Hello good day! Well, waking up early made me want to masturbate. So I looked for a good story to help me out. And that's the story I'm leaving you today.
I hope you like it:
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It all started when I was studying for my finals in my second year at college. My dad hired Don Jorge, a man in his fifties, known among neighbors for being a painter and doing odd jobs around the barrio, besides having a rustic attitude. And it's not exactly that he's an Adonis or anything similar... nor did I care since it was just about the painter.
He hired him to repaint the walls of our garden because winter and humidity had made them all dull; it needed new coats, and also to renovate the house. So the man would show up every evening at my home where he worked for hours while I studied in the living room.
Sometimes I'd take breaks to chat with him. Total, since we were the only ones at home and it wasn't a plan to be antisocial. Although, as I said, the man wasn't very talkative or friendly. I used to ask if we had anything in common to talk about: daily news, his work as a painter, his family, mine, even the weather! But nothing worked; all my attempts at dialogue ended after four or five exchanges.
One evening in particular, when he was painting on the wall from high up on the stairs, I entered the garden tired of formulas, numbers, and theories.
—Don Jorge, do you like tennis?
—No, I don't follow it. Do you like it?
—Yes! In fact, I practice it.
—Good for you!
Silence followed. Long and uncomfortable silence. Fed up, I decided to cross my arms and try to focus on things differently.
—Okay. Could you tell me what you don't like, Don... Jorge?
—What...? —he stopped painting and looked at me strangely.— Can you tell me what's going on with all these questions you're asking me every day?
—I just want to talk, but if it's going to bother you, then forget about it.
—You're a very... Look, do you want to know what I don't like? This cold!
—God! —my light went on.— I'll bring you some coffee, don't move!
When I returned to the garden with a cup of coffee and pastries in my hands, I ended up tripping over the hose and fell flat against the mentioned staircase. The poor man stumbled and fell all the way up, but not on me, fortunately. But unfortunately, he landed very badly.
—Result? Bandages, bandages, and bandages. I felt like a monster visiting him at his house, with my dad, and seeing him confined to a small and dark room, lying on the bed with his left arm and leg in casts, miserable and sad, with a lost look. He didn't even want to greet me. His wife had told me, when she saw me very upset, not to worry too much, that her husband did painting jobs for fun, not out of necessity, that like any good hardworking man he didn't want to be quiet without doing anything.
—But I couldn't leave it like that. So I told his wife that if it wasn't a bother, I would come every day after my college classes to spend time with him, take care of him and try to attend to him so as not to leave everything to her during the month he'd be like this. The guilty one was clearly me, and even though my dad and his wife wanted to downplay the situation, I simply couldn't let it pass. A man was bedridden and in casts because of my fault!
When both my father and the painter's wife left, I opened the curtain that hid the sunlight and tried to get him talking, but unsuccessfully, as always. Better lit as I was, I looked around the tiny room. There was barely an armchair, a small TV stand, a chair next to the bed, and finally a radio. on a table, on the other side of the bed. At that moment I simply thought it was the room his wife had decided to use as a place where she could attend him better, since it was near the kitchen, on the first floor, and not in the second, where I would later know that the marital bedroom is located.
—Oh, listen, Mr. Jorge, your house is very beautiful and your wife is very kind.
Silence. Only my footsteps echoed through the place. I sat down in the armchair next to his bed.
—and... Don't you have children? Now that I think about it, I've never seen them. And even though I usually pass by here every day after school and also when I went to college.
Nothing at all.
—My best friend says that probably you want to kill me and hate me a lot, but I told her it doesn't make sense to conclude those things if she doesn't even know you. Is that true? Don't you hate me?
He closed his eyes and seemed to be falling asleep.
—I don't think you hate me, I mean, I didn't do it on purpose. Besides, look at me, I could be walking in the shopping mall with my best friends, but... I'm here! Looking... at the photos they're sending me on WhatsApp... it seems like they're having fun...
—Damn it, girl, shut up for once.
—Ah! It looks like someone regained their tongue. By the way, look at this photo that just got sent to me, she's Andrea, my best friend... I'm writing her that Hello Kitty t-shirt is precious, don't you think? Look, look...
He didn't see the photo but looked at me fixedly. It seemed like he wanted to incinerate me with his gaze, but I was holding onto my smile as well as I could.
I was about to ask him again for my sincere apologies for the accident, but before I opened my mouth, the man let out a very rude:
—I should have fallen on you...
II. The Painter's Brush take. This time, with his smiling wife as a witness, things got even more fun. For me, not for him.
—Is it soup again? —the gentleman complained.
—What? Do you want the turkey sausages again?
—I like those sausages.
—Enough of sausages! Now open your mouth, Jorge, the girl is going to make you take a drink.
—Seriously, woman? Is she going to make me take a drink?
—Don't be rude. Be grateful that someone wants to help you, I'm genuinely tired.
—Don Jorge —I interrupted, tasting the soup—, this is super delicious...
—Little brat, are you taking my soup?
—Well, yes, and it would be better if you opened your mouth if you don't want me to finish it!
—Perfect! Take it all, damn girl, I won't let you feed me! Humiliating slut!
On Wednesday, since the exams were approaching, I was going to his house to review my notes out loud while he watched TV. I had no idea what he liked: either the news channel, or the sports channel, or the gossip magazine. Since he never complained nor said anything...
—Don Jorge, I think I'm having Florence Nightingale syndrome...
—What a load of crap is that?
—that if I keep taking care of him, I'll go crazy from my patient –I joked.
—I'm not your patient, I don't need you, and I hate gossip magazines!
—And what if I put on the sports channel?
—he closed his eyes and took a nap. He wanted to annoy me, intimidate me, but he wasn't going to succeed. There was a dirty and moldy wall between us, but I wouldn't rest until I made it beautiful. His attitude made me think that maybe I should keep trying other alternatives; everyone has their weaknesses; at some point the heart gives in and sees kindness. And soon he would see mine.
So on Thursday I rented a couple of movies to watch together. I had to resort to my wise best friend's advice to recommend something that could be fun for a man his age. He showed reluctance to watch movies with me, about all because he didn't like it when I sat on his bed, next to him, to watch them from the notebook.
But when he saw that I had prepared a couple of turkey sausages (in secret, because his lady didn't want to), he accepted me as company. The first movie was Hachiko, the one about the dog that waited for its dead owner until its last days. I put the portable on my lap and inserted the disc.
I ended up crying with snot running, hugging my notebook, mumbling that I would never in my life have a dog, I would break my heart if some mutt had to go through something so strong. I hoped Don Jorge was in a similar situation to mine: downcast, destroyed, with his heart breaking into pieces; ideal situation to get to know this sentimental side of him. But when I looked at him, I saw the same old cranky guy as always.
—God damn it, girl, are you crying over that nonsense?
——Oh God! It was terrible when Mrs. recognized the dog even though everything was already old!
——It's a slit movie!
——Based on real events, Don Jorge! Do you have no heart?
The second movie had the title Hook, which is about an elderly Peter Pan who tries to become the boy he once was again. I thought it was spot on, to see if Mr. could identify and be less of a brat with me. So I put the DVD in and it played automatically. Two women, a blonde and a redhead, entered a room naked, holding hands. Soon they started kissing.
—Rocío... I didn't expect this from you. First sausages, now a porn. You're not so bad anymore.
—This isn't Hook. They must have gotten confused at the video club. It would be better to return it.
——No! Dammit, do something good and let me see it.
——Really, sir? Is that what interests you? A porn?
——If you stayed quiet, it would be great but I guess that's impossible.
——Heavy! You should tell your lady...
——Do it, I don't think she'll care much. Look, two more girls... beautiful girls, right? And then a black guy comes into action.
I wasn't going to give him the pleasure, and least of all because I could hear his wife coming towards the room, so I quickly closed the notebook and got up from the bed. Don Jorge sighed again and scolded me at the same time because according to him, when I finally found something that interested him, I ended up discarding it. But there wasn't time for more because his wife entered:
—Rocío, I want to go shopping, don't you mind staying here a bit longer until I get back?
—Of course not, Susana. I was thinking of cleaning the room.
—What a charm you are! The broom and mop are in the garden. Be good, Jorge, don't be bad to the girl.
After saying goodbye to the lady on the porch, I got the mentioned broom and mop to go back into Don Jorge's room. As I was sweeping the piece, the gentleman returned to the attack:
—Rocío, be a good girl and put that movie you brought me on.
—I'm not listening, pervert.
—Ah, now you're getting mad? Just put it on and wait for me in the living room until it's over.
—I don't know if he realizes, but I'm cleaning his room!
After taking a beating from Don Jorge, I approached the closet to organize his clothes. It was when I noticed a small cardboard box, like a shoe box, hidden at the bottom. It was quite heavy. Don Jorge looked sideways and by the tone of voice I could tell he was alarmed.
—What are you doing, girl?
—I'm organizing the closet!
—Let it go!
With how annoyed I was getting from his attitude, I opened it to punish him. My eyes opened as wide as they could. They were porn magazines, not just... light ones... but quite strong ones. While the gentleman was yelling about this invasion of privacy, I noticed a common denominator in all the covers and content of the magazines. It seemed that the gentleman liked girls with big breasts...
But then it gave me a tremendous cut because I have large breasts, but of course By the way I was dressed (we were in winter) it barely showed up. I stored the magazines in the drawer and returned them to the closet. And I felt terrible, that is, I wouldn't like someone to know about my fetishes and perversions. It's something I didn't usually share with my boyfriend because it requires a very large level of trust.
—Hey, Mr. Jorge, excuse me. I'll put it away and won't review it again.
Silence again. This time it was deadly. I felt like I had hurt him very strongly. I kept going, folding and organizing his clothes. Then I suspected something else. The pile of clothes, the TV, the radio on a dresser. It wasn't my intention to interfere more, at least not more than I already had, but I was seriously thinking that Mr. Jorge and Mrs. Susana didn't share the same room.
—Mr. Jorge, would you like me to put some music on?
Nothing. Nothing at all. The gentleman was hurt, it was clear. And I felt like a monster. Apart from having caused him a horrible accident, I had humiliated him. So when I finished with his clothes, I sat down again on his bed, opening the notebook.
The movie replayed itself. There, the two girls enjoyed the black man.
—Well... —I said sighing—. The father of that blonde must be super proud...
—Don't mess with me, girl —Mr. Jorge replied, smiling at me before looking at the movie again. The screams and moans filled the entire room.
I preferred not to keep watching; it's not that I'm not used to it or made a decent person out of myself, it's just that it felt bad seeing him with a gentleman I was supposed to be taking care of. I left the notebook and got up to sweep the floor a bit more under his bed.
While cleaning underneath his bed, I noticed something striking on Mr. Jorge's crotch: his erection was marking itself under his pants. And that sword, for the love of all saints, was incredible. I stayed there, holding the broom, staring fixedly at how that mast hardened more and more and more; Hasta where was I going to grow? I was already surpassing my boyfriend's! —Rocío, is anything happening with you? —asked Don Jorge, with a mischievous smile.
I couldn't utter a single word but managed to react in time. I turned away and pretended not to notice, wiping the floor again. But that lance kept shining. Almost glowing, I'd say, calling me, begging me to glance at it discreetly when I could. The girls' moans echoed through the room; I let out a thread of saliva when I looked back at it.
—Would you mind leaving my room for a bit, Rocío?
—Ahhh —I said, dazed —I have to study, Don Jorge.
—Oh, I see! Well, stay then, I don't care.
With his only hand, he pulled down his pants and turned back his underwear, revealing that impressive piece of flesh. Mother! It was shining, sparkling, standing proud and infinite! God, and those veins! My legs weakened, I felt a slight dizziness, still not wanting to sound too obscene but it's just that even my vagina shuddered imagining how something like that would enter me. I ran out of the room as soon as he started massaging his flesh roughly, puffing like an animal and watching the porn movie.
Red as a tomato, I closed the door behind me. I leaned against it, slowly falling to the floor. I couldn't believe it! That easily surpassed twenty centimeters! Poor Doña Susana, surely she didn't let him walk well... or better said... poor lucky Doña Susana...
Behind the door, Don Jorge was masturbating very loudly. And I, curious as could be, went back to try and see him through the keyhole. Forcing my gaze, I could see the enormous object that had me crazy. Those huge veins were going in and out of that long and thick trunk, strongly massaged by the gentleman's hand.
I couldn't help it, I got really excited! But it wasn't the time to masturbate. So I went to the kitchen to prepare... something to eat and get impure thoughts out of my head. Occasionally I would silently return to his door to see if he was still stimulating himself or if he had already finished with his manuality.
Fifteen minutes later, when I saw him come in a handkerchief, he tried to put on both his boxer shorts and pants with his available hand.
I entered his room with a salad in my hand; I had slices of his favorite sausage. But my whole body was shaking, I was blushing, sweating too, looking sideways at his crotch that no longer showed signs of the destroyer that lodged there.
Don Jorge, I'm going to leave a salad here... and run away to my house now.
Thanks, girl. Could you do me one last favor? Close my belt buckle...
Ahhh... Mr. Jorge --I stayed there not knowing what to do, playing with my fingers. I wanted to run but also wanted to stay, I don't know. Swallowed saliva and approached him slowly, adjusting his boxer shorts a bit, trying not to look too much at that piece of morbid meat shining under the fabric--. Mr. Jorge, I'm glad I finally found something he likes.
Well, the movie was great. Will you bring me more of those?
Ugh... this is super uncomfortable, but I can do it.
I'm starting to like you, Rocío. And I like girls with tits, so bring some movies like that.
My God, if your wife catches us for sure she'll give me a slap in the face --I couldn't close the buckle because my little hands were trembling, oh God!
You told me already, girl, it won't matter to her!
At night, in my house, I couldn't get rid of the mental image of that astronomical mast. His wife must have been giving him a blow job or forcing positions to make love to him on that bed, just in case he hurt his broken limbs. Normal if he were my husband, I'd be crazy all the time. But clearly, it wasn't my case, so I limited myself simply to spending an enjoyable time in my bathroom, inserting a finger while I caressed my clitoris with my thumb; I imagined that I was his wife receiving him after a heavy day of work, dressed in a flirtatious and transparent nightgown. He would fill my face with kisses while savoring my dinner, and then he would drag me to our marital bedroom where I would make myself enjoy the whole night with that long, thick, and titanic work of nature. We would do it every day, every day, every day... Mother, we would never stop! Maybe I would leave Sundays for a walk on the beach, which is my favorite activity. But then I started crying seeing my finger, so small and finite, wet from me, it wasn't the same as that enormous tool of that painter... There was a wall between us, yes! Ugly and moss-covered. But now an enormous brush had entered the scene. And it seemed to be coming loaded with a lot of paint.
II. A surface too narrow for such a brush
I returned to his house on Friday. I brought another pair of movies. And of course both were erotic. It cost me to muster up the courage to rent those things, the freckled young man from the store smiled at me like a pervert when I asked for the DVDs.
—Good evening, Rocío. Have you brought my movies?
—Ugh, Don Jorge, good evening. Of course, I brought them, I hid them in my backpack.
I put one on and nothing more than pressing play, I left the room and closed the door to leave him in privacy. Although he didn't know or have a way of knowing that on the other side I was reclining against the door, listening to the intense and dry sound of his self-satisfaction. I went back to see him through the keyhole.
I started drooling. It was impressive! I would swear that his lance was bigger than the day before and everything. I remembered my boyfriend. That morning in college, during class hours, I dragged him to the women's bathroom; it was like a frenzy and he needed a man as much as Before. Christian, my boy, was super nervous because he's not used to my outbursts, and actually got angry with me when I laughed at seeing his erect member. Because I couldn't help but compare the penis of my boyfriend with that of Mr. Jorge, and the difference was so overwhelming that I simply laughed at seeing my boyfriend's.
Obviously, he got so mad that he ended our adventure in the bathroom. But what my boy didn't know is that, by leaving me half-done, he was sending me to the painter's house all wet; I was so excited that I no longer cared about taking off my cowboy pants there at Mr. Jorge's house, ready to masturbate against his door while the gentleman wanked.
My left fist was very marked by my teeth while my right hand hid under my panties. I can't describe the pleasure and the amount of intense orgasms I experienced with my little fingers making hooks inside me while listening to that gentleman's wanks. The amount of moisture on this wall wasn't even half normal.
I stayed there against the door, all exhausted, looking at my wet finger, squeezing my thighs. 'It has to be mine', I thought like a she-wolf. The truth is, I didn't recognize myself; I was already tired of masturbating, I wanted real meat!
After several minutes, after entering to close his belt buckle and cleaning a drop of semen that fell on the footrest, I grabbed my notebook and ran out without looking back or listening to his perverse opinions about the movie I had rented. I thought maybe I'd find clarity in a night with my books and notes.
But it's very hard to study in those conditions. Sometimes the letters and numbers, especially the graphs of my books, seemed to transform into an enormous, gigantic, and alluring... cock! ... My whole body was focused on that! And mentally I asked forgiveness from myself, my boyfriend, his wife, and, and, and... Forgiveness to everyone! Because that night, when I closed my eyes, I decided to give in to that damn slut with horns and a tiny devil's ass who camps out in my head, to that girl who never stops yelling at me: “What more does it matter if you leave walking like a penguin for days? You have to try that brush! Or are you going to calm down with that finger of yours? Please, it's not even remotely the same thing!”.
The next day, Saturday, since Mrs. was chatting with the same old neighbor on her porch, don Jorge and I would have enough privacy. However, I decided to put the lock on the door, besides turning on the radio to play music and watch our porn movie in silence.
—Rocío, I'm going to... well, I think you'd be more comfortable if you left the room.
—No! I mean... make some space, I want to see it too... I mean, I want to see the movie.
—Do you mean that? Don't think just because you're here that you can stop me from doing it.
—Make him! Masturbate, pervert. I'm 19, after all, not like I'm going to see something super new.
—You're a very strange girl, aren't you? Perfect, stay then! Press play.
I sat on the bed and put my notebook on my lap. The movie wasn't anything special. A girl doing a cubana to several guys. Mr. turned around to jerk off. And I was already sweating like a pig, hugging a pillow, staring open-mouthed at that imposing cock of my dreams waking up from its slumber.
Mr. simply couldn't hold it and turned back to take the cock above his underwear. He looked at me and smiled as he squeezed it with force. I could stop it, tell him it wasn't appropriate for him to do that, but somehow he noticed how dazed I was by his member, how hot I got from watching him masturbate.
—Isn't it bothering you, Rocío, seriously?
—Ah... don Jorge —I hugged the pillow tightly—, isn't looking at the movie. left obsessed. Although I couldn't see anything with the pillow. Are you going to show them to me or do I have to imagine them?
I swallowed saliva. A thousand thoughts were coming and going. Was he joking? Was he seriously asking for it? His wife was outside, she could knock on the door at any moment. Should I do it? How was it possible that that broom was hypnotizing me almost completely? Sure, I thought I was a stupid and easy girl; was he taking advantage of my guilt over what I had done to him?
And the worst part is that in that moment, guilt started invading me all over again. That my boyfriend, his wife, my decency, my body wouldn't withstand even one blow from his club. But it was the distant laughter of his wife and neighbor that pulled me out of myself.
—What are you waiting for, Rocío? Show them to me!—
—I'm going home!
I rushed out quickly and nervously, all flushed, confused, and frustrated with myself. I had decided, I wanted to make this man mine but my conscience was attacking me at the worst moments.
The worst part arrived that night in my room. I lay on my bed when he called me on my mobile phone. It was only seeing his name on my phone's screen and shivering all over. My Booty even seemed to gasp, as if it were begging for his enormous and beautiful club. I swallowed saliva and had the most surreal conversation of my life:
—Señor Jorge?
—Hello Rocío. I'm calling to tell you that you forgot your notebook. It's here.
—Ah, well... I'll pick it up tomorrow, thank you for letting me know.
—Don't you mind if I use it? I'm bored...
—Of course not, Señor Jorge, use it. But please don't watch porn—
—I'm watching something much better. I'm watching your Facebook, girl.
—Ah!
—I love the photos you took while you were at the beach with a guy... who is he?
—He's my boyfriend! Leave me alone!
—I mean, if you look so... guapita. Oh! And you're here to get wet with your pink bikini, Rocío, showing off that tiny ass of yours, a little dirty from the sand. How I wish I could clean it up!
—Stop, pervert! Turn it off and sleep!
—What's wrong? Are you stupid or something? I'm getting myself off while watching them.
At that moment, I could have yelled a thousand worse things at her again, but my little flesh was vibrating once more, imagining his super member. From my Booty and vagina came electric currents, if such a thing is possible. Mother of God, it's as if they were demanding that the enormous sword of that gentleman give me pleasure from all sides, even though I knew I'd be left battered. And to make matters worse, I would swear I could hear him masturbating slightly. Or was I just imagining and hearing things I shouldn't?
—Is he getting off again, Mr. Jorge?
—Who is she? —the gentleman sighed.
—Who?
—The blonde who's hugging you in a shopping mall. She's very beautiful. Tall, girl... looks like a model, no joke!
—She's my friend... it's Andrea!
—Well, she's very good-looking.
—Very good-looking...? Perfect! Masturbate with her, old pervert! If I ruin my notebook, he'll regret it.
—Although if I'm being honest, I prefer them with more curves, more tits and Booty. Like you.
—Ahhh, seriously?...
—Ugh, this photo is great. Your friend is lifting up your athletic skirt, surely that's your tennis skirt. Is that mesh underneath? It makes your Booty stand out really well... Ugh, my balls ache, girl.
—Ah, don't talk to me like that, Mr. Jorge... but okay —I settled into my bed and hugged a pillow with my legs. Just knowing that that gentleman was looking at my photos and touching himself made me super... hot...
Mr. Jorge, the truth is I feel really bad because I respect his wife. Plus I have a boyfriend!
—Mother of God, the more I see your Booty, the more I fall in love with you. I'm telling you that when I get my hands on it, I'll violate all the laws had and to have been. Or so I don't know for how long they're going to lock me up for what I'm going to do to your bum, are you listening, girl?
—Why do you say those things! Nobody touches my Booty!
—Well, we're going to change that... Ugh! Wait!... I'm... a... at point!
—God have mercy! Don't dirty my notebook, please!
—I hung up the call all sweaty. I couldn't believe it, I had a thousand and one opportunities to put the brakes on but barely had the willpower. It was obvious that the gentleman was playing with me because he'd already seen how crazy I was about him. Impossible in every way that the damn painter of my house was making me so hot, obsessed, so slutty, but that's how it was!
I received a message from his. Send me a picture of your tits, it said. I swallowed saliva. But I didn't respond, I'm a decent girl after all. It's normal to feel wet, I mean, I'm human! But also I make good use of my reason! Although sometimes... I know that when I'm excited I don't make good use of reason...
While I was stuck in my internal debates, he sent me a picture of his cock at its peak. You could see my laptop in the background with a photo of my Facebook where I wore a bikini, lying on my stomach on a towel on the beach. My skin stood on end when I caught his indirect hint to make me Booty.
I didn't stop masturbating all night looking at the picture of his giant brush...
III. The surface gets too wet, it needs a wipe NOW!
The next day, Sunday, I went back to his house after my tennis practice. Obviously I only came back to recover my notebook. When I entered, I sat down beside don Jorge's bed, who was watching TV. I put my racket on my lap and spoke softly.
—Good afternoon, don Jorge.
—Are you coming from your practices?
—Yes.
—If that's the usual uniform for tennis players, I'm going to become a fanatic. You look like an angel in all white. Tight shirt, short skirt. You're really pretty. Get up and turn around for me.
—Stop! I'm very good with the swings, I can give you a racket to the face if you keep acting like that.
—Come on, be nice. You're all sweaty.
—Normally I use the club's dressing rooms to shower and change, but I understand that I wanted to get here as soon as possible.
—Why are you so excited about what I said about making your Booty?
—Don Jorge! God have mercy... I only came to find my notebook.
—Here it is —he passed it to me, it was on the bed, next to him. It was clean.
—I didn't like what happened last night, Don Jorge. You're married.
—Rocío, just seeing you in that so flirtatious uniform gives me a painful erection. Too bad my hard-on goes down when you start talking nonsense.
—Leave me alone, please. My best friend says I'm acting weird lately, like I'm in love. But I'm not in love, I'm just confused. Plus, I have exams, I can't concentrate, stop acting this way with me, we can't! We mustn't!
—You know? I have a strong urge to shut you up with a good one. You talk too much! When I get on top of you, I'll give that tiny ass such a hard time that only screams and saliva will come out of your mouth, just like it should be!
—Leave me alone, I'm a decent girl!
—Close the door, kid! Or do you want me to get up and screw you against the wall?
At that moment, my vagina and Booty simply shuddered imagining something like that. Poor me!
—Ah! Ah, now I understand, stay there, now I'll close the door!
—That's it. Now I can take care of myself...
—Ahhh —the destroyer reappeared, all powerful and menacing—. Don't take it off, please...
—Come here, sit on the bed.
—I-I'm sweaty, maybe I shouldn't...
He pulled out his weapon and started wanking himself again. I was hypnotized by all of it. Forgive me, Christian, for being such a slut. I swallowed my saliva and approached slowly, sitting down on Don Jorge's bed next to him, leaving the notebook and racket on the couch, always looking at that Unbelievable brush. It was fascinating, the gentleman would turn it and I would follow with my eyes as if it were a slutty one seeing food.
—Do you like what you see, Rocío?
—I... I don't know...
—it's huge, isn't it?
Silence.
—is it bigger than your boyfriend's?
Silence again. But I bit my lips and affirmed timidly.
—I see. You must have been thinking about this all these days, right?
—not true, don't say that.
—and why are you getting so red? Come on, show me your tits.
Again a thousand doubts. I looked at the door, compulsively checking it was locked. And thought about how morbid the situation was, that huge cock was going to calm down not seeing a porn star but me! But I didn't have the strength to take off my tennis shirt; one thing was that the gentleman was a pervert and coarse, but another thing was that I would participate in his game like that; his wife was very nice to me, I didn't want to betray that trust.
So as the gentleman saw me indecisive, he left his cock and grabbed my waist to caress me gently, putting his hand under my shirt. I jumped; his skin was hot. Thick, rough fingers. I melted.
—you girls get wet easily but are very scared. That's why I prefer older ones.
—I'm not a kid!
—Why don't you call my wife? She'll show her tits and knows how to use them...
—not! I'll show them to him!, is that okay? But listen, if he makes fun of me or says something gross, I'll break the other leg with my racket...
Forgive me, Mrs. Susana, for being so slutty. I slid a strap off my shirt slowly. My belly felt rich from the tingling when my breast was freed from its bra, besides the gentleman was very skilled at caressing me with his expert fingers on my waistband, now putting them under my mesh to touch my Booty.
—Wow, two udders, little cowgirl, are better than those in my magazines.
—Don't call me a cow, Mr. Jorge! —I covered them with my hands. —Come on, don't get upset. Let me see them well. —Apologize first! We stayed like that for a long time, he lifting his hand up my body to caress me, I leaning my body slightly like a kitten craving more and more of his touch. When I agreed to show them again, Don Jorge joked that it was rare for me to have ubres so large but aureolas so small. Then, pinching my nipples, he ordered something. He didn't ask or consult... simply ordered with his male voice. —Make me a masturbation. Silence. —I don't know, Don Jorge... your wife... at any moment... —Why are you looking at my cock and not at my eyes? —Ah! I think I should go home. As he noticed my hesitation, he grabbed my hand and led it straight to his giant. I jumped in surprise, it was hot, hard, the veins were pulsing, and indeed it was so thick that I couldn't close my hand around it. With the passing seconds, I relaxed and started to feel it with curiosity. I began to caress the glans, then press the veins, before taking it with both hands to start masturbating it slowly. I don't know if the gentleman enjoyed himself because my hands were literally trembling with fear, what if he entered me? Maggled, destroyed, crying from pain. —Rocío, make me a fast and strong masturbation. —Strong?... How strong? —You can call my wife and she'll explain how it's done. —Shut up! I kept on masturbating, with speed and squeezing hard, as if it were the handle of my racket. He was asking me to tell him things like how enormous it was and if I had really seen anything like that in my life. I told him everything, I confessed the truth! But stuttered or words came out crossed; his was imposing, beautiful, a titan, he had me crazy since I saw him, it also gave me a lot of fear. I wanted to tell him to leave his wife and marry me, or that we go for a walk on the beach one day, ha! But I didn't have the courage to say it, so I just looked at How slowly a translucent liquid was coming out of my urethra.
—That's it, Rocío, you're doing well. Do you want to try something special I have for you?
—I don't like... swallowing...
—Do you want me to get dirty and let my wife catch me? Is that what you want?
—No... no, I don't want to get caught either... it's going to splash on my uniform...
—Well, it's time you use this mouth for something other than talking. Spit and come quickly, let's go!
—Spit?
After several minutes of masturbating his cock started to pulse, the tip was already very red. I gathered some saliva and let a small chunk fall because he said it would be more comfortable being lubricated. While Don Jorge huffed like an animal, he put his hand between my buttocks, under my mesh, and started playing with the ring of my anus:
—Ahhh, don't touch there, pig!
—It's impressive how tight you are, Rocío. You won't be able to sit for a year after I make your tiny ass. I'll eat it every day and make you see stars. Come on, keep coming because I'm almost done.
—Don't put that finger in there, please!
—Come on, little pig! Go ahead, go ahead, swallow everything!
—I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, and took as much as I could. He came copiously while one of his fingers was making hooks in my anus. The jizz went back and forth without stopping, I felt it accumulating between my teeth and tongue. When he stopped spitting semen, I moved away to breathe; my eyes were burning, his cum was abundant and hot, surely my face was all red and disheveled. I made an effort to swallow; I felt the semen of the gentleman slowly going down into my stomach.
The destroyer slowly went to rest, losing strength and size. As he left, I dedicated myself to kissing that impressive piece with all my respect and admiration, his testicles too, hoping that one day I could enter him.
I undressed later to be able to sleep next to Don Jorge, opening the buttons of his shirt to kiss his chest while he was petted and told me he had done it very well. It was the first time he treated me so sweetly, and I loved it! But time goes on, don't they? And it goes fast when you're doing things you like. We could spend the whole afternoon caressing each other and discovering little points with our fingers and tongue, but you have to let the paint dry for a while.
—Don Jorge, I have to go... —I said, giving him a long, lingering kiss and pressing myself against his body.
—Go, Rocío. But leave your malla behind —he gave me a firm slap on the butt and squeezed my booty.
—I don't know, it will be very long until my house if I go without anything under my skirt.
—Why won't you give me a little joy, girl? You're always so indecisive —he pulled me against him and sucked my nipples. It was super tasty because they're very sensitive and he definitely convinced me.
—Ahhh... B-bueno... I suppose I'll let you have it...
So I got up to get dressed. Yes, when I finished dressing, I showed him the malla, bringing it slowly towards his hands.
—Don Jorge —I moved my malla away from him and smiled—. Tell me, is he going to masturbate with them?
—Until the day I die, girl.
—Well... It's better if you hide them better than your porn magazines. I'm going to move to another country if your wife finds out, do you understand?
—Let's see. Why do you think I have all my things in this room? My wife always sleeps upstairs, and I'm here. We're separated, Rocío. So already erase that worried face and give me your malla.
—Really? Are you separated? But if she loves him...
—She loves the neighbor, who she talks to every day.
—Don't tell me!
—I'm telling you. Why do you think I always go out to buy painting supplies? Because I don't like being here! So then you understand why I got angry with you for confining me to this place?
—Uf, if it were up to me, I'd take him home, Don Jorge. In fact, to my room, ha!
—Thanks, Rocío. But it's not necessary. Are you going to come... tomorrow? —Of course, but I can stay for a little longer if you want. I sat back down on the bed and caressed his cock, but it was no longer giving any signs of life. Anyway, the gentleman licked his fingers and immediately put his hand under my skirt to give me a rich stimulation that left me even hotter than I already was. —Look, little one, I'd also like to do it. Based on how I'm feeling, you have very plump and juicy lips, sure you're tight and all, like unworn. That's special. —Ahhh… sigaaa… —But with one leg and arm in casts, this is going to be more of a comedy than anything else. I'd like to do it well and under good conditions. So you'll have to wait until I recover. —But... You'll be like that for a month! —Then let's make this month less boring, Rocío. IV. Repainting layers of paint Sometimes, no matter how ridiculous it may sound, I would just go to see him masturbate while I did what he told me to do. Whether giving him milk with my supposed breasts (Ugh!), or whispering the things I used to do to him in my world of fantasies, in that world where he was my husband and I was simply a wife who wore nothing but a flirtatious nightgown from Monday to Saturday. On Sundays we would go to an imaginary beach to take a walk hand in hand. Even when our trust reached its peak, he taught me how to stimulate his prostate, something that made him cum more than a young boy, splashing everywhere, which sometimes caused me some uncomfortable moments when returning home. During the nights I sent him photos constantly. I learned to make various poses to accentuate my breasts and try on the most suggestive clothes I have. Going through bikinis, tangas, some camisoles and even tiny strips that I only used for my boyfriend's enjoyment. Sometimes playing with the handle of my racket, all suggestive, since tennis seemed to be starting to appeal to him. Occasionally I would climb onto his bed and helped him with his manual skills, or simply we would autosatisfy each other together, or each one on their own, but stuck to the bed. According to him, the more we knew our bodies and erogenous zones, the better we would perform in bed for the day we promised to make love. So we explored all the beautiful and perverse ways possible every afternoon. I even learned to stimulate myself with his turkey sausages to give them to him later, all wet from me. He made me try one once but I didn't like it at all, although he loved it. And we would review the layers of paint on our particular wall, waiting for the day, a day, an evening, some moment! I confessed my fears of intimacy with a man as big as him to him, but he promised, in his rough way, that he would do his best not to hurt me. I didn't know if I should believe him because he also confessed that it excited him when girls screamed a lot... I don't know if his wife suspects. But it's true what Don Jorge said, that she didn't care about anything: seeing me leave her room at night, catching me without underwear under my tennis skirt on Sundays, or even seeing me enter there with very suggestive clothes. She never asked, never made a face, never hinted to me about it or less left of helping her husband, whether cooking or helping him move around the house or garden. She was actually quite content and I think her neighbor had something to do with all that. Happy everyone, what's the point of asking? Sometimes I remember that afternoon when my clumsiness ended up breaking his limbs, and I smile because destiny is very playful with its jokes. Who would have told my dad that everything would end like this? With my daughter naked playing distracted every day with the huge brush of the painter he hired. To get on all fours and make myself see the little stars. That afternoon fulfilled a fantasy I didn't expect: we strolled along the beach as if we were husband and wife, although reality is very different because probably I looked more like a daughter than a lover. We haven't agreed when it will happen because sometimes thinking that something like this is going to enter me gives me vertigo, ugh! But I think it's normal, it's too much sauce for such a narrow surface. Anyway, the painting, this painting, has left very nice on that wall previously dampened that separated us, don't you think?
I hope you like it:
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It all started when I was studying for my finals in my second year at college. My dad hired Don Jorge, a man in his fifties, known among neighbors for being a painter and doing odd jobs around the barrio, besides having a rustic attitude. And it's not exactly that he's an Adonis or anything similar... nor did I care since it was just about the painter.
He hired him to repaint the walls of our garden because winter and humidity had made them all dull; it needed new coats, and also to renovate the house. So the man would show up every evening at my home where he worked for hours while I studied in the living room.
Sometimes I'd take breaks to chat with him. Total, since we were the only ones at home and it wasn't a plan to be antisocial. Although, as I said, the man wasn't very talkative or friendly. I used to ask if we had anything in common to talk about: daily news, his work as a painter, his family, mine, even the weather! But nothing worked; all my attempts at dialogue ended after four or five exchanges.
One evening in particular, when he was painting on the wall from high up on the stairs, I entered the garden tired of formulas, numbers, and theories.
—Don Jorge, do you like tennis?
—No, I don't follow it. Do you like it?
—Yes! In fact, I practice it.
—Good for you!
Silence followed. Long and uncomfortable silence. Fed up, I decided to cross my arms and try to focus on things differently.
—Okay. Could you tell me what you don't like, Don... Jorge?
—What...? —he stopped painting and looked at me strangely.— Can you tell me what's going on with all these questions you're asking me every day?
—I just want to talk, but if it's going to bother you, then forget about it.
—You're a very... Look, do you want to know what I don't like? This cold!
—God! —my light went on.— I'll bring you some coffee, don't move!
When I returned to the garden with a cup of coffee and pastries in my hands, I ended up tripping over the hose and fell flat against the mentioned staircase. The poor man stumbled and fell all the way up, but not on me, fortunately. But unfortunately, he landed very badly.
—Result? Bandages, bandages, and bandages. I felt like a monster visiting him at his house, with my dad, and seeing him confined to a small and dark room, lying on the bed with his left arm and leg in casts, miserable and sad, with a lost look. He didn't even want to greet me. His wife had told me, when she saw me very upset, not to worry too much, that her husband did painting jobs for fun, not out of necessity, that like any good hardworking man he didn't want to be quiet without doing anything.
—But I couldn't leave it like that. So I told his wife that if it wasn't a bother, I would come every day after my college classes to spend time with him, take care of him and try to attend to him so as not to leave everything to her during the month he'd be like this. The guilty one was clearly me, and even though my dad and his wife wanted to downplay the situation, I simply couldn't let it pass. A man was bedridden and in casts because of my fault!
When both my father and the painter's wife left, I opened the curtain that hid the sunlight and tried to get him talking, but unsuccessfully, as always. Better lit as I was, I looked around the tiny room. There was barely an armchair, a small TV stand, a chair next to the bed, and finally a radio. on a table, on the other side of the bed. At that moment I simply thought it was the room his wife had decided to use as a place where she could attend him better, since it was near the kitchen, on the first floor, and not in the second, where I would later know that the marital bedroom is located.
—Oh, listen, Mr. Jorge, your house is very beautiful and your wife is very kind.
Silence. Only my footsteps echoed through the place. I sat down in the armchair next to his bed.
—and... Don't you have children? Now that I think about it, I've never seen them. And even though I usually pass by here every day after school and also when I went to college.
Nothing at all.
—My best friend says that probably you want to kill me and hate me a lot, but I told her it doesn't make sense to conclude those things if she doesn't even know you. Is that true? Don't you hate me?
He closed his eyes and seemed to be falling asleep.
—I don't think you hate me, I mean, I didn't do it on purpose. Besides, look at me, I could be walking in the shopping mall with my best friends, but... I'm here! Looking... at the photos they're sending me on WhatsApp... it seems like they're having fun...
—Damn it, girl, shut up for once.
—Ah! It looks like someone regained their tongue. By the way, look at this photo that just got sent to me, she's Andrea, my best friend... I'm writing her that Hello Kitty t-shirt is precious, don't you think? Look, look...
He didn't see the photo but looked at me fixedly. It seemed like he wanted to incinerate me with his gaze, but I was holding onto my smile as well as I could.
I was about to ask him again for my sincere apologies for the accident, but before I opened my mouth, the man let out a very rude:
—I should have fallen on you...
II. The Painter's Brush take. This time, with his smiling wife as a witness, things got even more fun. For me, not for him.
—Is it soup again? —the gentleman complained.
—What? Do you want the turkey sausages again?
—I like those sausages.
—Enough of sausages! Now open your mouth, Jorge, the girl is going to make you take a drink.
—Seriously, woman? Is she going to make me take a drink?
—Don't be rude. Be grateful that someone wants to help you, I'm genuinely tired.
—Don Jorge —I interrupted, tasting the soup—, this is super delicious...
—Little brat, are you taking my soup?
—Well, yes, and it would be better if you opened your mouth if you don't want me to finish it!
—Perfect! Take it all, damn girl, I won't let you feed me! Humiliating slut!
On Wednesday, since the exams were approaching, I was going to his house to review my notes out loud while he watched TV. I had no idea what he liked: either the news channel, or the sports channel, or the gossip magazine. Since he never complained nor said anything...
—Don Jorge, I think I'm having Florence Nightingale syndrome...
—What a load of crap is that?
—that if I keep taking care of him, I'll go crazy from my patient –I joked.
—I'm not your patient, I don't need you, and I hate gossip magazines!
—And what if I put on the sports channel?
—he closed his eyes and took a nap. He wanted to annoy me, intimidate me, but he wasn't going to succeed. There was a dirty and moldy wall between us, but I wouldn't rest until I made it beautiful. His attitude made me think that maybe I should keep trying other alternatives; everyone has their weaknesses; at some point the heart gives in and sees kindness. And soon he would see mine.
So on Thursday I rented a couple of movies to watch together. I had to resort to my wise best friend's advice to recommend something that could be fun for a man his age. He showed reluctance to watch movies with me, about all because he didn't like it when I sat on his bed, next to him, to watch them from the notebook.
But when he saw that I had prepared a couple of turkey sausages (in secret, because his lady didn't want to), he accepted me as company. The first movie was Hachiko, the one about the dog that waited for its dead owner until its last days. I put the portable on my lap and inserted the disc.
I ended up crying with snot running, hugging my notebook, mumbling that I would never in my life have a dog, I would break my heart if some mutt had to go through something so strong. I hoped Don Jorge was in a similar situation to mine: downcast, destroyed, with his heart breaking into pieces; ideal situation to get to know this sentimental side of him. But when I looked at him, I saw the same old cranky guy as always.
—God damn it, girl, are you crying over that nonsense?
——Oh God! It was terrible when Mrs. recognized the dog even though everything was already old!
——It's a slit movie!
——Based on real events, Don Jorge! Do you have no heart?
The second movie had the title Hook, which is about an elderly Peter Pan who tries to become the boy he once was again. I thought it was spot on, to see if Mr. could identify and be less of a brat with me. So I put the DVD in and it played automatically. Two women, a blonde and a redhead, entered a room naked, holding hands. Soon they started kissing.
—Rocío... I didn't expect this from you. First sausages, now a porn. You're not so bad anymore.
—This isn't Hook. They must have gotten confused at the video club. It would be better to return it.
——No! Dammit, do something good and let me see it.
——Really, sir? Is that what interests you? A porn?
——If you stayed quiet, it would be great but I guess that's impossible.
——Heavy! You should tell your lady...
——Do it, I don't think she'll care much. Look, two more girls... beautiful girls, right? And then a black guy comes into action.
I wasn't going to give him the pleasure, and least of all because I could hear his wife coming towards the room, so I quickly closed the notebook and got up from the bed. Don Jorge sighed again and scolded me at the same time because according to him, when I finally found something that interested him, I ended up discarding it. But there wasn't time for more because his wife entered:
—Rocío, I want to go shopping, don't you mind staying here a bit longer until I get back?
—Of course not, Susana. I was thinking of cleaning the room.
—What a charm you are! The broom and mop are in the garden. Be good, Jorge, don't be bad to the girl.
After saying goodbye to the lady on the porch, I got the mentioned broom and mop to go back into Don Jorge's room. As I was sweeping the piece, the gentleman returned to the attack:
—Rocío, be a good girl and put that movie you brought me on.
—I'm not listening, pervert.
—Ah, now you're getting mad? Just put it on and wait for me in the living room until it's over.
—I don't know if he realizes, but I'm cleaning his room!
After taking a beating from Don Jorge, I approached the closet to organize his clothes. It was when I noticed a small cardboard box, like a shoe box, hidden at the bottom. It was quite heavy. Don Jorge looked sideways and by the tone of voice I could tell he was alarmed.
—What are you doing, girl?
—I'm organizing the closet!
—Let it go!
With how annoyed I was getting from his attitude, I opened it to punish him. My eyes opened as wide as they could. They were porn magazines, not just... light ones... but quite strong ones. While the gentleman was yelling about this invasion of privacy, I noticed a common denominator in all the covers and content of the magazines. It seemed that the gentleman liked girls with big breasts...
But then it gave me a tremendous cut because I have large breasts, but of course By the way I was dressed (we were in winter) it barely showed up. I stored the magazines in the drawer and returned them to the closet. And I felt terrible, that is, I wouldn't like someone to know about my fetishes and perversions. It's something I didn't usually share with my boyfriend because it requires a very large level of trust.
—Hey, Mr. Jorge, excuse me. I'll put it away and won't review it again.
Silence again. This time it was deadly. I felt like I had hurt him very strongly. I kept going, folding and organizing his clothes. Then I suspected something else. The pile of clothes, the TV, the radio on a dresser. It wasn't my intention to interfere more, at least not more than I already had, but I was seriously thinking that Mr. Jorge and Mrs. Susana didn't share the same room.
—Mr. Jorge, would you like me to put some music on?
Nothing. Nothing at all. The gentleman was hurt, it was clear. And I felt like a monster. Apart from having caused him a horrible accident, I had humiliated him. So when I finished with his clothes, I sat down again on his bed, opening the notebook.
The movie replayed itself. There, the two girls enjoyed the black man.
—Well... —I said sighing—. The father of that blonde must be super proud...
—Don't mess with me, girl —Mr. Jorge replied, smiling at me before looking at the movie again. The screams and moans filled the entire room.
I preferred not to keep watching; it's not that I'm not used to it or made a decent person out of myself, it's just that it felt bad seeing him with a gentleman I was supposed to be taking care of. I left the notebook and got up to sweep the floor a bit more under his bed.
While cleaning underneath his bed, I noticed something striking on Mr. Jorge's crotch: his erection was marking itself under his pants. And that sword, for the love of all saints, was incredible. I stayed there, holding the broom, staring fixedly at how that mast hardened more and more and more; Hasta where was I going to grow? I was already surpassing my boyfriend's! —Rocío, is anything happening with you? —asked Don Jorge, with a mischievous smile.
I couldn't utter a single word but managed to react in time. I turned away and pretended not to notice, wiping the floor again. But that lance kept shining. Almost glowing, I'd say, calling me, begging me to glance at it discreetly when I could. The girls' moans echoed through the room; I let out a thread of saliva when I looked back at it.
—Would you mind leaving my room for a bit, Rocío?
—Ahhh —I said, dazed —I have to study, Don Jorge.
—Oh, I see! Well, stay then, I don't care.
With his only hand, he pulled down his pants and turned back his underwear, revealing that impressive piece of flesh. Mother! It was shining, sparkling, standing proud and infinite! God, and those veins! My legs weakened, I felt a slight dizziness, still not wanting to sound too obscene but it's just that even my vagina shuddered imagining how something like that would enter me. I ran out of the room as soon as he started massaging his flesh roughly, puffing like an animal and watching the porn movie.
Red as a tomato, I closed the door behind me. I leaned against it, slowly falling to the floor. I couldn't believe it! That easily surpassed twenty centimeters! Poor Doña Susana, surely she didn't let him walk well... or better said... poor lucky Doña Susana...
Behind the door, Don Jorge was masturbating very loudly. And I, curious as could be, went back to try and see him through the keyhole. Forcing my gaze, I could see the enormous object that had me crazy. Those huge veins were going in and out of that long and thick trunk, strongly massaged by the gentleman's hand.
I couldn't help it, I got really excited! But it wasn't the time to masturbate. So I went to the kitchen to prepare... something to eat and get impure thoughts out of my head. Occasionally I would silently return to his door to see if he was still stimulating himself or if he had already finished with his manuality.
Fifteen minutes later, when I saw him come in a handkerchief, he tried to put on both his boxer shorts and pants with his available hand.
I entered his room with a salad in my hand; I had slices of his favorite sausage. But my whole body was shaking, I was blushing, sweating too, looking sideways at his crotch that no longer showed signs of the destroyer that lodged there.
Don Jorge, I'm going to leave a salad here... and run away to my house now.
Thanks, girl. Could you do me one last favor? Close my belt buckle...
Ahhh... Mr. Jorge --I stayed there not knowing what to do, playing with my fingers. I wanted to run but also wanted to stay, I don't know. Swallowed saliva and approached him slowly, adjusting his boxer shorts a bit, trying not to look too much at that piece of morbid meat shining under the fabric--. Mr. Jorge, I'm glad I finally found something he likes.
Well, the movie was great. Will you bring me more of those?
Ugh... this is super uncomfortable, but I can do it.
I'm starting to like you, Rocío. And I like girls with tits, so bring some movies like that.
My God, if your wife catches us for sure she'll give me a slap in the face --I couldn't close the buckle because my little hands were trembling, oh God!
You told me already, girl, it won't matter to her!
At night, in my house, I couldn't get rid of the mental image of that astronomical mast. His wife must have been giving him a blow job or forcing positions to make love to him on that bed, just in case he hurt his broken limbs. Normal if he were my husband, I'd be crazy all the time. But clearly, it wasn't my case, so I limited myself simply to spending an enjoyable time in my bathroom, inserting a finger while I caressed my clitoris with my thumb; I imagined that I was his wife receiving him after a heavy day of work, dressed in a flirtatious and transparent nightgown. He would fill my face with kisses while savoring my dinner, and then he would drag me to our marital bedroom where I would make myself enjoy the whole night with that long, thick, and titanic work of nature. We would do it every day, every day, every day... Mother, we would never stop! Maybe I would leave Sundays for a walk on the beach, which is my favorite activity. But then I started crying seeing my finger, so small and finite, wet from me, it wasn't the same as that enormous tool of that painter... There was a wall between us, yes! Ugly and moss-covered. But now an enormous brush had entered the scene. And it seemed to be coming loaded with a lot of paint.
II. A surface too narrow for such a brush
I returned to his house on Friday. I brought another pair of movies. And of course both were erotic. It cost me to muster up the courage to rent those things, the freckled young man from the store smiled at me like a pervert when I asked for the DVDs.
—Good evening, Rocío. Have you brought my movies?
—Ugh, Don Jorge, good evening. Of course, I brought them, I hid them in my backpack.
I put one on and nothing more than pressing play, I left the room and closed the door to leave him in privacy. Although he didn't know or have a way of knowing that on the other side I was reclining against the door, listening to the intense and dry sound of his self-satisfaction. I went back to see him through the keyhole.
I started drooling. It was impressive! I would swear that his lance was bigger than the day before and everything. I remembered my boyfriend. That morning in college, during class hours, I dragged him to the women's bathroom; it was like a frenzy and he needed a man as much as Before. Christian, my boy, was super nervous because he's not used to my outbursts, and actually got angry with me when I laughed at seeing his erect member. Because I couldn't help but compare the penis of my boyfriend with that of Mr. Jorge, and the difference was so overwhelming that I simply laughed at seeing my boyfriend's.
Obviously, he got so mad that he ended our adventure in the bathroom. But what my boy didn't know is that, by leaving me half-done, he was sending me to the painter's house all wet; I was so excited that I no longer cared about taking off my cowboy pants there at Mr. Jorge's house, ready to masturbate against his door while the gentleman wanked.
My left fist was very marked by my teeth while my right hand hid under my panties. I can't describe the pleasure and the amount of intense orgasms I experienced with my little fingers making hooks inside me while listening to that gentleman's wanks. The amount of moisture on this wall wasn't even half normal.
I stayed there against the door, all exhausted, looking at my wet finger, squeezing my thighs. 'It has to be mine', I thought like a she-wolf. The truth is, I didn't recognize myself; I was already tired of masturbating, I wanted real meat!
After several minutes, after entering to close his belt buckle and cleaning a drop of semen that fell on the footrest, I grabbed my notebook and ran out without looking back or listening to his perverse opinions about the movie I had rented. I thought maybe I'd find clarity in a night with my books and notes.
But it's very hard to study in those conditions. Sometimes the letters and numbers, especially the graphs of my books, seemed to transform into an enormous, gigantic, and alluring... cock! ... My whole body was focused on that! And mentally I asked forgiveness from myself, my boyfriend, his wife, and, and, and... Forgiveness to everyone! Because that night, when I closed my eyes, I decided to give in to that damn slut with horns and a tiny devil's ass who camps out in my head, to that girl who never stops yelling at me: “What more does it matter if you leave walking like a penguin for days? You have to try that brush! Or are you going to calm down with that finger of yours? Please, it's not even remotely the same thing!”.
The next day, Saturday, since Mrs. was chatting with the same old neighbor on her porch, don Jorge and I would have enough privacy. However, I decided to put the lock on the door, besides turning on the radio to play music and watch our porn movie in silence.
—Rocío, I'm going to... well, I think you'd be more comfortable if you left the room.
—No! I mean... make some space, I want to see it too... I mean, I want to see the movie.
—Do you mean that? Don't think just because you're here that you can stop me from doing it.
—Make him! Masturbate, pervert. I'm 19, after all, not like I'm going to see something super new.
—You're a very strange girl, aren't you? Perfect, stay then! Press play.
I sat on the bed and put my notebook on my lap. The movie wasn't anything special. A girl doing a cubana to several guys. Mr. turned around to jerk off. And I was already sweating like a pig, hugging a pillow, staring open-mouthed at that imposing cock of my dreams waking up from its slumber.
Mr. simply couldn't hold it and turned back to take the cock above his underwear. He looked at me and smiled as he squeezed it with force. I could stop it, tell him it wasn't appropriate for him to do that, but somehow he noticed how dazed I was by his member, how hot I got from watching him masturbate.
—Isn't it bothering you, Rocío, seriously?
—Ah... don Jorge —I hugged the pillow tightly—, isn't looking at the movie. left obsessed. Although I couldn't see anything with the pillow. Are you going to show them to me or do I have to imagine them?
I swallowed saliva. A thousand thoughts were coming and going. Was he joking? Was he seriously asking for it? His wife was outside, she could knock on the door at any moment. Should I do it? How was it possible that that broom was hypnotizing me almost completely? Sure, I thought I was a stupid and easy girl; was he taking advantage of my guilt over what I had done to him?
And the worst part is that in that moment, guilt started invading me all over again. That my boyfriend, his wife, my decency, my body wouldn't withstand even one blow from his club. But it was the distant laughter of his wife and neighbor that pulled me out of myself.
—What are you waiting for, Rocío? Show them to me!—
—I'm going home!
I rushed out quickly and nervously, all flushed, confused, and frustrated with myself. I had decided, I wanted to make this man mine but my conscience was attacking me at the worst moments.
The worst part arrived that night in my room. I lay on my bed when he called me on my mobile phone. It was only seeing his name on my phone's screen and shivering all over. My Booty even seemed to gasp, as if it were begging for his enormous and beautiful club. I swallowed saliva and had the most surreal conversation of my life:
—Señor Jorge?
—Hello Rocío. I'm calling to tell you that you forgot your notebook. It's here.
—Ah, well... I'll pick it up tomorrow, thank you for letting me know.
—Don't you mind if I use it? I'm bored...
—Of course not, Señor Jorge, use it. But please don't watch porn—
—I'm watching something much better. I'm watching your Facebook, girl.
—Ah!
—I love the photos you took while you were at the beach with a guy... who is he?
—He's my boyfriend! Leave me alone!
—I mean, if you look so... guapita. Oh! And you're here to get wet with your pink bikini, Rocío, showing off that tiny ass of yours, a little dirty from the sand. How I wish I could clean it up!
—Stop, pervert! Turn it off and sleep!
—What's wrong? Are you stupid or something? I'm getting myself off while watching them.
At that moment, I could have yelled a thousand worse things at her again, but my little flesh was vibrating once more, imagining his super member. From my Booty and vagina came electric currents, if such a thing is possible. Mother of God, it's as if they were demanding that the enormous sword of that gentleman give me pleasure from all sides, even though I knew I'd be left battered. And to make matters worse, I would swear I could hear him masturbating slightly. Or was I just imagining and hearing things I shouldn't?
—Is he getting off again, Mr. Jorge?
—Who is she? —the gentleman sighed.
—Who?
—The blonde who's hugging you in a shopping mall. She's very beautiful. Tall, girl... looks like a model, no joke!
—She's my friend... it's Andrea!
—Well, she's very good-looking.
—Very good-looking...? Perfect! Masturbate with her, old pervert! If I ruin my notebook, he'll regret it.
—Although if I'm being honest, I prefer them with more curves, more tits and Booty. Like you.
—Ahhh, seriously?...
—Ugh, this photo is great. Your friend is lifting up your athletic skirt, surely that's your tennis skirt. Is that mesh underneath? It makes your Booty stand out really well... Ugh, my balls ache, girl.
—Ah, don't talk to me like that, Mr. Jorge... but okay —I settled into my bed and hugged a pillow with my legs. Just knowing that that gentleman was looking at my photos and touching himself made me super... hot...
Mr. Jorge, the truth is I feel really bad because I respect his wife. Plus I have a boyfriend!
—Mother of God, the more I see your Booty, the more I fall in love with you. I'm telling you that when I get my hands on it, I'll violate all the laws had and to have been. Or so I don't know for how long they're going to lock me up for what I'm going to do to your bum, are you listening, girl?
—Why do you say those things! Nobody touches my Booty!
—Well, we're going to change that... Ugh! Wait!... I'm... a... at point!
—God have mercy! Don't dirty my notebook, please!
—I hung up the call all sweaty. I couldn't believe it, I had a thousand and one opportunities to put the brakes on but barely had the willpower. It was obvious that the gentleman was playing with me because he'd already seen how crazy I was about him. Impossible in every way that the damn painter of my house was making me so hot, obsessed, so slutty, but that's how it was!
I received a message from his. Send me a picture of your tits, it said. I swallowed saliva. But I didn't respond, I'm a decent girl after all. It's normal to feel wet, I mean, I'm human! But also I make good use of my reason! Although sometimes... I know that when I'm excited I don't make good use of reason...
While I was stuck in my internal debates, he sent me a picture of his cock at its peak. You could see my laptop in the background with a photo of my Facebook where I wore a bikini, lying on my stomach on a towel on the beach. My skin stood on end when I caught his indirect hint to make me Booty.
I didn't stop masturbating all night looking at the picture of his giant brush...
III. The surface gets too wet, it needs a wipe NOW!
The next day, Sunday, I went back to his house after my tennis practice. Obviously I only came back to recover my notebook. When I entered, I sat down beside don Jorge's bed, who was watching TV. I put my racket on my lap and spoke softly.
—Good afternoon, don Jorge.
—Are you coming from your practices?
—Yes.
—If that's the usual uniform for tennis players, I'm going to become a fanatic. You look like an angel in all white. Tight shirt, short skirt. You're really pretty. Get up and turn around for me.
—Stop! I'm very good with the swings, I can give you a racket to the face if you keep acting like that.
—Come on, be nice. You're all sweaty.
—Normally I use the club's dressing rooms to shower and change, but I understand that I wanted to get here as soon as possible.
—Why are you so excited about what I said about making your Booty?
—Don Jorge! God have mercy... I only came to find my notebook.
—Here it is —he passed it to me, it was on the bed, next to him. It was clean.
—I didn't like what happened last night, Don Jorge. You're married.
—Rocío, just seeing you in that so flirtatious uniform gives me a painful erection. Too bad my hard-on goes down when you start talking nonsense.
—Leave me alone, please. My best friend says I'm acting weird lately, like I'm in love. But I'm not in love, I'm just confused. Plus, I have exams, I can't concentrate, stop acting this way with me, we can't! We mustn't!
—You know? I have a strong urge to shut you up with a good one. You talk too much! When I get on top of you, I'll give that tiny ass such a hard time that only screams and saliva will come out of your mouth, just like it should be!
—Leave me alone, I'm a decent girl!
—Close the door, kid! Or do you want me to get up and screw you against the wall?
At that moment, my vagina and Booty simply shuddered imagining something like that. Poor me!
—Ah! Ah, now I understand, stay there, now I'll close the door!
—That's it. Now I can take care of myself...
—Ahhh —the destroyer reappeared, all powerful and menacing—. Don't take it off, please...
—Come here, sit on the bed.
—I-I'm sweaty, maybe I shouldn't...
He pulled out his weapon and started wanking himself again. I was hypnotized by all of it. Forgive me, Christian, for being such a slut. I swallowed my saliva and approached slowly, sitting down on Don Jorge's bed next to him, leaving the notebook and racket on the couch, always looking at that Unbelievable brush. It was fascinating, the gentleman would turn it and I would follow with my eyes as if it were a slutty one seeing food.
—Do you like what you see, Rocío?
—I... I don't know...
—it's huge, isn't it?
Silence.
—is it bigger than your boyfriend's?
Silence again. But I bit my lips and affirmed timidly.
—I see. You must have been thinking about this all these days, right?
—not true, don't say that.
—and why are you getting so red? Come on, show me your tits.
Again a thousand doubts. I looked at the door, compulsively checking it was locked. And thought about how morbid the situation was, that huge cock was going to calm down not seeing a porn star but me! But I didn't have the strength to take off my tennis shirt; one thing was that the gentleman was a pervert and coarse, but another thing was that I would participate in his game like that; his wife was very nice to me, I didn't want to betray that trust.
So as the gentleman saw me indecisive, he left his cock and grabbed my waist to caress me gently, putting his hand under my shirt. I jumped; his skin was hot. Thick, rough fingers. I melted.
—you girls get wet easily but are very scared. That's why I prefer older ones.
—I'm not a kid!
—Why don't you call my wife? She'll show her tits and knows how to use them...
—not! I'll show them to him!, is that okay? But listen, if he makes fun of me or says something gross, I'll break the other leg with my racket...
Forgive me, Mrs. Susana, for being so slutty. I slid a strap off my shirt slowly. My belly felt rich from the tingling when my breast was freed from its bra, besides the gentleman was very skilled at caressing me with his expert fingers on my waistband, now putting them under my mesh to touch my Booty.
—Wow, two udders, little cowgirl, are better than those in my magazines.
—Don't call me a cow, Mr. Jorge! —I covered them with my hands. —Come on, don't get upset. Let me see them well. —Apologize first! We stayed like that for a long time, he lifting his hand up my body to caress me, I leaning my body slightly like a kitten craving more and more of his touch. When I agreed to show them again, Don Jorge joked that it was rare for me to have ubres so large but aureolas so small. Then, pinching my nipples, he ordered something. He didn't ask or consult... simply ordered with his male voice. —Make me a masturbation. Silence. —I don't know, Don Jorge... your wife... at any moment... —Why are you looking at my cock and not at my eyes? —Ah! I think I should go home. As he noticed my hesitation, he grabbed my hand and led it straight to his giant. I jumped in surprise, it was hot, hard, the veins were pulsing, and indeed it was so thick that I couldn't close my hand around it. With the passing seconds, I relaxed and started to feel it with curiosity. I began to caress the glans, then press the veins, before taking it with both hands to start masturbating it slowly. I don't know if the gentleman enjoyed himself because my hands were literally trembling with fear, what if he entered me? Maggled, destroyed, crying from pain. —Rocío, make me a fast and strong masturbation. —Strong?... How strong? —You can call my wife and she'll explain how it's done. —Shut up! I kept on masturbating, with speed and squeezing hard, as if it were the handle of my racket. He was asking me to tell him things like how enormous it was and if I had really seen anything like that in my life. I told him everything, I confessed the truth! But stuttered or words came out crossed; his was imposing, beautiful, a titan, he had me crazy since I saw him, it also gave me a lot of fear. I wanted to tell him to leave his wife and marry me, or that we go for a walk on the beach one day, ha! But I didn't have the courage to say it, so I just looked at How slowly a translucent liquid was coming out of my urethra.
—That's it, Rocío, you're doing well. Do you want to try something special I have for you?
—I don't like... swallowing...
—Do you want me to get dirty and let my wife catch me? Is that what you want?
—No... no, I don't want to get caught either... it's going to splash on my uniform...
—Well, it's time you use this mouth for something other than talking. Spit and come quickly, let's go!
—Spit?
After several minutes of masturbating his cock started to pulse, the tip was already very red. I gathered some saliva and let a small chunk fall because he said it would be more comfortable being lubricated. While Don Jorge huffed like an animal, he put his hand between my buttocks, under my mesh, and started playing with the ring of my anus:
—Ahhh, don't touch there, pig!
—It's impressive how tight you are, Rocío. You won't be able to sit for a year after I make your tiny ass. I'll eat it every day and make you see stars. Come on, keep coming because I'm almost done.
—Don't put that finger in there, please!
—Come on, little pig! Go ahead, go ahead, swallow everything!
—I closed my eyes, opened my mouth, and took as much as I could. He came copiously while one of his fingers was making hooks in my anus. The jizz went back and forth without stopping, I felt it accumulating between my teeth and tongue. When he stopped spitting semen, I moved away to breathe; my eyes were burning, his cum was abundant and hot, surely my face was all red and disheveled. I made an effort to swallow; I felt the semen of the gentleman slowly going down into my stomach.
The destroyer slowly went to rest, losing strength and size. As he left, I dedicated myself to kissing that impressive piece with all my respect and admiration, his testicles too, hoping that one day I could enter him.
I undressed later to be able to sleep next to Don Jorge, opening the buttons of his shirt to kiss his chest while he was petted and told me he had done it very well. It was the first time he treated me so sweetly, and I loved it! But time goes on, don't they? And it goes fast when you're doing things you like. We could spend the whole afternoon caressing each other and discovering little points with our fingers and tongue, but you have to let the paint dry for a while.
—Don Jorge, I have to go... —I said, giving him a long, lingering kiss and pressing myself against his body.
—Go, Rocío. But leave your malla behind —he gave me a firm slap on the butt and squeezed my booty.
—I don't know, it will be very long until my house if I go without anything under my skirt.
—Why won't you give me a little joy, girl? You're always so indecisive —he pulled me against him and sucked my nipples. It was super tasty because they're very sensitive and he definitely convinced me.
—Ahhh... B-bueno... I suppose I'll let you have it...
So I got up to get dressed. Yes, when I finished dressing, I showed him the malla, bringing it slowly towards his hands.
—Don Jorge —I moved my malla away from him and smiled—. Tell me, is he going to masturbate with them?
—Until the day I die, girl.
—Well... It's better if you hide them better than your porn magazines. I'm going to move to another country if your wife finds out, do you understand?
—Let's see. Why do you think I have all my things in this room? My wife always sleeps upstairs, and I'm here. We're separated, Rocío. So already erase that worried face and give me your malla.
—Really? Are you separated? But if she loves him...
—She loves the neighbor, who she talks to every day.
—Don't tell me!
—I'm telling you. Why do you think I always go out to buy painting supplies? Because I don't like being here! So then you understand why I got angry with you for confining me to this place?
—Uf, if it were up to me, I'd take him home, Don Jorge. In fact, to my room, ha!
—Thanks, Rocío. But it's not necessary. Are you going to come... tomorrow? —Of course, but I can stay for a little longer if you want. I sat back down on the bed and caressed his cock, but it was no longer giving any signs of life. Anyway, the gentleman licked his fingers and immediately put his hand under my skirt to give me a rich stimulation that left me even hotter than I already was. —Look, little one, I'd also like to do it. Based on how I'm feeling, you have very plump and juicy lips, sure you're tight and all, like unworn. That's special. —Ahhh… sigaaa… —But with one leg and arm in casts, this is going to be more of a comedy than anything else. I'd like to do it well and under good conditions. So you'll have to wait until I recover. —But... You'll be like that for a month! —Then let's make this month less boring, Rocío. IV. Repainting layers of paint Sometimes, no matter how ridiculous it may sound, I would just go to see him masturbate while I did what he told me to do. Whether giving him milk with my supposed breasts (Ugh!), or whispering the things I used to do to him in my world of fantasies, in that world where he was my husband and I was simply a wife who wore nothing but a flirtatious nightgown from Monday to Saturday. On Sundays we would go to an imaginary beach to take a walk hand in hand. Even when our trust reached its peak, he taught me how to stimulate his prostate, something that made him cum more than a young boy, splashing everywhere, which sometimes caused me some uncomfortable moments when returning home. During the nights I sent him photos constantly. I learned to make various poses to accentuate my breasts and try on the most suggestive clothes I have. Going through bikinis, tangas, some camisoles and even tiny strips that I only used for my boyfriend's enjoyment. Sometimes playing with the handle of my racket, all suggestive, since tennis seemed to be starting to appeal to him. Occasionally I would climb onto his bed and helped him with his manual skills, or simply we would autosatisfy each other together, or each one on their own, but stuck to the bed. According to him, the more we knew our bodies and erogenous zones, the better we would perform in bed for the day we promised to make love. So we explored all the beautiful and perverse ways possible every afternoon. I even learned to stimulate myself with his turkey sausages to give them to him later, all wet from me. He made me try one once but I didn't like it at all, although he loved it. And we would review the layers of paint on our particular wall, waiting for the day, a day, an evening, some moment! I confessed my fears of intimacy with a man as big as him to him, but he promised, in his rough way, that he would do his best not to hurt me. I didn't know if I should believe him because he also confessed that it excited him when girls screamed a lot... I don't know if his wife suspects. But it's true what Don Jorge said, that she didn't care about anything: seeing me leave her room at night, catching me without underwear under my tennis skirt on Sundays, or even seeing me enter there with very suggestive clothes. She never asked, never made a face, never hinted to me about it or less left of helping her husband, whether cooking or helping him move around the house or garden. She was actually quite content and I think her neighbor had something to do with all that. Happy everyone, what's the point of asking? Sometimes I remember that afternoon when my clumsiness ended up breaking his limbs, and I smile because destiny is very playful with its jokes. Who would have told my dad that everything would end like this? With my daughter naked playing distracted every day with the huge brush of the painter he hired. To get on all fours and make myself see the little stars. That afternoon fulfilled a fantasy I didn't expect: we strolled along the beach as if we were husband and wife, although reality is very different because probably I looked more like a daughter than a lover. We haven't agreed when it will happen because sometimes thinking that something like this is going to enter me gives me vertigo, ugh! But I think it's normal, it's too much sauce for such a narrow surface. Anyway, the painting, this painting, has left very nice on that wall previously dampened that separated us, don't you think?
10 comentários - Revised by Dad's painter
un consejo... dividilo en tres la proxima!