“Come on Ashlee, just touch it,” he said in a voice that sounded like the perfect mix of both ordering and begging me. It was the first moment in which I realized that I held some of the power. Leading up to this point, I was following him, mesmerized by the fact that I was gaining the attention of the most popular boy in the entire school, the star quarterback who had the attention of newspapers.
I was just a freshman. I didn’t just have a pair of amazing boobs; from the moment I walked through the school gates, I realized I had the biggest and most enticing tits of any girl in the entire school. I caught the attention of every human being around; from the older boys, to the teachers and faculty, to the jealous girls, to all of the coaches. The whole place knew me, but I didn’t know the power I had
Earlier in life, around people my age, I was kind of the Queen Bee, but I wasn’t a bitch about it. Everyone was nice to me and my classmates seemed to really enjoy hanging out with me. This changed for a short while when I entered high school where I was surrounded by students that were older than me. I may have still had the best pair of tits, but I was no longer the only girl with “big” tits anymore.
The older girls definitely wore more revealing clothes than what I had known in middle school, probably because they generally had more to show off. The boys had muscular arms exploding out of their shirt sleeves and more powerfully built chests, they were more like men than boys.
That night, out with my girlfriends, the quarterback pulled up in his jet black mustang, Guns N’ Roses’ blaring from the sound system, sporting the shiniest rims I’ve ever seen.. I thought he was the coolest, most macho male I had laid eyes on. I wanted more than anything to have him look at me. That turned out to be easier than I thought. Years later he admitted to me that he arrived on the scene when he did because he had noticed me previously and didn’t just happen by when he did.
Over the next hour he pursued me, talked impressively about his life, dangling an implicit invitation for me to become a part of it. He knew I was nervous, but made me feel comfortable with his unassuming approach that gradually shifted towards gentle caresses with my barely realizing it. Eventually he asked me if I wanted to listen to some tunes in his car. He assumed that I knew that meant at least making out, if not a whole lot more. I felt confident enough in the situation that I joined him in his car. That’s what led to him begging and ordering me to “just touch it.”
I did a lot more than touch it. It was so big, so beautiful, and so impressive. I wanted to do more than just touch it. I wanted to take it between my lips and worship it. I wanted his cock more than I wanted him. I wanted to close my eyes and feel the warm pulsating power rubbing against my face. I was so ready to give in when his begging made me realize that he had already given in and I was in control.
I reached for it, wrapped my fingers around it and just felt it for a moment. Then I began jerking it. He moaned loudly, encouraging me to move my hand faster. Within moments his breathing was like someone who just finished a long sprint. I watched as his cock tensed up and then a fast rope of white cum exploded out of it.
This is a story about me. And as much as I love telling it to you, I love creating new stories about us.
Call me babe…
It’s story time.
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