The Secret I Couldn’t Keep

The thing was, she was young. Very young. Certainly legal, but still, I really should have been ashamed of myself. I was a thirty-two year old man! It started out so simply though. She sent me a picture because I wrote something silly like, if a picture is worth a thousand words than a thousand words must be worth a picture.

It was almost cliche, the dorm room nude. Bad lighting, bitten lip, interesting angles. There is a very immediate and contemporary intimacy about it, something both forbidden and accessible. Innocent and slutty.

She is short, tiny actually. Waist insanely small, hips flaring out and tits that are ridiculous. It would be silly to say that I’m not obsessed with her breasts. Her dimensions almost seem impossible.

When I received said pictures I replied with thanks and not much more, really. A while later I was looking through my email and those pictures popped up again. It was a purely physical reaction, I hit reply and asked if she was near NYC because I “kinda wanted to make out with you or something” in that was I try to be very forward so that it is comical and yet still very forward. This is classic Jack.

She replied that she was in college upstate, but she did come in to the city occasionally, in fact she would be there that weekend. I mentioned that I would like to meet her if she had time. Maybe just a walk in the park, maybe a kiss.

There was something in her tone, though. Her emails were specifically vague about the who and what her trips to the city were about. Vague in that way that I knew it demanded a little more investigation.

“So what exactly do you do in the city?”

She stalled, telling me specifics, but not the answer. She goes to museums. She goes to fancy restaurants. She seems movies.

“With whom do you do all of these wonderful things?”

Ah, there is the rub. A man. An older man. Older than me and I already felt like a fiend for attempting this liaison. An older man with children and a career and a vicious ex wife. A wealthy man with a powerful job.

Once the cat was out of the bad the details poured out of her. She was obviously waiting to tell someone all about her hidden life. She liked being a secret, but like tell secrets almost as much. She told me how she was his pet and his little secret and how he cuddled and kissed her, how he spanked and rode her. She told me about her love of being marked up and walking around sore the next day.

There was drama, too. He had many other girls he played with. He didn’t hide his other liaisons from her, but she tried not to ask and he tried not to tell. Still when they were alone she was all his and for the most part he was all hers.

The emails went back and forth fast and furious. We told the stories of our lovers and friends. She sent more pictures. The vitality and exuberance of youth. Her room became a familiar place and her girlish crooked smile and lush body became things I looked forward to every time I checked my mail.

The plan was forming and it was a bit of an odd plan. We were just supposed to meet. I knew she had that risque appointment, but she had a few hours to kill beforehand. We were going to go to Central Park. A safe place, we could sit and talk, nothing more.

When she got to the city it was raining. The city was a wet mess of black and gray and so what other choice did I have? I got a cab. I told her we were going to my place. She didn’t say yes or no, really, she just followed me.

I knew she was short, but in person five feet is impressively tiny. She wore things I told her to wear. Thigh highs, a skirt. When we walked to get the cab my hand was on her waist and then her hip and I felt around for the line of her panties. Nothing. Smooth hip. I groaned as I felt her hip and she knew that I knew.

In the cab she was blushing.

It was too soon. We really shouldn’t have been going to my apartment. We’d emailed a lot, though. I felt comfortable. Plus she would be leaving in a few hours. Part of me really thought that we would kiss, talk, laugh. That other part of me knew exactly what would happen. These two parts of me are often at odds. The latter almost always wins.

We got to my apartment and I showed her around. We sat on my couch and she was shy and blushing and silent. This, of course, forced me to not be shy.

Sometimes I get into this mood were I am aggressive and kind of sarcastic and mocking. Teasing a girl about her desires and goading her into doing thing.

I put my hand on her knee and I kissed her. She turned away. Now I wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted, maybe I was being too forward. I kissed her neck and she sighed, I loved my hand up her skirt and she gasped. I touched the very tip her her thigh, edging near heat and wetness, but I didn’t touch yet.

I moved away and watched her squirm. Then I moved in and took a hungry handful of her breasts.

Really, they are perfect. They might be the most perfect breasts I’ve ever seen. I’ve been with girls with large breasts before and indeed I love breasts of all sizes, but these are perfect. I felt the delicious weight of them. I pushed her back and squeezed them. She gasped.

This whole time there was a tugging in the back of my head. She was going to see “him” and so what was I doing? I slapped her breasts a little and she gave me one of the first glimpses of that glazed look in her eyes. That perfect combination of desire, shame and submission.

Some girls you hit and they like it. They squeal and laugh and ask for more. Some girls turn around and take it, like a mission. They grit their teeth and see how much they can handle. Girls like this, though, girls like this gave in to the pain with every inch of themselves. The groans are animal and they are hypnotized by the pain. They don’t like it, they need it. Every connection your hand makes, or your cane or your whip, completes them and being a part of that is something profound.

When I bent her over my couch and spanked her she froze. “No marks” she whispered at one point. It made me want to own her, brand her, whip her until she was black and blue, but I was good. This was just an appetizer. This was a first meeting and a brief one at that. Just a little playing.

I spanked her more. I knew the lines and I kept to them. That kind of spanking doesn’t leave marks. I watched her skin and how much she could take. When my fingers slipped into her she let out an animal groan. The want was palpable. Her body was so primed for sex. Young, wet, tight, bright, hungry, dirty, blushing and wanton.

My fingers searched inside of her. The differences in women is fascinating. She has a very prominent g-spot. It seemed swollen and my fingers curved to meet the little bumps and ridges of her cunt. She bucked and ground against my hand, her body far more lithe and tight then I imagined. She was already on her way, building as my fingers moved in and out, teasing and then tormenting that spot inside of her. When her hips started a slow steady rhythm I stopped.

The sound she made was perfect. A moan and a whine and a whimper.

When I left her I had no doubt she would stay put. The fact was I wished I had more time and more rope because I could only imagine the things she would have done if we had the means to take advantage of her in every way. She stayed put as I got a toy and some restraints. I bound her hands behind her back and she obediently kept her face down in the pillows of my couch. I bound her ankle together as well, loving the way the lips of her cunt peaked out from her closed legs.

The toy slipped in easily, surprisingly easily. Everything was easy with her, except for the kissing. She was eager, in body if not in mind. Her body didn’t have any of the shames or guilts her mind did. She wanted it all and she was wet for it.  Her cunt took everything I gave it.

The chemistry of affairs like this amaze me. I don’t know how everyone reacts but personally I see myself change so much depending on who I am with. She needed complete ownership. She needed to me manhandled and physically overpowered. She didn’t want to answer questions or play little games. Really, she couldn’t. She was as much under the control of her own body as she was under my control.

I worked the toy into her, pressing the curve of it so that it her her g-spot hard again and again. With most women this would be far too much stimulation, but she played rough, alone or with her little friend. I wanted too see how much she could take. It wasn’t long before her whines turned into sobs of pleasure. She turned to the left and the right because the pressure was going to make something big happen and she wasn’t sure she wanted it to.

She got nervous when she started to squirt. The wet drops on the floor between her legs made me smile. She moved around too much and I didn’t get to really watch the waterworks, but it is always so satisfying when they squirt, especially when they didn’t think they would.

I stepped back and was overcome with the desire to fuck her. Her wet thighs and her shallow breath. I could see her face, blushing and one breasts pressed perfectly against my pillow. Her powerlessness to her own need to be dominated was too powerful a aphrodisiac.

When I left her again and came back with the condoms I made sure she saw them. I made sure she heard the ripping of the package. I gave her time to say no, though I knew the word wasn’t in her vocabulary at this point. She might fight, she might struggle, she might do all sorts of things, but I don’t think there was anything I was capable of that she would really protest.

She shouldn’t fuck me. She knew it. She was going to meet him. She was going to be with him and do all sorts of things for hours, but here she was bent over my couch and saying nothing as I slipped the condom on. Saying nothing as I put my hands on her perfect ass. Saying nothing as I brushed the head of my cock against her slightly swollen and shockingly pink cunt.

I pulled up her head by her hair and I looked at her face. She wouldn’t really look me in the eye. My cock slipped against the wetness of her. I was looking for her answer.

Then I was sinking into her. Inch by inch into this new wetness.

We didn’t have time to play any more games. With her legs together and her ass in my hand and the restrictions making every moment taboo, things were moving quickly. The pleasure was distilled and intense. She moaned and whimpered as I pushing all the way into her. Her natural tightness and the added pressure of her legs bound together was intense and wild. She was so receptive to every thrust the whole thing quickly got out of my control. I started riding her fast, pulling her thick hips back and forth, the whole time looking down at much cock disappearing into her.

She just kept coming. I was almost jealous. Just getting fucked like this, bent over a couch, plus the dirtiness of knowing someone else would be doing the very same thing in a few hours. I watched her cycle through orgasms, her body tightening and her breath going faster and then suddenly stopping for a few seconds. I was enthralled, so much my own orgasm surprised me. There was no buildup, I just started coming, so hard I fell against her and grunted three time loud and guttural.

After I came I played with her a little more. She is a lovely plaything. I knew she had to go and so I let her get dressed.

After her orgasms and her fucking her whole demeanor changed. She wasn’t shy anymore, she was calm and playful. She hugged me and hung on me as I took her to the bus. Where she was once embarrassed to even hold my hand now she was pressed against me, kissing me as we waiting.

These were our first real kisses. She bloomed like a flower in the sunlight outside my apartment. She pressed against of me reveling in the spectacle of us kissing at the bus stop. My hand even sneaking up to cup her breasts for a moment.

The knowledge of where she was going made my feelings confusing. I reached some new place, though, some understanding. I relished the whole dirty little game. Though I was sure any meeting with her would have been intense, the situation had made things even hotter than I could have expected.

I knew as I kissed her one last time I would have her again, this time all mine for a day. I would play with this little toy for real and see every trick this little pet had to show me.

And with that she was gone.

If you liked this story you can send me a tip via

54 thoughts on “The Secret I Couldn’t Keep”

  1. This is what I love about your writing: You make me understand myself, my own body, my own reactions in a new way. It’s more than just reading a dominant point of view. It is something, I think, about the mix of observation, analysis, and eroticism. It’s not something I’ve encountered, in quite this way, anywhere else.

  2. Ooh, I love when I discover that you’ve posted something. It brings a little bit of spice into sitting in a dorm room by myself and eating a box of chocolates from my mother. :] I love the sex, I love the kink, but I mostly love the sense that these are almost character studies.

  3. Pingback: e[lust] #8
  4. Pingback: e[lust] #8
  5. Pingback: e[lust] #8 «
  6. Pingback: Licentiously Yours
  7. Pingback: elust #8 | Malflic
  8. Oh my goodness! Your stories are narcotic! I’ve cum so hard countless times to them, and even though they’re sexy little stories they’re very well written and a pleasure to read.

  9. A forbidden yet accessible encounter, Innocent and slutty… absolutely pleasurable. The writing is so gripping, engaging, addictive, you want to picture and participate at the same time. The pacing of the scene is a work of art…. Same time tomorrow but for the entire day.

    1. I feel the same way! These stories are something i come here to read time and time again, and they never get old. I lose myself in how well written they are.

  10. it just shows how far women will go for the real thing. i am glad she didnt show much feeling but that she did enjoy you.

  11. It is profound and thrilling, the extent to which you are the same as me…but from the opposite direction.
    I am aggressively coy, always playing sweet while luring ever closer as bluntly as I can qithout ruining the game. It makes it so much more gratifying.

    1. Mind, this is attributing this story directly to your experience and behavior, as opposed to a fictional romp.
      Maybe it isn’t.
      But on my original assumption (lust-fueled and unedited as it was) yes…reading through your eyes is like reading myself as a male top.

  12. *squirm* This was lovely. I can be shy about kissing, too. Once shown the right mix of lust and adoration, I adjust swimmingly.

  13. I’ve been reading your stories for 3 years now. I love the erotica. So sad you are changing the site around. I love all of them, especially the affair with the french professor. <3

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.