Corrupting Jordan

I’ve noticed him all evening, his long fingers wrapped around the neck of a beer bottle, his honey blond hair falling into his pale blue eyes. We’re at a party, this boy and I, and I take a long sip of my beer then lean over and whisper in my best friend Marcia’s ear, “Is it true what they say about him, that he’s a virgin?”

Marcia smiles slyly, answers, “Amy, dear, I don’t know if I should tell you. I wouldn’t want you to corrupt him with your sinful ways.”

I open my green eyes wide, trying for a look of pure innocence. “Who, me, a corrupting influence? I would never . . .”

Marcia runs a soft fingertip down my cheek, “Love, I know firsthand just how bad you can be.”

I move my hand to the small of her back, rub in tight little circles the way I know she prefers. I touch skin, as I had told Marcia to wear a tight two piece outfit with a short top, and she never disobeys. Her skin goose pimples underneath my fingertips and I hear her breath catch. “Your first time was with me. Any regrets?”

She leans over, whispers in my ear with a hot puff of breath. “Absolutely none.” I inhale her fragrance, the one I had chosen for her, and feel a rush of wetness between my legs. But, Marcia I will save for later. I desire something more innocent tonight.

I smile, my eyes sliding back to the blond haired boy Jordan whom we are discussing. He pushes his hair back from his eyes, flirts with the adorable girl standing next to him. I like watching him flirt; he is very tentative and unsure, and I enjoy his blush as she caresses his arm. I, too, want to inspire such a fiery reaction.

Marcia whispers again, “Promise you’ll be gentle with him?”

Curling my fingers around the cold wetness of the beer bottle, I answer “I am always gentle . . . if that is what is desired.”

Marcia puts her finger on my chin, tilts my head toward her. “Yes, you can be so gentle it hurts. I love that about you. Yes, Amy, he’s a virgin and I want you to have him. Go.” She releases her hold on my chin, and I leave her, slowly weaving my way toward the innocence of Jordan.

I hear a loud voice rise above the noise, and I recognize it. It belongs to the host of the party, a man I had slept with on one occasion. I glance over, find him looking at me significantly. He says to the room in general, maintaining eye contact with me as he speaks, “I would like to play an old fashioned game tonight. Anyone care for a bit of spin the bottle?”

Everyone in the room agrees readily, and I say nothing. I had stopped to listen to his announcement, had not reached my goal of Jordan, and felt a bit annoyed at the interruption of my quest.

I call out, “And what would be the result of this game? A chaste kiss? Or more . . .?”

The host of the party looks me up and down, nods his head, and answers, “I think the result will be spending the night alone with your partner in a bedroom upstairs; no opening the door until daylight.”

I suddenly realize the significance of his look. He wants me in a room alone for the night. I smile, knowing that will not happen. This particular man is not what I desire, and was actually quite a disappointment the first and last time we were together. He lacks creativity, sensuality, generosity, which I require of all my lovers. I nod as he tilts the last swallow of beer into his mouth, watch as his throat undulates as he swallows.

I work my way a bit closer to Jordan, nod my head in agreement. If I’m to go upstairs with anyone, it will be with Jordan. The host places his empty bottle in the middle of the room, starts it spinning, and says, “Amy, would you like the first spin?”

I walk over to the bottle, put my stiletto-clad foot on the spinning bottle, stop it as it points to Jordan, and he says, “Amy, that’s not fair. You have to wait for the bottle to come to rest naturally.”

“I,” picking up the bottle and running it across my lips, “do not play a child’s game. Ask me to take part again some other time when you know how to play with a woman, hmmmm?”

I turn to Jordan, catch him watching me as I slowly sashay over to him, touch his blue shirt with the tip of the bottle, run it down the line of his chest, stop at the top metal button of his jeans. I can see the beginnings of a hardness there, and I smile. I say to Jordan, “I believe the bottle has stopped on you. Want to play?”

Jordan swallows hard, blushes so deeply it makes me wet. He says, “You, you want to play with me?”

Pressing the bottle a bit harder into his stomach, enough to make him flinch, “I want to play with you.” I take his hand, which is very warm, and pull him up the stairs, away from the rest of the party, enjoying the speculative glances we draw from our watching audience.

I lead him to a large oak door on the right, open it, pull him inside the master bedroom of the house. I reach behind him with my stiletto, close the door with my foot, watch as he jumps at the loud noise. I like him nervous, but I know that I must relax him a bit so that he may enjoy me.

I lead him to the bed, push him down, make him sit. “Jordan, you know I’ve been watching you for a while now. Watching and wanting . . .”

He looks startled, can’t take his eyes off of me as I begin to unbutton my tight blue cardigan. He answers, “I’ve been watching you, as well. You are in my Economics class and I can barely concentrate . . .” His voice trails off, he loses his nerve, and his eyes fall to the floor.

I take his hand, place it on my recently bared chest, show him how to rub the swell of breast that is spilling from the top of my blue demi-cup. I ask, “Is it true, Jordan, that you have never had sex before, hmmm?” God, I adore his blushes, and I watch in fascination as his cheeks fill with cherry redness. Leaning forward, I press my lips against his hot cheek, whisper close to his ear, “Would you like your first time to be with me?”

He nods yes, and I look down at his cock, watch it swell at my words. God, I adore this power to arouse. I say, “Mmm, Jordan, since I am the most experienced, you must do as I say, yes?” I watch as his cock hardens even more, and I grin deliciously. So, I think, he likes to play that way. He really is quite adorable with his adorable All-American looks; oh so very corruptible . . . I lean forward, rake in his smell: beer, his citrus-spice perfume, him. Between my thighs, I ache, quake, weep.

I push him back on the bed, hold his hands above his head, kiss him hard, rub myself into his hard cock, breathe in his breath. He tries to move his wrists a bit, dislodge me, but I hold him harder, and he stops fighting. I can tell by his quickening breath that he likes me in his power. I say, “Jordan, I want you to hold your hands above your head. If you don’t, you won’t like it, I promise.” He moans softly, holding his hands above his head obediently.

I kiss him, run my tongue down his chin, blow on my trail of wetness, watch as he shivers lightly, feel the hum of that shiver against my body, tongue down the bridge of his throat, stopping when I reach the top of his shirt. I unbutton a single button, lick that bared skin, blow, undo another, repeat process, drown in his taste. I pause when I bare his nipples, lick, blow, watch each harden, lick some more, rake my nails down his chest, lightly scouring. I smile as I leave red streaks across his chest, and he moans at the delicious pain.

I say, “I won’t be easy on you, Jordan, despite your innocence.” I bite gently at his stomach, watch the muscles contract sharply.

He answers, moaning a bit, “Mmm, no, don’t be easy on me, please?”

I bite harder in reply, revel in his groan, begin to work on the on the zipper of his pants. I notice his hands shift downward, toward me, and I slap him across the face. His cock in my hand stiffens even more, and I smile as I watch his hands resume the proper position. I pull of his pants roughly, baring him to my gaze. He’s naked, and I am mostly dressed; the power of that is heady.

Taking him into my mouth, I taste his delicious, salty pre-cum, suck hard, craving more. He jumps from over-stimulation, and I suck even harder, wanting him to work through his discomfort because it will feel so much better if he can. I move up and down on his cock, roll his sac between my fingers, tug the skin just hard enough to hurt. He moans.

I release him, rub my finger along that hard muscle behind his sac, say, “Now, Jordan, I want you to promise me you will not cum until I say. Think you are capable of such?”

He opens his eyes, gazes at me with a glazed look, nods yes. I answer, “Very good,” lean over, kiss him, force him to taste himself in my mouth.

Rising from the bed, I remove my panties, leave my skirt and unbuttoned cardigan on, say, “I have a rule with my lovers. I cum first. Have you ever licked a pussy before, my innocent love?”

Nodding his head no, I answer, “Well, I shall have to be your teacher.” He moves his hand to touch me, I slap lightly, and straddle his face.

Reaching down, I spread my swollen, shaved lips, put one long painted nail on my clit. “This, Jordan, is my clit. It’s the key to a girl’s pleasure . . . focus your attentions right here.” Tapping my flesh for emphasis, giving myself pleasure, watching as he licks his lips, wants those same lips on me. Pulling my finger down the length of my pussy, I insert my finger in my dripping vagina, feel how very swollen I am, say, “Jordan, girls like to be stimulated here as they are licked. A finger, two, three, four . . . finger fuck while you lick, always.” Slip my finger lower still, until it rests on the tight ring of my asshole. “And Jordan, once you’ve got a girl nice and hot, put a finger here, in her ass, and she will go wild.” My finger, still wet from playing in my pussy, slips lightly into my ass, and I moan from the intense pleasure/discomfort.

Positioning my dripping pussy above his face, I say, “Now, let’s see how well you listen.” He raises my lit to my clit, licks softly, tentatively, and I shudder, thinking how erotic it is to be his first pussy. Soft licks, shy licks, and I go wild . . .