Jennie, Part 2 or Ass-Smashin’ Creed Origins [MF]

It wasn’t yet 5 a.m. on Christmas Eve when my phone rang.

“Mom got called-in. Do whatever you want with that information.”

Jennie answered the door wearing nothing but a pair of red and white striped panties, and pulled me in. It hadn’t closed behind me before she was tearing at my jeans like an excited child unwrapping their biggest present. She didn’t even let me get my shoes off, and I ended up chasing her down the hallway, penguin waddling with my pants around my ankles, almost tripping on a laundry basket. She was wide-eyed and giddy when we made it to her room.

“I’ve wanted you so bad,” she half-moaned as she shimmied out of her panties. I knew they were already wet.

“So, is that my Christmas present?” I said, unable to resist the cheap joke.

“We’ll see, I’m still thinking about what to get you,” she replied, pensively raising her finger to her lip.

She sat on the edge of the bed as she had done on our first night together, and watched me strip. I wanted to be sexier for her, but I trundled through it like I was in the locker room at school. She laughed when I had trouble getting my socks off and I felt just a bit self-conscious.

I stopped for a moment, and took everything in. Diluted morning sun filtered through the blinds, mixing with the red glow of her bedside lamp. I stood before her, fully nude, hardening by the second despite the chill. (To be young again…) Her hair was pulled back exposing a chest and arms speckled with goosebumps. I was captivated by the tiny shadows they cast across across the landscape of her gently heaving breasts. Her nipples could have cut glass.

She casually opened her legs and beckoned me with a curled finger, flashing me that trademark grin. I gripped my cock by the base and kneeled against the bed. But, when I lowered my hips and took aim, she stopped me, placed her hand on my head, and pushed down.

“Show me what else that tongue can do,” she cooed in her best pornstar voice. She’d obviously been practicing that line.

(During editing, I hated how crude the following sounded. Words like “pussy”, “clit”, etc., they really didn’t do it justice. But, I’m a hack writer, so I went with flower similes instead. If you don’t like it, then you can lick Albert’s sweaty perineum. Or mine, if you prefer. I won’t tell.)

I took a knee and gazed at her delicate blossom. It was even more wonderful in the light: perfectly pink, serene, glistening dew already visible. I realized she had probably started while I made the long drive over. She laid back and parted her legs, offering herself to me, then draped them over my shoulders, bending at the knees, and used her calves to pull me in. I closed my arms around her thighs, and went to work.

Wordlessly, I kissed the inside of her thigh, licked along the path to her outer lips until my tongue ran dry, then repeated for the other side.  There was a faint aroma of shaving cream and I remember thinking, “How considerate”. I kissed under her belly-button, then the edge of where her pubic hair would have been if she weren’t freshly shaved. I teased and teased and she ran both hands through my hair, hips softly gyrating, trying to unite her flower with my open mouth.

Finally, I worked my tongue around, then into, her velvet petals. She tasted sweet and subtle and not at all as I expected. She moaned, faintly at first, then picked up intensity as I circled with my tongue, pushing it into her, licking the soft folds, stopping to suck on her tender, hidden bud. I did everything I could think of until she groaned, pulled my hair hard, and closed her powerful legs around me. Too hard. I grunted and looked up angrily as her thighs crushed my head.

“Sor…sorry,” she said, panting, then she pulled me back in.

I tended her garden until my face was soaked in nectar. (Christ that’s a cheesy way to say it, but fuck it.) I think she came twice, each time beginning with rising moans and increasingly violent tugs on my hair, followed by rapid *squeaks* and shudders, and then finally a vigorous convulsion accompanied by her twisting and pulling the comforter under her as hard as she could.

My face was numb by the time she let me go, and I crawled into bed next to her. She kissed me furiously, savoring herself, but I could hardly feel it. (I honestly still wonder if girls like their own taste, or just know we think it’s hot…) She lay in my arms for a while, neither of us wanting to abandon the other’s warmth.

“Did you like your gift?” she asked. I watched her eyelids flutter, trying to peak at my reaction.

“That’s all I’m getting?!” I complained.

“Ugh! Fine!” she sat up with feigned anger, “I guess it wasn’t good enough.”

“No, no, I’m fine with whatever,” I smiled and raised my open hands above my head, “but it IS Christmas, after all.” I loved playing these little games with her.

She looked down at me for a moment that stretched out too long.

“What are we?” she asked.

Uh oh.

“What do you want to be?” I copped out, still riding the high, but plummeting by the second.

“I don’t know,” she stood up and grabbed a t-shirt off the floor, “something, I guess.” 

I was annoyed by the sudden dramatics and lack of reciprocation, but I suppressed my indignation and asked, “Want to get some food, and we can figure it out?”

We had brunch at a twenty-four hour burger joint. We complained about people having to work on Christmas Eve while being those cunts who enabled it. We went to an early movie. We made out in said movie. I made an older woman in our row uncomfortable by maintaining eye contact when she looked at us judgementally. And finally, we rushed home before her mom got too worried about her unannounced day on the town. It was a good day.

Her mom was home when we got back, microwaving a frozen meal in the kitchen. She looked wrecked. I had serious respect for the woman, even though it seemed like bullshit given that I was fornicating with her only child. (The one she was working so hard to support. By herself. Fuckin’ hell. Let’s get back to it before I feel worse.)

Jennie introduced us, and her mom was polite but wary. I wasn’t sure how much she knew about Jennie’s sex life, but I’m sure it was enough. We talked for a while — small talk about Christmas day plans, where I was from, how I knew Jennie. Her awareness of Jennie’s promiscuity may have been revealed when she went to bed, departing with a warning to “Keep it down.” Or she was just tired. I didn’t know.

Sunset came and the trailer grew colder. Jennie and I talked some more and cuddled on the couch under a blue velour blanket, letting the end of a shitty Hallmark movie play in the background. She saw that “How the Grinch Stole Christmas” was coming on soon on and got excited, laughing and reminiscing about how it was her favorite Christmas show, and how she watched it with her dad every year before he walked out. Her honesty and vulnerability were poison to me, and I began to hate her father in the same childish and irrational way I hated Albert.

“I have to go soon,” I said when the Grinch’s heart grew three sizes.

“Noooooo”, she whined, and snuggled in tighter. I gave in. We stayed there like that for a while, acting like a normal couple who weren’t just fucking. I liked it.

She looked up from my lap, rose, and kissed me. Just a peck. “I still have something else to give you,” she declared, suddenly flirtatious. She flipped over, scooted down, and started undoing my belt.

I tried to protest and stand up so we could take it to her room, but she lunged and pressed me back into the corner of the couch.

“You open your gift here or not at all, mister.” She was incorrigible.

Was this really going to happen in her living room? With her mom no more than thirty feet away?

“Right here?” I asked, trying not to let my voice quaver.

“Shut up, and help me get these off.”

I helped her pull down my jeans and boxers together, releasing my pressurizing manhood. It flopped up into the cold room and she giggled in the way I had quickly grown to love. Then she pulled the blanket over us and sank down to give me my gift.

I felt her lips engulf my cock. The blanket bobbed up and down at my waist, the air within  heating up with her every trapped breath. Her head worked up, down, around — a machine of flesh built to work on three axes. She went after the tip for a while, and then lower and longer until I felt her gag. She took a sharp breath and moaned loudly. Too loud, I thought. We weren’t exactly being subtle and I was both terrified and aroused at the idea of being caught by her mother. But she didn’t stop sucking, slurping, gagging, jerking, trying to force my cock deeper into her throat and failing. Hitting the wall at the back felt incredible. Once, she paused at the tip for a breath. I grabbed her head through the blanket and thrusted, gently, but hard enough to repay her for my earlier treatment. She choked again and coughed, throwing the blanket to the side and glaring at me.

“You fucking dick!” she sputtered.

I nearly came when I saw her, eyes watery, lips glistening with saliva, dollar store mascara running down her cheeks. I had discovered a new fetish.

“Just tell me when,” she demanded, and went back to work, this time in the open. I glanced at the corner where her mom would emerge at any second and see her only child on her worn, floral-print couch, sucking some strange boy’s dick.

Her head bobbed faster and faster and I began to swell under the assault. She continued trying to fit me into the back of her throat, choking and drooling all over me. I felt myself going over the edge and tapped her shoulder. She removed my cock from her mouth with a final pull of her lips, still teary-eyed, nose running, black streaks under her eyes. She was a gorgeous mess. Her hands worked up and down, slowly jacking me off, tantalizing, gripping as hard and she could, until finally my engorged purple cock couldn’t take it anymore. I involuntarily arched my back and blasted rope after rope of sticky white cum all over her hands and myself, grunting noisily, no longer worried about being covert.

“Good boy,” she said after I stopped groaning, obviously satisfied with herself.

I was still panting when she inspected my cooling semen, holding it up to the light and running it across her knuckles like a gangster with a quarter.

“Hmm,” she said curiously, then leaned down and sucked the last drop from the tip of my still-firm erection.

She smiled and made a show of cleaning her lips with her finger, accidentally smearing cum across her chin in the process.

I was obsessed with her, this brazen whore. My own personal Mary Magdalene, without the inconvenience of salvation.

But, Jennie and I weren’t meant for each other, at least not romantically. We burned too hot, too fast. I saw her a few days later at Rob’s New Year’s party, where she was again hanging on Albert’s arm. We shared a few knowing glances, and that was enough for me. I got my New Year’s kiss from Alexis of The Group, who groped my ass and tasted like whiskey and desperation. She tried to take me to Rob’s extra room, but I refused.

Rob and I got into a bitter, but thankfully private, argument about me making him lie to his friend about taking Jennie home. I made it worse when I called him and his friends a “bunch of pedo enablers” for ignoring the Albert/Jennie thing for so long. We played nice for the rest of the night, but didn’t speak for nearly a week. (Fucker knew I was right.)

Jennie and I remained friends, talking on the phone quite often into the wee hours. But, she ultimately decided that Albert’s steady income and saggy balls were more alluring than dating a guy her own age. She also continued to cheat on him, and I know this because she told me all about each one, sometimes in graphic detail. We were comfortable.

My first serious fling was over. I wasn’t pleased with that when the realization came, but I accepted it. I know none of what we did was groundbreaking or kinky beyond belief, but as a fresh eighteen year old, it was the most formative experience of my sexual life, and I couldn’t stop thinking about finding another one like her.

I was blooming, hard, and it went **so** far beyond the typical hyper-libido of the average eighteen year old male. 

I often caught myself rock-hard, fantasizing about almost every girl (and some guys) I saw: The chunky bookish girl with breasts large enough to warrant a medically necessary reduction. My thirty-something department store coworker who’d grown comfortable with her appearance and quit trying, but was still totally hot. A classmate’s mom who hugged me a little too long when I came over to work on a project. Some fifty-something woman at the grocery store handling phallic produce. The girl who worked at Subway I wanted to bend over the prep area. Even my best friend since kindergarten, Mary, thought I was delusional when I asked her if she’d ever had impure thoughts about me. (She had.)

Jennie had been my first hit of sexual heroin and the withdrawls were agonizing. I desperately wanted that excitement back. I wanted to fuck all the time. More than anything, I wanted to see how far I could take the addiction.

I devoted myself to a personal creed, not disimilar from most boys my age: Fuck everyone you can, anyone who wants you. Be persistent, not pushy. Be flexible with your choice of lover, and learn to find pleasure in the non-traditional. Move on when it stops being fun. Don’t be a dick.

If girls like Jennie could get away with being shameless sluts, why couldn’t boys like me?

I lived by that creed for years, having filthy, unrepentant, casual sex with anyone who took my fancy and would have me. I remember them all in the same explicit detail, like artifacts a curator studies every day for a lifetime.

I can’t wait to tell you all about them.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/f0e72p/jennie_part_2_or_asssmashin_creed_origins_mf