jeff thing. I console myself; I don’t think they’ve done anything together yet. I’ll lose my mind if they end up hooking up or becoming a *thing*. I absolutely can’t wait any longer to use the powder on her again . . . I wonder if I can make her avoid him if I tell her to while she’s drugged up and obedient to me. Maybe it doesn’t work like that, but it’s worth a shot.
*At least I don’t have to kidnap her dumb dog now*, I jokingly sooth myself as we get back in the car.
We’re both silent as we drive home, although we’re both sulking for very different reasons. Well, I guess the main reason for both of us is Jeff, and that just pisses me off to think about, so I flip through the radio stations, one-handing the wheel, and try to focus on exactly how and when I should drug her.
The Rosenblum’s said they would be gone for a few hours. Whether it was an estimate or a literal timeframe given, I should still be very careful. I’ve already decided it would be best if the last thing she remembers is me dropping her off at her home. Last time I drugged her, she remembered starting to wash my car, but she didn’t remember me actually blowing the powder in her face, or anything for a couple of hours after. Clearly, I need to come up with a reason she might not remember a gap in time after, because she did realize there was a blank patch in her memory, and that really won’t do unless I want to risk getting caught.
“Sydney, I know it’s not really any of my business, but you should know that Jeff’s a tool.”
“You’re right,” she whispers as I pull in front of her house. “It’s really none of your business.”
I shrug even though I’m stung, because I’m just trying to lay the groundwork and seeds of doubt in her head right now anyway, and say, “Well, don’t say I didn’t warn you. He cheats on all his girlfriends and I’d hate to see that happen to you. Anyway, here we are.”
She frowns at me like she wants to argue and I internally smile, carefully digging the packet of powder out of my pocket. *That’s right, linger a little longer*, I think to myself as she opens and closes her red mouth. She’d painted herself up for fucking Jeff-the-manwhore, but it’s me who’s gonna get to kiss those ruddy lips and plough her virgin hole.
“Thanks for helping today,” she says, apparently deciding that arguing with me is pointless.
I smile and shrug, palming the powder before I say, “I think you dropped this at Linda’s….”
For a moment, I think I’ll see a flash of alarm in her bright blue eyes, but she just looks at me stupidly, completely unaware that these same events have already played out once before, and that she’s falling for the same type of lie. I covertly dump the powder into my palm, making it seem like it might be a small piece of jewelry or something, and then hold my hand out quickly, leaning forward and blowing before her eyes can focus on my offering.
She gasps sharply and inhales a face-full of little white particles, instantly doubling over and choking. I grab her long blonde hair and jerk her head back, wanting to watch the tears run down her pretty face.
*This is what you get you stupid whore*, I think to myself bitterly. *Trying to step out on me with Jeff? I don’t fucking think so.*
I know from last time that she’s not actually aware of what’s going on. She doesn’t speak, just coughs and fights to breathe, her face bright red and her wide eyes glazed with something that looks like tunnel vision.
“You’re okay,” I whisper to her as she tries to push at my arm, yanking her head back like a trapped animal. “Relax.”
She immediately slumps into her seat, her hands resting in her lap, her face drooping forward as I loosen my hold on her hair.
“Look at me,” I demand, and an electric thrill goes through me as she listens, tilting up her mascara streaked face, her watery eyes trained on mine.
“Have you and Jeff ever done anything together?” I ask, hating that my voice shakes a little.
She shakes her head, blue eyes blank and mindless. “No.”
“Good. He’s a bad man, Sydney. A very bad man. I want you to avoid Jeff Parker. Don’t give him any of your attention, okay?”
“Okay,” she whispers dutifully.
The way she just agrees with me sends a heady rush of power into my brain. This high is better than any I could get by doing drugs myself, and I want more and more of it. I want my gorgeous neighbor to hang off my every word, at all times. I want her to gaze at me with an open eagerness, awaiting to fulfill all my needs and give me mind-blowing pleasure. I want to know that I—and only I—can have her nubile body spread out before me like an all-you-can eat buffet, except I’ll be the one feeding her every last drop of my cum. I want everything with her and more, forever, but will gleefully take the present moment over nothing.
I pull the car back out of her drive and fight back the urge to speed quickly into my drive. Hopefully, none of the neighbors are watching us, but if they are, I’m determined to make the next few minutes as boring and unremarkable as efficient. I park the car with a careless ease, opening my door to get out like I’m in no hurry, and instruct Sydney to follow behind me casually. I don’t look back at her as she obeys me, only listening to her footsteps with my heart thundering so loudly that the sounds blur together. Fuck, we’re so close, and if anything happens to stop us from going through the front door, I’m gonna drop kick someone.
“Here we are,” I say pleasantly as I nervously jiggle the keys in the lock.
God, is the door fucking stuck or what? Why isn’t it opening? I realize that I’ve put the wrong key in the hole and take a deep breath. *Don’t blow this, idiot*, I tell myself as I carefully concentrate on finding the right key (I only have a few of them on my keychain; this shouldn’t be difficult).
I let us in and whisper for her to follow me, carefully locking the door behind us before I lead us to my bedroom. It doesn’t matter if I have the entire house to myself; this time I want her in my bedroom, naked and beneath me in my bed.
I’m nearly hyperventilating by the time we get there, so I take a seat on my bed and just stare at her for a few long moments. She’s so goddamn pretty that it stops my panting short. Her long blonde hair falls over her shoulders like a golden waterfall, and she’s got a red hairband in it to keep it out of her face. The band matches the red cherries on her white dress and accentuates her red lips. Striking blue eyes gaze back at me, ever patient and demure, looking almost wanton with the extra black she’d lined them with (*for Jeff*, my internal thoughts whisper meanly to me). It’s then that I look down at her shoes and realize she’s wearing red heels. I’ve never seen her in colored pumps before, and the sight makes me flush hot and cold all at once.
She must have bought the fucking shoes in anticipation of seeing Parker….
“Pull down the front of your dress,” I demand, letting the anger push me forward.
When she listens, my body relaxes a bit, and I think: *Oh, thank fuck, her bra’s still white*. She didn’t buy lingerie for the fucktard at least; she’d only dolled up to draw his initial interest. Still, I don’t think I’ll let it pass and be as gentle with her as I’d originally planned.
“Off with the bra, too.”
I’m not even hard yet because thinking of Jeff is ruining this for me, but when she peels her bra away her magnificent tits temporarily make me forget his name. They sway with her movement, pulling my eyes to them like cream-colored magnets, the nipples puckered and pale and perfect—just awaiting my willing mouth.
“Come let me suck on them,” I whisper, my erection springing to life as Sydney approaches, her tits shifting with each step and a heady waft of sweetness hitting me square in the face, just before her warm flesh presses into me. “Mmm….” I groan, licking and biting and leaving little purple-red marks all over her chest.
Her soft whimpers excite me even more, and I lave each of her nipples with my tongue, realizing that her breath hitches even further with each wet caress, and start to trail my hands up her knees and thighs.
“Show me your pretty pussy, Sydney.”
I pull away slightly as she lifts the front skirt of her dress, examining her modest underwear with satisfaction—(*again, not for anyone but me to see*)—and groan as she pulls the side of the fabric away to expose the plump mound of her outer pussy lips. There’s soft downy hair curled there, and that pleases me even more, knowing that she didn’t shave in the expectation that anyone would be seeing it.
It’s only for me. It’ll only ever be for me.
“Pull your panties down, keep your skirt over your hips.” I stand and move behind her, deciding that even though she didn’t plan for Jeff to see her yet, she still wanted him to see her eventually, so I’m gonna fuck her like he would, standing and bent over like some back-alley whore.
The wondered turns me on so much that I leak pre-cum and make a spot on the front of my jeans. She looks so hot with her white panties hobbled around her ankles, a flag of surrender atop her slutty red heels.
“Bend over and spread your ass open for me.”
I want to see everything—all her secret and most vulnerable places. She’s a very careful and good girl as she uses her arms to hold her dress over her hips like I’d told her to, while bending and using her hands to grip her perfectly rounded ass. Her delicate rosebud of an asshole winks at me enticingly, and then my eyes drop to her glistening slit. It looks sealed up tight and very pink, and my cock lurches so hard in anticipation that I nearly sway where I stand.
“Oh,” I groan, reaching out to touch the slick petals and feel Sydney’s internal heat.
I ease the tip of a finger into her, feeling her pussy squeeze around it like a vice, and groan again. I can’t wait anymore. I’m gonna jizz in my pants if I don’t take her right here, right now, with her ass in the air and me draped over her like an animal. I rip down my jeans without caring if I damage them, shoving my boxers just far enough down to let my cock spring free, and grab Sydney’s slender waist.
*This is it*, my mind blares as I grip right behind my cockhead and guide myself into her.
She might not be wet enough to take me easily, but I’m dribbling pre-cum, and pleasure lances through me as slick, tight heat enfolds my tip, a little cry escaping her as I break through her virgin seal and keep pressing in. I can’t stop. I won’t stop. Not until I’m buried balls deep and crushing her against me.
“God, you feel so fucking good,” I tell her as I come to a shuddering stop, my cock swelling and stretching her further and further.
I give a shaky thrust, enjoying her sharp exhalation as I hit somewhere solid and deep, and then I wrap my arms around her and really start to move. One of my hands finds her throat and the other grips one of her heavy breasts, squeezing firmly—like I imagine Jeff would—as I fuck the last of her innocence away.
The scent of our sex jackhammers into my brain as I slam into her. My toes curl in my boots as ecstasy rips through me, and I knock Sydney off her feet and land on top of her on my bed, still thrusting madly as my cock spasms and my vision turns bright.
“Oh fuck,” I groan, pinning her petite body beneath mine as I flood her young, fertile pussy with my cum.
There are no thoughts or cares in my mind about getting her pregnant, only the mindless drive to fill her with my seed, and the throbbing bliss of finally claiming her, of finally reaching an ultimate and primal satisfaction.
I keep thrusting as she gasps and trembles under me, draining every lost drop and drawing out my pleasure. It’s probably not hurting her too much in her mindless state, anyway, and it feels too good to stop.
“You made me do this,” I whisper to her. “You made me need you like this….”
I don’t know why I’m telling her all these things, but I think she should know.
“You drove me insane nearly every day. Why were you always so mean to me when I tried so hard to be nice to you? To make you like me?” I slump against her, my cock softening in the wet mess of her that I’ve made. “You deserve this Sydney Rosenblum. You deserve *me*—because I’m the only one who really loves you.”
*And the only one who worships you,* I think to myself, but somehow that seems like a little too much to say, even when we are tied together like this.
I pull away from her, sliding free with a wet plop, and then I roll her over to look at her reddened face. Her eyes look a little wet and glassy, like she’d teared up at some point, and I look down and notice a few smears of blood on my flaccid cock. Maybe it had hurt a bit, taking her virginity so roughly, but she’d driven me to it.
“Will you suck your virgin’s blood off me, after I hold you for a while?”
Warmth suffuses my chest as she nods at me and says, “Yes.”
She’s such a perfect angel like this—such a perfect slut. *My angel, and my slut,* my mind corrects as I curl my body around hers. I let myself casually play with her tits, gently massaging them in apology for marking them up so much, and think about how next time I take her I’ll be much gentler. I’ll take my time and do it right, holding her like a lover would and kissing her while I rock into her, like a proper boyfriend or husband would. Next time I won’t make her gasp in pain or tear up. Next time I’ll really cherish her like she deserves. Next time will be absolutely wonderful for both of us, I decide, but for now I’ll just hold and kiss her until I get hard again, and then I’ll make her clean me up with her mouth, until I dump another load down her throat.
After that, I’ll make her clean up really well in the shower, and then go home and take a long nap. ‘You’re very tired’ I’ll say, ‘from helping Stanley move. Remember how exhausted you were and how you just went home to sleep after I dropped you off.’
That should be enough to ensure she doesn’t have any pesky memory problems that she wants to talk to me about. That should be enough to ensure that I don’t have to worry too much about getting caught. And most of all, that should ensure that my next time is worry free; perhaps I’ll even use more than one bag of powder on her so I can keep her with me longer.
—————-
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