Innocence sold

With college only a month away, there was one thing on this list that I hadn’t accomplished yet. Backtracking for a second, I made a list on graduation day of things I would achieve over the summer. All of them had done, but one. I was 18, attractive, and a virgin. Probably the last one on earth. I grew up in an ultra-conservative home. I am a firm believer that my parents fucked once, and that was when they conceived me.

Mom, a school teacher, never even wore shorts in the summer. Always a skirt, and always past her knees. My father was never home, so I assume he had a lover to keep him occupied. In my high school years, I would find out that he was gay, and the lover was a man named Bruce. Ironic that the stereotypical gay name was a well-built biker who drove a Harley and wore leather.

Setting forth a plan of action, I had 28 days left. That was not enough time to start a relationship. It would have to be a one night stand with a stranger. Was a stranger worthy of virginity, though? After reading about girls who sold their innocence online, that was the plan. I would offer my hymen up to the highest bidder. Why not? Some girls made enough money to pay for a year of college. Plus, being attractive, I should get more. Most men dreamed about taking someone from girl to woman, but whoever bought me they could have bragging rights. They purchased a whore on opening night.

Have you ever wanted something so wrong, but never thought it was within reach? Virginity for sale to the highest bidder. Drug and disease free and current medical exams available. Please message me for more information.

That was the plan, and it worked in the craziest way possible. Mr. Jones had lived next to me since My parents bought our house 15 years ago. He was one of the sweetest men, but there was always something a little off about him. Mr. Jones would lurk in the window when I came home from a date or peek through the fence’s knothole when I was soaking up the summer sun. Sure, I knew he was jerking his dick, but never thought twice about it. Everyone masturbates.

The auction closed at 15 thousand dollars. It was nothing special. Sure, I am attractive, but not for that amount of money. Now set, there was no going back on it. I would accomplish the last thing on my list for the summer. Little did I know, Mr. Jones was the one who bought it, and he was about to get what he had been waiting for since the first day he saw me. He was going to get my sweet little pussy.

The moment I read his name, I almost died. He could make or break my future if he told my parents what I was up to today. They preached purity in my family, but I knew that was primitive reasoning in this day and time. No one waited anymore. What I didn’t realize was that I had the ball in my court. I could tell the whole neighborhood that he picked me for this that he wanted me. Thank god for logic.

We arranged the meeting at a local hotel, not one that was too well know but still had some respect for it. I had shopped for an outfit for this date: a short white sundress, pink flats, and a new pair of panties. I was meeting Mr. Jones in 15 minutes, and I was scared to death. Would it hurt? Of course, it would. I was hoping for a stranger to do this. Yet from this day forward, the image of that dirty old man would be stained in my brain. His nasty dick, the one who took away something that so many hold dear.

I knocked on the door. My knuckles seemed to be apprehensive even to touch the dark wood. The closer it got to the time, the more nervous I became. My eyes were closed when he opened the door. I am sure he could tell from the moment he saw me that I was scared.

“Come in. I’ve been waiting for you for years, and now your finally here.”

His words shook me to the core. He had been waiting for me all of my life. Since I was a little girl, he had known me, so with that said, the knots in my stomach twisted and turned into the giant wings of an overgrown butterfly.

One step, two-step, there, I was in the room. Mr. Jones looked different. He didn’t look as “old” as usual. His hair was salt and pepper, a light growth of stubble on his face, and his glasses gone. He wasn’t unattractive, but at this very moment, he reminded me a little of George Clooney.

“Take it all off. Everything! I paid for it, and now I want to see just what I bought.”

Was that supposed to excite me? His demands turn me on? If so, it had worked. The moment he spoke with authority, my new panties coated with a few sweet fluid drops. I had always liked a confident Man, but I was shaking from the dominance his voice carried right now.

“Of course, Sir. I mean, Mr. Jones. “

My words came with a slight tremble to my voice. In all honesty, though, I think Mr. Jones liked that. He seemed to smirk each time my tone quivered. Who the hell was this man? What happened between the drive from his house to here? Whatever it was, I did as told. Slipping out of my dress, I looked up at him before removing the rest. His eyes bore holes in my flesh. The bra was the easy part. As I dropped it down in a pile on the floor, his finger motioned for the panties. Inch by inch, the silk moved down my body until it joined the other clothing articles in a heap, but my hand replaced them, covering my bald mound. I had nothing to be ashamed of, but I was shy.

“Remove your fucking hand! I didn’t pay to see your fingers!”

Gruff, he moved swiftly across the room, his hand on my throat before I could resist. He didn’t choke me but pinned to the wall, and his handheld me firmly in place. Drilling his eyes through my soul, I would have sworn he could see through skin and bone. I had never felt so alive as I did at that moment in time. I finally realized why some girls allowed men to take ownership of them. I felt free for the very first time in my life. As though nothing in the world mattered but pleasing this man. I could tell he knew I was fighting with the demons inside of me at that point. Fighting to be the feminist that I always claimed to be, I want to hand over every part of me without forethought or restriction. He would soon prove to be my greatest weakness.

“When I fuck you, there will be no mercy on you. I expect you to cry. Hell, I want you to cry. I want you to know what you’ve done. You disappoint me in allowing this to happen, but it’s mine now, and you won’t soon forget it.”

What the hell did he mean? Should I give him back the money and say forget it? I couldn’t move. I was held in place by need alone. I wanted this man inside of me. I wanted him to destroy the last of my purity. Never once had I thought twice about Mr. Jones, till now.

A glance to my eyes, then to the floor, I knew what he wanted. I had given a blow job in the past. It was a mess, but the guy said I was a natural cock sucker. I still laugh about that. Of all things that I could be good at, sucking dick was the one I excelled in. My eyes kept locked to his as my knees hit the floor. I never once wavered from my gaze. I was transfixed and hypnotized. Only after he slapped that 9-inch dick across my cheek was, I brought back to reality. He was thick, and the shaft covered in veins. The full mushroom head is already leaking, my mouth watered in anticipation. I wanted to suck, devour, and swallow every inch of him.

“Suck it whore. You’re a dirty fucking slut.”

His words stung, but my mouth moved in for the kill. Wrapping the base in my fingers, pushing his cock upwards, my tongue slithered that thick underbelly vein path. Flicking back and forth, the tip of my tongue, now pointed and serpent-like, wiggled from side to side, pushing a tiny glob of pre-cum to seep from the slit. That was the moment I knew I affected him. I was stretching my lips to wrap around the head, slowly sucking in till I had wrapped around the rim. His cock engulfed in the warmth of my mouth. My tongue taunted that seeping hole. His fluid tasted sweet, not salty, as I remembered from the past. It reminded me of the juice when you open a can of fruit cocktail. As a kid, I would always drink the juice and leave the fruit, but this time, I was addicted!

His hand tangled in the long silken strands of my hair, pulling me like a pendulum on his dick. I think the times when I choked were his happiest, or so it would seem by the laughter that echoed through the room. Tears rolling down my face, a trail of mascara made them more pronounced. Loving that he was destroying the image I had of the nice man next door. All I would ever think when I see him from this day forth as he was this right here, right now.

I stretched my lips as far as she could, my jaws aching from the girth of his expanding cock. He was enormous, well for a novice he was. When you have nothing to compare it to, you tend to feel as though it’s beyond your abilities. Why did men love when a woman choked? Was it to show dominance and control over them, or was it that they seemed bigger? He seemed to like that I cried from it. My tears were worth the payment, yet he hadn’t even taken what he came to get. In all honesty, I thought that he would fuck me and leave. I never assumed that there would be foreplay involved.

After 10 minutes of throat pounding, his hand grasped tighter, yanking me back. I was still connected by a thin line of saliva, which I quickly broke with my teeth raking over my bottom lip. As I pulled my eyes up to his, I pleaded with him through facial expressions. I wanted mercy on my throat, on my body, and my soul. He was punishing me for what I had done. I finally realized this was not about the sexual act, but about punishing me for allowing greed to overtake my common sense. He was the punisher, and I would be his greatest accomplishment. After tonight, I would beg the Lord for forgiveness, but not before giving him his money’s worth. Stroke by stroke, I would pay him the fifteen grand back in screams, begs, and prayers.

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