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Who's The Boss?

Sometimes these college boys need a poke

I was terribly upset.

In the week since I’d lost my virginity, the boy of my dreams could barely be bothered to ring me. I didn’t understand why he wanted to spend time with his college friends when he could have been spending it with me.

I felt rejected and used.

He’d been so attentive and lovely right up to the time I’d let him stick his cock in my special place… and then I’d barely seen or heard from him. I’d never felt closer to anyone in my entire life and here he was ignoring me.

I’m not ashamed to say that it hurt.

A lot.

***

 

I had a Saturday job helping out at the local charity shop, although I wasn’t feeling very charitable and had spent a miserable morning throwing various dirty bits of clothing around.

“What’s wrong, love?” Mrs. Attenborough asked. I told her about Mike through my tears.

“I thought it might be boy trouble,” she said. “What is it you want?”

“Erm. I…” I wanted him to want to have sex with me again.

“You want him to fuck you, is that it?”

“I… erm.” I looked at Mrs. Attenborough with wide eyes. That was exactly what I wanted.

“I might be old and crusty, my dear. But I know a thing or two about boys. Let me borrow your phone. I’ll send him something that will have him begging.”

“Begging? Begging for what?”

“Begging to have sex with you. Teenage boys are so silly.” Mrs. Attenborough took my phone and started tapping away with her wrinkled fingers. “At least in my day they didn’t have access to all this internet pornography. It clouds their simple minds. There, that should do it.”

***

“There’s someone here to see you,” Mrs. Attenborough said. “Someone with a big bunch of flowers and a lot of making up to do,” she said, giving Mike a very stern look. “You’re not worth it, in my opinion,” she said, casting her critical eye over Mike. “But those are nice flowers.”

Mike was already looking very sheepish. Mrs. Attenborough’s comment made him hide behind the biggest bunch of flowers I’d ever seen. He was shifting about uncertainly, clearly unsure what he was supposed to do. It was as though he’d been told that flowers were required but didn’t actually know what to ‘do’ with them.

It was the first time anyone had bought me flowers. I’d didn’t really know what to do with them either. Mrs. Attenborough snatched them. “I’ll go and put these in some water. You two… well…” she said, giving me a private smile. “Don’t do anything I haven’t done.”

I was scared as the door clicked shut, leaving me alone with Mike. I didn’t know what to say, so I just kissed him.

He didn’t kiss back; he just stood there woodenly.

However, part of him did respond and I felt his thing swell and grow: that was normal, it happened every time I touched him. The difference was, I knew what it was for and what it felt like inside me.

I wanted it inside me and quickly had him pinned against the wall. He was now kissing me back, trying to keep up, but it wasn’t enough.

There was a primal urge.

Perhaps people would call it make-up sex. Well, it was the first time I’d felt that compulsion. All I knew was that I was desperate to have him inside my body again. That need was powerful and scary but exciting. For the first time, I was sexually out of control.

I undid his flies to get at his erection and once I had it in my hand, I dragged Mike so that I could perch on the table. My crotch was at the perfect height and as my skirt rode-up, I spread my thighs around his waist.

His thing was hot and hard in my hand, between my legs, and the only thing that was stopping me from pulling it straight inside me were my undies. I pulled the gusset to one side… and Mike pulled away, looking scared. “What’s wrong?”

“I…”

“I don’t care. Just fuck me, please?” I thrust my hips towards him just as he pushed forward. It went in straight away and it felt amazing.

I let-out a massive groan, completely forgetting that there was a shop-full of charitable shoppers on the other side of the door.

The door opened and Mrs. Attenborough moved into the room and closed the door behind herself. “Don’t mind me,” she said to a terrified-looking Mike.

Mrs. Attenborough removed her thick glasses (perhaps they had steamed-up) and took a long hard look at Mike’s cock… and my pussy. Her eyes were most definitely fixed at groin level.

“Don’t stop on my account,” she said, with a noticeable menace in her voice. “You’ve got some making up to do, my boy.” Mike looked at me helplessly but he started thrusting.

To my surprise, I found that I actually liked her watching; I pulled my skirt up and opened my legs a little wider, so she had a better view of what was going on… and I began to perform, emphasizing my gasping and the wriggle of my body.

Mike began to hammer into me, perhaps eager to get the experience over with. I didn’t think it was possible for a man to do it so fast – he was almost a blur. And yet unbelievably, I wanted him to go faster and harder.

It had hurt the first time we had sex.

Well, it didn’t hurt this time: it felt brilliant.

I was so slippery that everything was wonderfully smooth and easy. I could feel my vagina stretching around his cock and then suddenly it felt really odd. There was a tickling kind of a fluttery heat which made it quiver and after a moment’s pause, it spasmed.

My whole body arched in agonised ecstasy. It wasn’t like when I played with my clitoris. There had been no warning at all, no build-up of tension – it just happened. It was also a deeper, more satisfying pleasure – like comparing a garden firework with a display model – it kind of felt the same but was bigger and better in every way.

Mike grunted his own delight and I felt his pitiful popping climax as a series of spurts. “Well, well, well,” Mrs. Attenborough said. “That goes some way to apologising to the girl, I suppose. But you will be taking her out for dinner?”

“Yes, yes,” Mike muttered, trying to preserve his modesty.

“Boys,” Mrs. Attenborough, muttered. “You have to show them who’s the boss.”

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