She Likes It Rough Read online

  Copyright 2020 by Fanee Sitter

  All Rights Reserved

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real individuals is purely coincidental. The following content is intended for mature audiences. All characters are consenting, legal aged adults.

  DIRTY DEVIL

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  Are you eager to read about naughty wanton girls getting their wet, tempting pussies spread, stretched, and filled to the hilt? How about massive throbbing cocks ploughing into tight virgin holes?

  Good, because they’re ready for you…

  “YOU CAN SPANK ME AS HARD AS YOU WANT…”

  When I stole Mr. Peterson’s credit card, it was a relatively harmless thing. At least at first.

  It’s not like I’m a klepto or anything like that. It was just a little bit of fun. Mostly to see if he’d notice. A girl has got to explore her naughty side once in awhile, you know?

  But the reality is that I’m a girl with expensive taste and a shit job that doesn’t afford luxuries.

  It was innocent enough in the beginning. First it was a cute little skirt that was on sale. With a matching handbag. And just some shoes to complete the look. Totally harmless.

  Hell, Mr. Peterson even got to see me prancing around in those skimpy little outfits. I always get a kick out of watching the bulge in his pants get bigger whenever I stop by to say hello.

  It’s fun watching him try to hold his attention on my face instead of on my busty tits in a low cut tank. I know he likes to catch glimpses of my tight round ass whenever I give him the right angle. It’s good fun teasing him with a little show.

  He just doesn’t know he’s paying for all of it.

  I sort of figured the card would start getting declined, at least at some point.

  But it kept going through. It was like having a rich boyfriend in my pocket. My little magic plastic buddy who could conjure money out of thin air.

  And the best part of all—it didn’t ask for blowjobs in return. Not like all my other boyfriends. Getting what I wanted before always meant putting out.

  Except I’d never go any further than giving head. It’s ridiculous how every single guy expects me to just spread my legs in the air for every little favor. And usually it’s more than that. Like the last guy I dated who wanted me to let him put it up my ass just for getting me a birthday present. Which was a bottle of lube.

  Needless to say, that relationship didn’t last. I’m only nineteen, but I’ve got standards to maintain.

  So technically that means I’m still a virgin. But if dildos counted then I’d be a dirty silicone-loving slut.

  After all the small items—new clothes, purses, shampoo, lipstick, tampons—I guess I kind of went overboard. Suddenly, when money wasn’t an object, I found myself wanting to sample every kind of naughty toy I could get my hands on.

  I started out with the basics—an assortment of dildos and vibrators—then I went on to explore my kinkier side and shopped for stuff to stick up my ass. I bought everything—anal beads, butt plugs—you name it. With a magic wand in my pussy, a plug deeply embedded in my tiny asshole—I didn’t know it was possible to cum so hard.

  That is, until I started masturbating while thinking about Mr. Peterson.

  And so what if I’m saving myself for an older man? All the other guys I’ve been with have treated me like shit anyway. But Mr. Peterson is different.

  Ever since I moved in next door, we’ve had a unique kind of relationship. There was sexual tension in the air even the first time we met. I could read it all over his face. He’s dying to know what it’s like to get inside this tight little pussy.

  Now I derive a certain kind of satisfaction watching him blush. It must drive him crazy seeing me flaunt this sexy ass around him all the time—he probably deserves a piece of it.

  Plus he’s really good looking for his age, and I’ve always been more attracted to older men. He is tall with broad shoulders, and his handsome face has managed to maintain many of its youthful features. He likes to wear plain tight fitting shirts that really showcase his commitment to staying fit.

  You’d never know he was in his mid-forties just by looking at him. I’ve often thought about what it’d be like to be cradled in those arms at night, sleeping soundly in the comfort and safety of those rippling biceps. And of course, the security that comes with being filthy fucking rich.

  So in that respect, Mr. Peterson is wealthy on all accounts. Which is why I didn’t feel that guilty when I slipped his Platinum Credit Card into the back pocket of my skinny jeans one night when he invited me inside. He had at least four others, so I wondered if he’d even notice.

  And so far, he still hasn’t.

  But things got a bit out of control when I graduated to the hardcore stuff. I racked up thousands of dollars in a mega shopping spree for fuck toys, each one even better than the last. The orgasms were so intense that before long I was squirting like a porn star.

  I never even knew I could do that. The hard part was always keeping quiet so Mom wouldn’t hear.

  And with every new toy, I imagined that it was Mr. Peterson inside me, fucking my brains out and making me cum like never before. I’d think about getting pinned down by his chest, every bulging muscle carved perfectly from marble, grinding against me and thrusting himself up to my hilt.

  When the orgasm came in an explosion of twitching in my floral sheets, I’d think about all the ways I wanted to return the favor. After all, all this pleasure was made possible by Mr. Peterson’s credit card. It’s only fair that I should offer some compensation.

  Sometimes I’ll stick a giant dildo down my throat just to see how far I can go. Good practice for when I get the chance to deep-throat Mr. Peterson’s enormous cock.

  And it wasn’t long before long started craving the real thing. It’s like an obsession, the carnal thoughts spreading like wildfire in my mind of every naughty thing I want Mr. Peterson to do to me.

  I want to see the look on his face when I choke down his cock and milk the cum from his balls. I want to gargle his hot load in my mouth and savor the taste of him before swallowing it all in one giant gulp.

  Then I’ll lick my lips and beg for more.

  But I get the feeling Mr. Peterson is too shy to ever make a move. Besides that, he probably thinks that I’m way too young for him.

  That’s why I’m going to be the one to initiate—by coming clean.

  I’m going over to his house first thing in the morning to confess. I’ll tell him all about stealing the credit card and the insane amount of debt.

  Then I’ll burst into apologetic tears and ask him to hold me. I’ll sob into his chest while he comforts me, tells me it’s all going to be okay.

  And then I’ll offer my body to him. I’ll tell him to take me any way he pleases, in any hole he chooses. I’ll grant him my flesh in return for the mess I’ve put him in.

  He’s going to understand. Everything is going to be totally fine in the end.

  I hope.

  ******

  I knock on the double doors of his home while I smile at the peephole. He might be loaded with cash, but Mr. Peterson hasn’t bothered to fix the doorbell.

  I’m wearing a super short black ruffle skirt and fuck-me pumps to match. I’ve got a pretty blouse over my push up bra that makes my tits look huge.

  I bite down on my bottom lip to keep it from trembling. I try my best not to calm my ne
rves, to stop myself from getting too worked up. I don’t really have any idea how he’s going to react when I tell him how much of his money I’ve stolen.

  But I’m committed now. It’s too late to change my mind.

  “Maddie?”

  I’m patting my skirt down in the back, admiring my ass when Mr. Peterson opens the door.

  “Good morning, Mr. Peterson!” I give a shy little wave, elbow tucked at my side, heels clicking together. His eyes give me a quick up and down, pausing on my breasts longer than he probably meant to.

  The sun peeking over the suburban homes behind me illuminates my slim physique, radiating on my sleek blond curls. I beam at him, twisting at my waist with hands folded behind my back.

  Is he blushing?

  The redness in his cheeks makes him suddenly self-conscious. He glances down at his Rolex saying, “Wow, you’re up early! What’s up?”

  I’m not sure how to say it, so I just ask, “Do you think I could come inside for a bit? I really need to talk to you.”

  “About wha—I mean, sure,” he says, then he glances behind himself to look into the dimly lit hallway. He steps out from behind the door and I can’t help ogling at his shirtless body. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”

  I pinch the corner of my bottom lip, eyes fixated for a moment on his crotch. The giant bulge in his pants sends a wave of heat from my chest down to my slickening pussy. My pink manicured nails dance at the edge of my lips, giddy with the excitement gathering between my legs.

  “Just let me grab a shirt. Come on in…”

  “Oh, I don’t mind. really.” I smile wide, allowing my eyes to take in as much as they want before returning to his flushed cheeks. “I’d rather you be comfortable.”

  He shoots a quizzical look, curious about what exactly I’ve come to talk about. Then he shrugs and opens the door wider to invite me in. “Well, if you don’t mind…”

  There’s a momentary pause. Our eyes meet, staring blankly between slow blinks. Then we burst into laughter at the same time and the brief awkwardness is dead.

  My heels click on the immaculate tile floor leading to the living room. Mr. Peterson has an adorable maid that keeps the place totally spotless.

  I told her once how I feel about Mr. Peterson. I asked her to keep it a secret, but I don’t think she really understood me anyway.

  “Yes, yes… Mr. Peterson very good man,” she said. Her English isn’t that great.

  But she wouldn’t be here on a Saturday.

  “Well, have a seat,” he says, motioning to the brown plush couch. “Can—can I get you anything?” I can tell he’s nervous, but that’s pretty typical around me. Especially when I’m dressed like a hot little slut.

  “I need to tell you something,” I say. I pat the cushion next to me and he takes a seat there. “The thing is—I…”

  Fuck. This is harder than I thought it was going to be. I turn to him, tucking a glossy strand of hair behind my ear. I can’t help sneaking another peek at his crotch. The sheer size of him apparent through the bulging fabric.

  My lip starts to quiver. My breaths are becoming rapid. My knees rub together at the slick desire building in my needful center. My pussy pulses and aches to the rhythm of my quickening heart.

  Fuck it—I can’t bear to see the disappointment on his face.

  “I think you’re really hot, Mr. Peterson.” The words just came out on their own. His eyebrows rise in time with a noticeable flinch of his dick.

  “You what?” Shit. This isn’t how I was expecting the conversation to go. And yet, all I can think about his what his cock must taste like. “Are you feeling all right Maddie?”

  “It’s true. Ever since we first met, I’ve wanted…” I make a bold move and place a soft hand between his legs. I can feel him throbbing, swelling under my palm, the blood rushing from his face down to his stiffening dick. “I’ve wanted to fuck you.”

  Mr. Peterson’s dick twitches in my hand, growing more erect at every spoken word. His eyes are locked with mine like orbs of swimming hazel. He’s mesmerized, unable to muster a response.

  So I use the opportunity to make my move. I crouch down in front of him, then push his knees apart and lean my head in between them.

  Pink nails sink beneath the waist of his khakis and I tug them down to his knees. My eyes light up as I peel back his briefs.

  Mr. Peterson seems to be in a state of shock. I gasp at the size of him. It’s thicker and longer than any dildo I’d fit inside me.

  A slippery tongue traces the edge of my eager lips. I bat my eyelashes, smirking as my lustful gaze provokes a trembling apprehension on his face. Then my smirk curls to form a devilish grin.

  I wonder if I can fit him all down my naughty little throat.

  Soft, crimson lips part and a clear film of spit stretches between them. Hot breath spills from my moist cavern. My long hair drapes over his thighs as my head lowers slowly, until…

  “Maddie? What are you—“ But his words are interrupted by the warmth and wetness of my mouth on his cock.

  “Mm-mmh…” I mutter an incompressible string of syllables with a mouth full of dick. My eyelids flutter at the sweet and salty taste of him.

  “Ungh!” Mr. Peterson moans deep and tilts his head back over the couch. Then the room is filled with nothing but the wet slurping sounds of his dick getting sucked.

  His whole body jolts when I grope his balls and press the flat of my tongue against his shaft. His stiff dick is enveloped in a hot breathy sigh as I lap along its length, playing around the neck and teasing the head.

  “Fuck, Maddie… that feels amazing.” Shit, he doesn’t even know what I can really do.

  I wrap slender fingers around the head, lifting it to align with my gaping hole. I take in a deep breath of air before plunging myself on his throbbing cock.

  “Fuck!” He groans when he slips inside the back of my throat, nearly all the way. I fight the urge to retch and force myself down farther. Lucky for him, I’ve had a lot of practice at this.

  Using his legs for leverage, I push down until I feel him lodged in my esophagus. A thick spurt of bubbly spit drools from the edge of my lips.

  The gag reflex forces my throat muscles to clench around his enormous girth. I bob up and down on his cock, stroking the entire length inside my spasming throat. Mr. Peterson groans to every swivel of my head and passionate lap of my tongue.

  His thigh muscles start to twitch and my body shakes on top of his quaking legs. My hand tickling his scrotum feels his balls retracting and a subtle flinch of his dick. I think Mr. Peterson is about to cum in my…

  “Agh!” Mr. Peterson’s deep moans fill the room. His head jerks back as the thick veins of his cock pulse hard against the lining of my throat. My bloodshot eyes swell with tears, my neck straining to hold the whole thing in. The orgasm rolls through his shuddering body while his cock pumps its warm cum down my esophagus.

  Mr. Peterson writhes, hands holding the sides of my face, moaning with every bounce and twist of my head while I suck him off like a true expert. His pelvis drills into the back of my throat with sporadic thrusts as I milk the semen from his balls. A white mix of spit and cum trickles down the shaft. My tongue licks and curls to lap up every lost drop.

  When the trembling in his legs subsides, I lift off his cock and hold the warm load in my open mouth for him to see. I roll the spunk around with my tongue, feeling the sticky viscous stuff cling to my tongue and the inside my cheeks. Mr. Peterson watches me with dilated pupils while his erection continues to twitch and dribble. His cock shimmers in a sloppy wet sheen of my saliva.

  “Mmm…” My lashes flutter when his cum sloshes down my eager chute. I manage to gulp it down in a single delicious swallow. “Tastes good.” My tongue circles my lips, lapping up the remnants above my chin. I wipe across my face with the back of a hand and beam up at him between his trembling knees.

  Mr. Peterson sinks down into the cushions with eyes glazed over. I curl up beside him and trace
a fingertip playfully on his cock, finding pleasure in watching him twitch and squirm to the lightest touch.

  ******

  “There’s still something I need to tell you,” I say. I find a sudden confidence and decide to finally come clean. After all, I just gave him an amazing blowjob. How angry could he possibly get? “The thing is, I…”

  Mr. Peterson props his head up and turns to me. “What is it?”

  “I—I stole your credit card.” There, I said it. It’s out there now. He doesn’t seem to react, just blinks slowly. “And I ran up quite a lot of charges.” It feels so good to finally get out of my system.