Turning My Innocent Neighbor Into A Cumslut [m/f] [Str8] [drugs] [nc]

Disclaimer: This is a work of erotic mind control fiction with elements of coerced sexual activity; all characters are 18+

**TURNING MY INNOCENT NEIGHBOR INTO A CUMSLUT: BOOK 1**

“Go away, Charlie.”

The way my next-door neighbor says my name is like a swearword and it stings. It never matters if I’m trying to help the ungrateful brat, or if I desperately need help myself (such as last Monday my car wouldn’t start, and Sydney couldn’t even be bothered to borrow her dad’s jumper cables, so I was thirty minutes late to work); she always treats me like shit, even though I’ve done nothing to deserve it.

I glare up at her from the bottom of her porch steps and mutter, “I just thought you’d like to know your dog is running off down the street.”

“What? No, he’s not!” She rushes past me to check the back gate, which I know she’ll find ajar, seeing as it was the second thing I noticed after witnessing her Golden Retriever book it down the road.

“Shit!” She runs down the gravel drive barefoot, and then begins screaming his name into the wind. “Baxter! Baxter?”

“That’s not going to do any good!” I call after her, knowing that I shouldn’t care and that I shouldn’t help—it’s not like she’d ever do the same for me—but I’m a nice guy, what can I say? I don’t want her stupid dog to get run over or anything. And for some reason I still want her to like me. “We can take my car and find him together, if you want….” I offer softly as I come up behind her.

She’s crying now, her blue eyes wide with panic as she scans the empty street. Her mouth twists in distaste and I can tell she wants to tell me she doesn’t want to go with me, but I also know that she loves her dog (I often watch her and Baxter playing in their backyard from my bedroom window—and I even have a grainy video on my phone of her grooming and cuddling him). Even with her tears making dark rivulets of mascara run down her pale face, she’s stunningly beautiful, and my breath catches in my throat as she nods slowly at me and whispers, “Okay.”

“Great! Give me one moment and I’ll pull around.”

I rush over to my driveway and dig my car keys out of my front pocket. It’s just an old Geo Metro, but unlike Sydney, at least I can afford to drive a car. Not many in our rundown neighborhood can say the same. Really, she’s lucky to have a friend like me—even if she’s not so keen on the us being friends part.

It only takes me a minute to pull the car up to her and I watch as she hesitates to open the door. “Hop in!” I call to her impatiently; the windows are rolled up but I know she can hear me. “Before Baxter gets too far away!”

Like an unwilling horse, my threat spurs her forward. The door makes a hideous noise as she wrenches it open, and then she leaps into the car, her sobs growing louder as she buckles herself in. I never knew she was such a crier. It’s kind of off-putting, really.

“It’ll be okay,” I say softly to her.

I think briefly about reaching out and patting her bare knee. The skin looks smooth and tanned and tantalizing, just peeking out from the hem of her long, modest skirt—but I know she’d probably take offense to my soothing gesture, so I don’t, instead putting my car into gear and going in the direction I saw her dog running in about fifteen minutes before.

“I didn’t mean to leave the stupid gate unlocked. He must’ve pushed into it or something—I swear I closed it.”

She sounds like she’s talking mostly to herself in a sort of frenzy, but I hum at her in acknowledgement, because I’d want someone to do the same for me. I can be a very good listener, and it’d be nice if she learned that sooner rather than later.

“It’s really Stanley’s fault. If he hadn’t gotten into a fight at school today mama wouldn’t have made me mind him while she went grocery shopping. Why do I always have to make sure he stays home when he’s grounded? He’s only a year younger than I am and—well, you’ve seen him! It’s not like I could stop him if he wanted to leave.”

I try to keep the scowl off of my face at the mention of *Stanley*—Sydney’s cunt of a younger brother who calls me, “That weird, stalker looking guy”. Although he’s only seventeen and I’m twenty-two, the kid outweighs me by at least thirty pounds and towers over me by a good few inches. He’s a monstrous hulk of worthlessness and I wish he’d get locked away in prison where he belongs.

I would never admit to any of that though, so I just say, “Man, that’s not right.”

“I know!” Sydney exclaims, and a rush of warmth spreads through me.

This must be the first time she’s ever agreed with me and damn it feels nice. I accelerate a little faster because I think I see a golden blob up in a patch of trees ahead, and I want to carry her goodwill into gratitude by finding her dog soon, if it’s possible.

“I think I see him, just up there….”

She bounces in her seat, practically shouting, “Yes! Yes, I think so!”, and a waft of something fruity and sweet hits me like a truck. Is that her shampoo or just how she smells?

Her scent and excitement makes the warmth turn into a brilliant heat. I gaze at her bright smile and something in my chest tugs so hard that I have to stop myself from wrapping an arm around her and pulling her into a hug. She’s not looking at me though. She’s looking out the window. She’s looking at her dog chewing a stick as he rolls in a grassy patch by the side of the road. I stop the car and blow out a long breath.

“What a naughty boy,” she croons as she opens the car door and unbuckles her seatbelt.

Blood rushes to my groin at those words, and I close my eyes for a moment, wishing that she’d said them to me—wishing her face flushed with the same excitement she’s showing at having found her dog for me. I try not to stare at her nicely rounded ass as she leans over and pets Baxter. She carefully takes his collar in one of her slim hands—*God, don’t think about her touching you like that*, my mind whirs—and I cover my erection with one arm as she turns to get back into the car.

“Tight fit,” I say with forced casualness as she puts the passenger seat forward and guides her dog into the back. “I’ll just squeeze back here with him.”

“Sure.” I hope my voice doesn’t sound disappointed as she leaves the seat forward and smooshes herself into the back with the dog.

I can still sneak glances at her from the rearview mirror—especially now that she’s distracted, and that’s enough to put a smile on my face as I slowly drive them back home. Her white blouse is a little dirty, I notice, and it’s probably from hugging the dog. It’s conservative, like her skirt, with a high neckline and short sleeves that cover her shoulders, but her large breasts are hard to hide, even though I’m sure she wears a very supportive and modest bra.

Thinking about her bra isn’t helping my erection go down, but I can’t help it. I wonder if it’s white or cream or nude colored. I can’t imagine her wearing any other underwear color than those—although she’d definitely look good in red, with her long blonde hair and sapphire blue eyes . . . Well, honestly she’d look good in anything, but I’ve often imagined her in red, lacy things, with her lips painted crimson instead of barely brushed with clear gloss, and her eyelids rimmed in smoky black, instead of just sporting the barest hint of mascara.

She’d make a hot slut, yet I’m also really glad she’s not like that, because I’m sure if she wasn’t such a good-girl I wouldn’t waste my time trying to get to know her.

“Thanks for helping me find Baxter,” she says softly as I pull up to her house. She chews on the bottom of her lip, pausing for a long moment like she’s deliberating whether she should just get out of my car or if she should continue. Finally she whispers, “I’ve never been very nice to you and you had no reason to help me. So, thank you . . . really.”

“If you want to return the favor,” I find myself saying, before I can second guess myself, “you could come with me to my sister’s wedding next weekend. I need a plus one.”

The look on her face almost breaks my heart. She’s not looking at me, thank God, but her mouth twists all up and her eyes take on a dull, deadened look. I’m sure she wishes she would have just gotten out of the car now—and I’m almost tempted to take back my request. Almost.

“I guess so,” she says very quietly.

“Awesome.” I try to keep the sarcasm out of my tone, but it’s hard when she looks like she’s just swallowed a fly. I don’t know why she has to be so standoffish and cold all the time, but I’m also determined to wear her down and make her warm up to me. “I’ll pick you up at noon on Saturday. Don’t wear white.”

She doesn’t even crack a smile at my joke, merely nodding before she clambers out of my car with her dog. I only let myself watch her for a moment, my eyes stuck on how her pretty bare feet tread very lightly across the gravel, as though her petite frame doesn’t weigh enough for it to hurt very much. I bet even with my ropey arms I could carry her for hours—and toss her all around in the bedroom, amongst other things.

When I get back to my room, I don’t stop myself from remembering her excited smile or recalling all the nice things she said to me. It all rushes through me as I quickly fist my cock and spill all over one of the pictures I took of her last Spring; she’s wearing a white dress and has a silvery tiara on her head—the side of her face is smeared with a bit of frosting, due to one of her friends catching up to her with a piece of birthday cake. Freshly eighteen, smiling, and bright eyed. A picture of perfection. She looks especially good now, happy with my cum all over her face.

My head clears as I crumple up the soiled picture and toss it in the wastebasket by my computer desk. I have a hundred copies of that one—all grainy and all printed from the cheap printer that sits on a stack of old newspapers (they might look ratty, but they make an adequate table). Sydney will probably cancel on me at the last minute before the wedding. I’ll be the dateless loser like always, but this time I won’t be stupid enough to tell any of my family that I might have a girlfriend. I’m sure they are beyond believing me at this point, and I’m sure they think I’ll die alone and un-kissed—not to mention, a complete virgin.

I’m not even that ugly. Awkward perhaps, with facial scars from bad acne, but I have a decent enough face, I think, and although my teeth are kind of crooked, I’ve been trying to smile more. People just always assume I’m creepy or mean. If only Sydney could see past my insecurities, she would be able to see how much I worship the ground she walks on and how good I would treat her. If only she’d just give me the chance!

There’s always that weird powder I bought at that festival that I could try. The guy that sold it to me had said something like, “Got girl problems? Blow this in one’s face and she’ll do whatever you want. One dose works for like two hours. Only twenty bucks a pop, kid. What say you?”

I’d said ‘sure’ like a moron and bought a hundred dollars worth. I’m fairly certain it’s some sort of drug—maybe ecstasy or something (I’m not very familiar with drugs; the most I’ve ever done is smoke a cigarette while drinking a few cheap beers)—or maybe it’s just a bag of chalk and I’ll really piss some poor girl off one day.

Maybe that girl will be Sydney. If she cancels on me, then it’ll definitely be Sydney.

—

“Charlie, there’s someone at the door for you.”

I groggily rub at my eyes as I sit up in my bed. It’s got to be bumfuck early in the morning, because I’m always up by eight, and no one ever comes around for me.

“Who?” I croak, blinking owlishly at my mother. She’s smiling so hard that I think her face might crack. Confusion lances through me until she says, nearly flapping her hands in excitement, “The neighbor girl. Sydney, isn’t it?”

“Oh . . . okay.”

This isn’t the good news she thinks it is and I know it. It’s the morning of the wedding and there’s no reason for Sydney to be here, unless she’s going to make up some excuse to cancel on me. “Thanks mom, tell her I’ll be right out.”

Still, she’s got some balls to come say it to my face rather than just stand me up or make her parents do it or something. I have to respect her for that. Not enough to abandon my plan of using the powder on her if she really does bail on me, but still. I’ll be nice about it. I won’t make her feel bad while she’s doing whatever she thinks needs done.

*Rejecting you is what she thinks needs done*, my mind whispers to me as I change from my sleepwear into jeans and a clean t-shirt. I dash into the bathroom to gargle some mouthwash and run a comb through my hair, and then I walk slowly to the front door, where Sydney stands with her hands clasped in front of her.

“What’s up?” I ask politely, although I know.

I know from the way she’s wringing her hands and the way her mouth is set. I know from her careful expression and the way she’s looking at a point just past me. I know because I know the rules to the universe and how all the cards are stacked against me. Sydney isn’t supposed to be mine, ever, even though if it’s up to me, she absolutely will be.

“Something came up and I won’t be able to go with you this afternoon. I’m really sorry.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I’m proud that my voice remains calm and casual, like we’re discussing the weather and not the fact that she’s breaking another little piece of my heart. It shouldn’t hurt because I’d been expecting it, yet it still does. It still fucking does.

“I really am thankful you helped me,” she says—and I’m glad I can hear the guilt in her voice, as I’m hoping it’s burning her up inside. “I really do want to make it up to you. Mama always says not to let a good deed go unrewarded. Maybe I could wash your car or something….”

Of course she’d choose something that doesn’t actually involve spending any time with me, but that’s okay, I can still use the opportunity to carry out my plan.

“It does look like it could use it.” I smile when her face brightens, and the cold chill in my belly is replaced by warmth when she looks directly at me. It’s nice that she’s comforted by my words, although now she really shouldn’t be. “Can you come by tomorrow at this time? Before Sunday service?”

It’ll be a little tricky to pull this off when both of our families expect us to go to church, but if we simply aren’t here when they leave, I know they aren’t going to wait around for us and miss the sermon.

“Yeah, that should work!”

Her excitement turns my smile into a grin. *So easy to manipulate—all you have to do is agree with her plans and then twist them whatever way works best*, I think gleefully to myself. I nod at her as she says something like, ‘See you then, bye’, but I’m not really listening. I’m already transported into the future, watching myself cupping the powdery contents of the festival baggy in my large hand. I’ll say something like, “I got something for you”, or, “I found this, is it yours?” to get her to look at me, and then I’ll step close and just blow. Blow it all right in her face.

Then what will happen? Well, I’m not so sure about that part. Maybe she’ll just cough and cry and ask what the hell is wrong with me. My heart lurches at the thought, but it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I’m tired of waiting for her to just give me a fucking break. A fucking chance. She deserves a face full of powder, whether it’s mind altering or not.

—

I’m shaking and sweating so bad that my church suit has pit stains and my mom thinks I’ve had too many cups of coffee. Truth be told, I’ve only had a few swallows from one and spilled the rest, but with the way my heart’s trying to pound its way out of my chest, it feels like I’ve had fifty.

Sydney should be here any minute, and I’m not sure I can go through with this.

The little baggy of powder is nearly weightless, yet I can feel it in my pocket, weighing me down. How the hell am I really going to get her to breathe it in? What if she won’t let me get close enough? What if she runs away?

“You don’t look well, Charles.”

I flinch as my mom touches a cool hand to the side of my face. I’d forgotten she was still standing there, watching me warily as she finishes drying dishes before getting ready to go to church with me. Not like I’m actually going to go, but she doesn’t know that, and I should feel a little guilty that I’m standing her up (her only son and favorite child), yet I don’t.

The anger of sitting beside her at my sister’s wedding—both of us dateless, lonely losers—still sticks with me. I’d even had to dance with her a few rounds, just because I’d felt sorry for her, but worrying the whole time that she was just doing it because she felt equally sorry for me.

Sydney shouldn’t have stood me up. It would have made both my mom and I really happy if she’d just sucked it up and gone with me.

“Charlie?”

I blink at her and shake my head, realizing that I’ve been silent and jittery too long. “I don’t feel very good . . . sorry.”

My voice sounds a little rough, and something in my chest clenches at my mom’s pained expression. “Oh no. Do you want me to stay home—”

“No,” I say abruptly. “Both of us shouldn’t miss church just because of me.”

I think about telling her that I need to go lie down, but that won’t make much sense when Sydney gets here and I pop right up to help her wash my car. Instead, I touch my stomach and make a face. “Stomach is just a bit off, I think. Had too much coffee.”

Her mouth drops open and she scoffs. “I thought you said you only had one cup, mister!”

“I meant one too many,” I say lightly with a twisted smile.

“Uh huh. Well, I’ll tell Pastor Dave to pray for you and your bowels.”

I know she’s joking, but I roll my eyes at her and shake my head. She thinks she’s a comedian, but I’m surely funnier. (Funnier looking, she would say. Then she’d laugh and laugh until I tell her that’s all well and fine because I got my looks from her.)

Luck shines down on me as she goes to shower, to finish getting ready to leave for church without me, right as a knock sounds on the front door. Or maybe it’s the opposite of luck, because even though this gives me some alone time to carry out my plan, I still am shaking more than socially acceptable. Sydney will notice something is off about me. She’ll think I’m sick or she’ll just know that I’m up to something, and then she’ll bail, like she always does.

I crack open the door and peer out at her, my breath catching as I take in the beauty of her Sunday dress. (Okay, it’s just a modest thing made for dressing up for church—all flowery looking with a long skirt and a high neckline—but still, she looks amazing, and her low heels bring her height up to nearly match mine.)

“I set the bucket with the sponges out for you. Hose is all hooked up and sitting in the garden out front. I’ll be out in a little bit, okay?”

She looks momentarily confused, but then (annoyingly) a little relieved. “Yeah, okay.”

I shut the door, before either of us can say anything else, and turn to wash my face with cold water from the kitchen sink. Relax, idiot, I tell myself as I scrub the beads of sweat away. I don’t really have to go through with it if I don’t want to, I realize. I could just hang out with her like a normal human being unless there’s a good opening.

Those thoughts make me feel a little better. The choice is in my hands and I’m the one in control of what happens next. Maybe nothing will happen. Maybe everything. I wish I could go take a nervous piss before going outside to face Sydney, but mom’s definitely in the shower by now, so I settle for pacing back and forth between the kitchen and the living room. Walking meditation, or counting my breaths, has always helped me calm down when I get super stressed out. I clear my mind, focusing only on my breathing, and then after a few minutes I make my way outside to see what Sydney’s gotten herself up to.

A smile breaks across my face as I see her gingerly hosing my car down. She seems to realize that she shouldn’t have put on her church clothes yet, but apparently instead of bailing once again, she’s decided to summon up some of that notorious stubborn pride. I watch her for a few moments, relishing in her discomfort, before I call out, “Maybe we can wait to do this until after!”

I like the look of gratitude she shoots me. It’s not like I really am going to let her go to church, if my plan works the way I’ve been fantasizing it does, but telling her what she wants to hear and being rewarded with those bright blue eyes fixed on me is heavenly. I love the way her pink mouth looks when it’s quirked up in that soft smile. It makes me want to kiss her, to feel the plumpness of her lips, and taste the innocence of her tongue.

Before I can get too carried away thinking about her tongue, I take the hose from her and say, “If that’s alright with you, of course.”

“I didn’t plan very well did I?” Her eyes twinkle up at me and I suppress the shock that threatens to overtake my face. Is she joking around and being vulnerable with me? Stay cool, dumbass, I tell myself as I chuckle lightly. “Maybe not so much.”

The moment passes and she looks away, and I know that this is my chance—she’s standing so close and in the next moment she’s going to excuse herself and walk away.

“Sydney?” I fumble with the little packet in my pocket, realizing desperately that I should already have emptied it into my hand before I got this far. “I think I found something that belongs to you….”

Is my voice shaking as badly as I think it is? She’s looking from my face to my hands, her brows furrowed, and I quickly open the packet but conceal what’s in it with one of my broad palms, dumping the powder into my other palm (and hoping that it looks like it might be an earring or a ring), and then holding my closed fist up near her face.

“Here,” I say, like I’m going to open my hand and show her, but instead I lean forward, blowing hard as my fingers unfurl to let the dust fly right into her confused, gaping face. She gasps like an idiot, breathing it in, and immediately begins to choke and gag.

I freeze and watch her. Watch her double over as she coughs. Watch her eyes stream with tears. Watch as she rubs desperately at her face. Part of me expects her to start screaming, to start crying out, “Why? *Why*?”, but she doesn’t say anything—doesn’t make any sound except the bodily sounds of her lungs trying to expel a foreign substance. And then suddenly she straightens and the coughing stops.

“Are you okay?” I whisper to her, taking in her mascara streaked cheeks and reddened face.

She blinks at me like she’s dazed, or like she doesn’t quite know who I am. “Yes.”

Oh my God—did it work? Why isn’t she angry at me? Shouldn’t she be yelling and running away, if the powder was a scam and the festival guy was full of bullshit?

I can barely contain my excitement. The shaking is now because I’m so jazzed up that I don’t know what I should ask of her first, but reason overcomes any of the wild things I might like to start out with, so instead I murmur, “Will you hang out with me today?”

“Yes.” Her watery eyes are glued to mine and I don’t think she’s ever looked more beautiful. She’s finally looking at me! Really and truly looking at me! Like I’m the only person in the entire world that exists.

*Perhaps right now you are, and time is ticking away….*

(What did the festival guy say? One dose works for two hours?)

“Let’s go for a drive. Get in the car.”

Sydney doesn’t even hesitate. She walks right over to the passenger side door and gets in like she really wants to go—buckling herself in and smoothing her dress down over her knees. Like she’s supposed to be going somewhere with me. Like she belongs in my car.

I hurry to the driver’s side before anyone can stop us from taking off. I don’t actually see anyone outside—Sydney’s parents and brother must still be getting ready for church just like my mom is, and who knows what the other neighbors are up to—but I don’t want to take my chances by lollygagging around.

No. I want to get Sydney all to myself somewhere alone. I want to spend some real time with her, one on one, and have her really see me. I want to see what effect the powder has on her, and what all I can get her to do….

—

I drive us out to Sugarman’s Park and park way out in the sticks. It’ll be empty at this time, because everyone from around here attends the Sunday service (and anyone who doesn’t is already an antisocial outcast who won’t bother us or be bothered by us). I’ve been so focused on getting here that it’s only after I’ve parked that I realize Sydney and I have just sat in silence, like a boy and his robot, or something.

“It’s a pretty day,” I say casually, because it still feels like I should talk to her like she’s . . . well, her.

“Mmhmm.”

Her eyes are less watery now when she gazes back at me, and I can’t help but grin at her. She’s really easy to talk to when she’s all quiet and agreeable like this. But I’ve already wasted fifteen or twenty minutes driving out this far, and it’ll take me at least that to get back—which means we don’t have much time to shoot the breeze and do all the other things I want to try to do.

“Why don’t you like me?” I find myself asking anyway.

Sydney blinks at me like she doesn’t quite understand. Her upper teeth bite into her full lower lip and she tilts her head. “I like you.”

“No, for real,” I say before I can stop myself.

It doesn’t surprise me when she doesn’t answer, only gazing at me with those ocean-colored eyes and chewing on her lip like a confused schoolgirl. Having her stare at me like this is making all the blood rush from my head down to someplace much lower. My cock strains against the black dress pants and I don’t even bother to cover it up. It’s clear Sydney isn’t going to care if the powder has made her so mindless.

“Will you suck me off?” I almost feel like apologizing as soon as the question leaves my mouth.

I would never speak to anyone like this normally, especially not Sydney Rosenblum, but the situation has made me bold and reckless. I halfway expect her to remain silent or shake her head. Will she even know what I mean? She’s such a prudish ice queen that she might not even know anything about blowjobs—although that would be pretty weird since she’s an adult and not completely sheltered. But then she nods at me, her eyes still glued to mine, and her tongue slowly swipes along her lower lip, and—*Dear God!*—I about come in my pants.

“Have you—” I stammer. “Have you ever given a guy a blowjob before?”

I’m terrified she’s going to say yes because I really want to be the first (and only) one she ever does it for. My boner flags in fear, but then she shakes her head and blushes, and my heart soars.

“That’s okay. I’ll teach you.”

I reach out and tentatively touch her face, every nerve ending in my body lighting up like a Christmas tree. I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe she’s not arguing or pulling away from me. I can’t believe how soft her skin feels under my fingertips, and how her soft mouth is going to pleasure me senseless, until I spurt hot cum down her throat.

I groan at the thought, my cock throbbing painfully at full mass once again. Perhaps I shouldn’t rush this. We do still have some time, even if it’s not endless hours, there’s at least enough to take it a little slow. Gently, I lean over and press my mouth to hers, first very chastely, but when she doesn’t pull away and presses against me back, I push my tongue past her lips.

Fuck she tastes good. Like something sweet and minty. I eagerly claim her mouth with my own, my heart happily pounding away in my chest, and wrap my hands around the back of her neck, twisting my fingers into her silky blonde hair.

I kiss her until I can hardly breathe, my exhalations growing ragged, and my lips going numb. Okay, maybe I got carried away with making out, but since I’d never kissed a girl before, finally getting to kiss the girl I’ve been obsessed with for the last year is like winning the lottery. Of course I’m going to savor it.

I give her one last kiss, gently sucking on each of her lips and breathing her in. She smells so goddamned good—a fruity cleanness with just the hint of something sharper, something entirely her. It’s making my head swimmy.

“Do . . . do you like kissing me?” I ask, resting my forehead on hers.

“Yes.”

“Did it . . . did it turn you on at all?”

I know that’s probably not a fair question. She’s definitely going to say it did, and when she hums, ‘Mmhmm’, it feels a little empty. That’s okay though. She’s still going to show me what I’ve been waiting to see for a very long time. And she’s still going to satisfy me in a way I’ve only dreamed of.

“Let me see your bra.”

Sydney pulls away and unzips the back of her dress, slowly pulling the top down to expose her chest. My breath catches even though it looks exactly as I’d expected: a plain white bra, no frills or lace, and lots of coverage and support for her large bust.

“Take it off.”

I can barely keep from squirming in my seat as she listens. The fabric falls away like a hushed whisper, and my eyes fill with the soft, heavy curves and delicate pink nipples of Sydney’s perfect tits. Her tits are even bigger than I’d expected, and the nipples are paler, both of which turn me on so much that a spurt of precum makes a wet spot on my pants. I reach out with both hands and caress them lovingly, barely daring to believe that everything I’ve ever wanted is finally happening. A beautiful girl let me kiss her. A beautiful girl is letting me feel her up. Soon, a beautiful girl would be going down on me.

I glance down at my watch and a nervous trill skitters through me. There’s only about a half hour left before we should head home, just to be on the very safe side. Everyone probably wonders where we are, though I’m sure they all went to church anyway, but there’s still the issue of church letting out and Sydney’s parents or brother deciding to search for her. It would be best not to push it and take my prize now. Take it before it can be stolen from me.

“I want you to worship my cock with your mouth,” I say as I move my hands from her tits to unbuckle my seatbelt and undo my zip.

My dick isn’t anything spectacular. It’s not particularly big or small. But right now I feel king-sized as Sydney watches me unleash it, her blue eyes widening (thankfully not with disgust or fear), and her mouth opening like she’s anticipating the taste of me.

“You just kiss and suck on it,” I say softly as I reach for her.

She unbuckles herself and leans over me, but before I can say anything else or instruct her further, I feel a delicious wet heat slide across my cock.

“Oh fuck,” I groan.

Sydney Rosenblum is *licking* my fucking cock and it feels *amazing*. My head falls back against the headrest as she kisses all up and down my length and then licks the tip again. I must be dribbling precum, and she must be slurping it up like the most perfect little slut in the world.

“Does it taste good?” I bite out, and then I groan again when her, ‘Mmhmm’, hums against my cockhead, my hands finding their way into her long hair, pressing against her in eager anticipation for her to start the main show. “Start sucking now, Sydney.”

My eyes roll back in my head as she engulfs the tip with her hot mouth. Her tongue swirls around it, shooting jolts of pleasure all through me. I can’t believe this is fucking happening. I can’t believe I’m getting sucked off like some football star in the front seat of my car.

It feels even better than I ever imagined it would, with Sydney’s large breasts pressed against my right outer thigh and her inexperienced mouth slurping at me eagerly.

“Doing so good. Keep going. Take it all the way….”

I nearly lose it as my cock hits the back of her tight throat. She gags softly, but doesn’t bite down, gently pulling back to try again. My balls tighten up as she slowly sucks and deepthroats me. It’s all so warm and wet that an intense spiraling pressure lets me know that at any moment, Sydney is going to get a mouth full of my jizz.

“Oh fuck, keep doing that.”

I slide one of my hands down to squeeze her tits, determined to get every last bit of pleasure out of this I’m owed before it’s over.

“Look at me,” I say with a gasp as my cock spasms deep inside her mouth.

She twists her head just enough to look up at me with her big blue eyes, just as my mind blanks and a white wave of ecstasy rolls through me. Rope after rope of hot cum splashes the back of her throat, and I can barely choke out the word, “Swallow”, as the pleasure overtakes me.

I feel her mouth and throat constrict around me as she chokes and tries to follow my order.

“Such a good girl,” I whisper, groaning as the sensation of her tight, wet warmth prolongs my orgasm.

I grip her hair in one of my fists and gently fuck her face, breaking eye contact as I push her all the way down into my lap and drain the last of my jizz in her, half gagging, half swallowing, throat.

Clear thoughts are slow to return to me as I ride the high of pure satisfaction. Sydney rests her cheek against my softening cock, gazing up at me as I fight to breathe properly. That was definitely the best time I’ve ever had in my entire life, and I’m already wishing I could experience it again (and again . . . and again).

“Did you enjoy drinking my cum?”

I already know the answer but I like hearing her agree anyway. Her soft hum of a response and the way she’s looking at me spreads a warmth all through my chest. We really should be getting back soon, but I just want to gaze down at her for a little longer. Savor how her bright eyes don’t seem to want to leave mine. Savor the swollen wetness of her lips. Savor the casual nudeness of my beautiful crush and the way my DNA must be swimming in her saliva and deep within her belly.

I know though that there will be a lot of questions to answer when I drive back and have to explain why we disappeared together. Perhaps I’ll drop her off down the street and tell her not to go home until the drug wears off. Then, I’ll pretend that I drove off earlier because I left something at work and my boss called me to come get it (even though it’s a Sunday, stranger things have happened). There’s the chance that Sydney will remember everything that happened and rat me out for drugging her, but there’s also the chance that no one will be any the wiser, and I’ll get to live (quite gleefully) with the knowledge of what it feels like to get sucked off by the prettiest girl in our county. Maybe even state, although I know I’m biased.

Whatever happens, I’ve already decided it was worth it. If at all possible, I’m definitely going to try to do it again. Even as I make Sydney sit up and redress (such a sad sight, watching her put those magnificent tits away), I can’t stop myself from plotting out the next time I blow dust in her face, and envisioning how I’ll definitely ask to see her pussy.

I’ll more than just look at it of course; I’m definitely going to fuck it. I’m definitely going to claim her virginity and finally lose mine in the process. The thoughts that run through my head as I drive us back home make me hard again. I wish that we had a little more time, but if I quit while I’m ahead, I just might get away with all of this.

“Sydney, don’t tell anyone about this, okay?” I say as I stop the car a few streets away from her house.

It will take her awhile to get home from here, and by then the drug should have mostly worn off, if the festival guy knew what he was talking about, at least.

“Okay,” she says, turning her still mascara streaked face to stare obediently at me.

“Now, I want you to get out of the car and ask that nice lady,” I pause and point to an elderly woman trimming the rosebushes in her front garden, “if you can use her bathroom. Clean up your face and then when you feel normal again walk home. Tell your parents you didn’t feel like going to church today. Say you went on a walk or to go visit a friend. You didn’t hang out with me, okay?”

“Okay,” she agrees.

Neither of us remembered to buckle our seatbelt, so I lean over to give her one last kiss before I open the passenger door for her.

“I love you, Sydney. We’ll do this again soon, okay? But it’s our secret.”

“Okay. Our secret.”

Joy explodes inside me as she touches my lips before turning to climb out of the car. What was that about? It was such a simple, yet intimate gesture, and I didn’t even ask her to do it. With my head buzzing, I leave my princess soiled in her Sunday’s finest dress on the side of the road. Maybe there’s some small part of her that really does like me. Maybe she’s growing attached to me, especially after everything we just did. Maybe, even though I only have four bags of powder left, Sydney Rosenblum will become my honest-to-God girlfriend, and I won’t have to drug her anymore to get her to do all the things lovers do.

—————-

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Source: reddit.com/r/sexystories/comments/vdvehz/turning_my_innocent_neighbor_into_a_cumslut_mf