The summer sun is a relentless bastard, pressing down on our suburban street like a heavy hand, making the air thick and sticky. The cul-de-sac is a sleepy stretch of cookie-cutter houses, their lawns manicured to a fault, mailboxes faded from years of neglect. Cicadas scream in the distance, their drone blending with the faint bark of a neighbor’s dog and the rhythmic hiss of sprinklers. My aunt Clara’s house sits at the end of the road, a modest two-story with peeling white paint and a sagging porch that creaks underfoot. It’s been my prison for the past year, ever since my parents decided I was “too much” to handle and shipped me off to this nowhere town. Their words still burn, sharp as a blade, every time I think about them.
I’m sprawled on my bed, the ceiling fan creaking lazily above, barely stirring the humid air. My long brown hair sticks to my neck, damp with sweat, and I brush it aside, my oval face flushing from the heat. I’m wearing a light pink crop top that clings to my small, perky breasts, the fabric thin enough to show the faint outline of my nipples when I move. My denim shorts are tight, hugging my plump ass and narrow waist, the hem cutting high on my shapely thighs. My long legs dangle off the bed, toes brushing the worn hardwood floor. At 5’8”, my body is a mix of soft curves and lingering insecurities—my tiny cock and tight balls tucked carefully in my panties, a secret I guard like a loaded gun in this judgmental town.
Clara’s a stern woman, late 40s, all sharp edges and pinched lips, her graying hair pulled into a tight bun. She works long hours at an accounting firm downtown, leaving me to rattle around this house with her ironclad rules: chores done, curfew kept, no trouble. Her affection is as sparse as the wilted petunias in her garden, and I’ve learned to keep my head down, dodging the neighbors’ curious stares. They whisper about the “new girl” who doesn’t quite fit, their eyes lingering too long when I’m out front watering Clara’s plants or grabbing the mail. School’s out for the summer, so my days are a blur of vacuuming, dusting, and hiding in my room, where I can be myself without fear of judgment.
The neighborhood was a predictable bubble until Marcus moved in next door. He’s a 36-year-old Black man, broad-shouldered and muscular, with a deep voice that rolls across the lawn like distant thunder. He’s a mechanic, always tinkering in his garage, his dark skin gleaming with sweat under the sun. His warm smile disarms me, but his eyes—dark, piercing, always lingering—make my stomach twist in ways I can’t name. He owns a massive German Shepherd named Rex, a beast with a sleek black-and-tan coat and sharp, watchful eyes that seem to see right through me. Marcus and Rex are inseparable, the dog trailing him like a shadow, obeying every command with unsettling precision.
I first noticed Marcus a week ago, when he was unloading boxes from a beat-up pickup truck, his biceps flexing under a tight tank top. I was at my window, my long hair framing my flushed face, and I froze when he caught me staring. He flashed that smile, all white teeth and easy charm, and waved casually. I ducked away, my heart pounding, my narrow waist tensing with a mix of fear and something else—something dangerous. Since then, I’ve caught him watching me, his gaze heavy and deliberate, whether I’m dragging the trash cans to the curb or bending over to pull weeds. It’s unsettling, but there’s a pull to it, like a current dragging me toward something I know I should avoid.
Today, I’m restless, the heat making my skin itch, my crop top sticking to my small breasts. I’m flipping through a dog-eared paperback when his voice cuts through my open window. “Hey, neighbor! Got a minute?” My pulse spikes, and I lean forward, my breasts heaving slightly under my top as I peer out. Marcus is in his driveway, shirtless, his chiseled chest glistening with sweat, a rag slung over one broad shoulder. Rex sits beside him, tongue lolling, those sharp eyes locked on me. My mouth goes dry, but I can’t ignore him—not when he’s looking at me like that, like he already knows I’ll come running.
I slip on my sandals, the straps loose around my ankles, and head outside, my long legs carrying me across the lawn, the grass prickling against my calves. The heat wraps around me like a second skin, and I feel exposed, my plump ass swaying in my shorts, my narrow waist shifting nervously. Marcus’s garage is a maze of tools and car parts, the air thick with the scent of oil and metal. He’s bent over a vintage Mustang, his dark skin taut over rippling muscles, a sheen of sweat catching the dim light. He straightens up, wiping his hands on the rag, and grins, his teeth flashing against his full lips. “Thanks for coming over,” he says, his voice smooth and rich, like dark honey pouring slow. “Got a heavy package in the back. Could use your help.”
His eyes roam over me, lingering on the way my crop top hugs my small breasts, the curve of my hips, the thickness of my thighs. My oval face burns, and I nod, too shy to speak, my long brown hair falling over one shoulder. He leads me to the back of the garage, where a worn leather couch sits against a wall cluttered with wrenches and oil cans. There’s no package in sight, and my stomach twists with unease, but my feet stay rooted, my submissive nature keeping me from bolting. Marcus pulls a soda from a mini fridge, the can icy against my fingers as he hands it to me, his touch lingering a second too long. “Hot as hell out there,” he says, sitting beside me, his thigh brushing mine, the heat of his body radiating through his jeans. “You’re always so quiet. What’s your deal?”
His tone is casual, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s probing, testing me. I sip the soda, the cold liquid soothing my dry throat, but there’s a faint bitterness that lingers, coating my tongue. “Just... keep to myself,” I mumble, my voice barely above a whisper, my long fingers clutching the can. He chuckles, a low rumble, and his hand lands on my knee, warm and heavy, sending a jolt through me. “I like that,” he says, his fingers sliding up my thigh, slow and deliberate, tracing the edge of my shorts. “Makes you special.”
My breath catches, my narrow waist tensing, and the world narrows to his touch, his voice, the heat of him so close. The soda’s effect creeps in, my head growing fuzzy, my limbs heavy, like I’m sinking into warm water. His hand moves higher, grazing the hem of my shorts, and I freeze, my submissive instincts kicking in, overriding the alarm bells in my head. “You ever let someone take care of you?” he murmurs, his lips brushing my ear, his breath hot against my skin. My small breasts heave, my nipples hardening under my crop top, and I shake my head, unable to form words, my oval face burning hotter.
His fingers slip under my top, brushing my sensitive nipples, and I gasp, a sharp sound that echoes in the quiet garage. “Fuck, you’re perfect,” he growls, his voice thick with lust, his rough fingers pinching my nipples, sending jolts of pain and pleasure through me. I moan, my long brown hair swaying as I arch into his touch, my body betraying my hesitation. He tugs my crop top up, exposing my small, perky breasts, their pale skin flushed pink, the nipples tight and aching. His hands cup them, squeezing roughly, his thumbs circling the buds, making me whimper, my plump ass shifting on the couch.
He unbuttons my shorts, the denim rasping as he tugs them down my long legs, my sandals slipping off and clattering to the floor. My panties follow, pale blue cotton sliding over my shapely thighs, revealing my tiny cock and tight balls nestled between them. Marcus’s eyes widen briefly, a flicker of surprise crossing his chiseled face, his dark brows lifting. “Well, damn,” he says, his voice low and hungry, a slow grin spreading. “That’s a nice little package.” His hand wraps around my cock, stroking slowly, his grip firm but not cruel, his thumb brushing the tip where a bead of pre-cum glistens. I whimper, my body trembling, my narrow waist tensing as he teases me, my long legs twitching against the leather.
“You like that, don’t you?” he says, his thumb circling my tip, spreading the slickness, making me leak more. I nod, my lips parted, my breath ragged, something clouding my mind, blurring the edges of my resistance. His dominance pulls me under, a riptide I can’t fight. He pushes me back on the couch, my long legs spreading instinctively as he kneels between them, his massive hands gripping my thighs, pulling them apart. My plump ass lifts slightly off the leather, my tight hole exposed, and I feel the air cool against it. “Gonna make you feel good,” he says, unzipping his jeans, his movements slow and deliberate.
His cock springs free, thick and 8 inches long, dark and veined, the head broad and already glistening with pre-cum. My eyes widen, my breath hitching, but I don’t pull away, my submissive instincts craving his control, my body aching for it despite the fear coiling in my gut. He presses the tip against my tight asshole, the pressure intense, a slow burn that makes me whimper. “Relax, baby,” he coos, his voice soothing but firm, one hand stroking my narrow waist, the other guiding his cock. He pushes forward, slow at first, the stretch painful, like my body’s being split open. I cry out, my hands clutching the couch, my nails digging into the leather, but something dulls the edge of my fear, and the pleasure of his cock grinding against my prostate makes me moan louder, a desperate sound that fills the garage.
“Fuck, you’re tight,” he groans, thrusting deeper, his hands gripping my narrow waist, his fingers digging into my soft skin. My small breasts bounce with each thrust, my nipples aching from his earlier pinches, the sensation sharp and electric. He shifts, lifting my long legs over his broad shoulders, my shapely thighs trembling as he angles deeper, his cock filling me, stretching me wider. His balls slap against my ass, a wet, rhythmic sound that mixes with my gasps and moans, the creak of the couch, the hum of the garage’s fluorescent lights. He leans down, his lips crashing into mine, his kiss rough and possessive, his tongue invading my mouth, claiming me as his cock claims my hole. I melt into it, my body yielding, my tiny cock bouncing uselessly between us, leaking more pre-cum onto my stomach.
“Such a good girl,” he murmurs against my lips, his hands sliding to my plump ass, squeezing hard, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He spanks me, the sting sharp and sudden, making me yelp, my cheeks burning as he delivers another slap, harder this time. “You love this, don’t you?” he says, his voice dripping with control, his dark eyes locked on mine. I nod, tears pricking my eyes, my oval face flushed, but my cock throbs, betraying my arousal, a slick trail of pre-cum pooling on my skin.
He pulls back, his cock sliding out with a wet sound, and flips me onto my stomach, my plump ass raised high, my long legs spread wide on the couch. My face presses into the leather, the smell of it sharp in my nose, my long brown hair spilling around me. He spanks me again, the pain searing through me, my cheeks jiggling with each strike. “Fuck, look at that ass,” he growls, his hands groping my cheeks, spreading them wide, his thumbs brushing my stretched hole, slick with his pre-cum. He enters me again, his cock plunging deep, the stretch even more intense in this position, his thick shaft grinding against my prostate with brutal precision. I moan, my body rocking with each thrust, my small breasts pressed against the couch, my nipples scraping the leather, sending sparks of pain and pleasure through me.
He shifts again, pulling me up to straddle him, my long legs draped over his muscular thighs, my narrow waist arched as I face him. His cock slides back into my asshole, the angle deeper now, and I gasp, my hands gripping his shoulders, my nails digging into his dark skin. “Ride it, slut,” he orders, his voice rough, his hands gripping my hips, guiding me. I obey, my hips moving instinctively, my tight hole clenching around his cock as I bounce, the friction driving me wild. He reaches up, twisting my nipples again, the pain sharp and electric, making me scream, my body shaking with each thrust. My tiny cock rubs against his hard stomach, the rough texture of his skin sending jolts through me, my tight balls aching with need, so close to bursting but not quite there.
He leans forward, kissing me again, his lips bruising, his tongue dominating mine as he fucks me harder, his hands squeezing my plump ass, spanking me between thrusts. The garage is a haze of heat and sound—the wet slap of his cock in my ass, the creak of the couch, my moans and gasps, his low grunts. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he growls, his thrusts growing faster, more erratic. When he comes, it’s explosive, his hot seed flooding my insides, a searing heat that makes me cry out, my body convulsing around him. I collapse against his chest, panting, my small breasts heaving, my long brown hair clinging to my flushed cheeks, slick with sweat. My tiny cock twitches, still leaking, but I haven’t come, the ache in my balls a dull throb.
He pulls out, his cum dripping from my stretched hole, a warm trickle down my shapely thighs. He hands me a bottle of water, his touch gentle now, almost tender, his dark eyes softening but still unyielding. “You’re safe with me,” he says, his voice low, a command more than a comfort. “Come back tomorrow. We’re not done.” His words hit like a hook, sinking deep, and I nod, dazed, my mind still foggy from the sex. I pull my panties and shorts back on, the denim rough against my sore ass, my sandals forgotten as I stumble out of the garage. The sunlight is harsh, the lawn prickling under my bare feet as I cross back to Clara’s house, my body aching, my mind a mess of shame, fear, and a strange, pulsing need I can’t shake.
Back in my room, I collapse on my bed, my plump ass throbbing, my small breasts tender under my crop top. I curl up, my long legs tucked under me, my oval face buried in my pillow. My long brown hair fans out, tangled and damp, and I can still feel Marcus’s hands, his cock, the way he claimed me. The sedative’s haze lingers, clouding my thoughts, but one thing is clear: I’ll go back. My submissive nature won’t let me say no, and some part of me—some twisted, hungry part—doesn’t want to.
***
The morning sun filters through the blinds, casting slatted shadows across my room. My body aches, a dull throb radiating from my plump ass, every movement a reminder of Marcus’s rough hands, his thick cock, the way he stretched me open in that sweltering garage. I’m sprawled on my bed, my long brown hair a tangled mess fanning across the pillow, my oval face pale in the mirror across the room. My small breasts are tender under the loose t-shirt I’ve thrown on, the soft cotton brushing against my sensitive nipples, making me wince. A soft cotton skirt clings to my narrow waist, the hem grazing my shapely thighs, my long legs curled beneath me. My tiny cock and tight balls are tucked in my panties, still aching from yesterday’s unrelenting need, unfulfilled and raw.
I can still feel him—his hands gripping my hips, his cum dripping from my stretched hole, his voice calling me his “good girl.” The memory sends a shiver through me, equal parts shame and twisted desire. The sedative he slipped into that soda lingers in my system, leaving my head foggy, my thoughts sluggish, like I’m wading through molasses. I try to focus on the day ahead, on Clara’s endless chores, but my phone buzzes on the nightstand, a sharp jolt that makes my heart lurch. I grab it, my long fingers trembling, and see his name on the screen: Marcus. “Missed you already, baby. Come help with Rex. – M.” My stomach twists, a knot of dread and anticipation. How the hell did he get my number? Probably Mrs. Jenkins, that gray-haired busybody next door, always chatting him up over her picket fence, oblivious to the predator behind his easy smile.
I want to delete the message, to block his number and stay locked in this room where it’s safe, but his words echo in my head: You’re safe with me. There’s a threat woven into them, a promise that he knows I liked it, that I’ll come crawling back. My submissive nature betrays me, a pull I can’t resist, like a moth drawn to a flame that’s already singed my wings. I try to distract myself with chores, dragging the vacuum across the living room, the hum drowning out my thoughts. Clara’s note on the kitchen counter is curt: “Vacuum, dust, water the plants. Don’t slack.” She’s already gone to work, her absence a small relief, but I can still feel her gray eyes judging me, her suspicion growing with every distracted glance I’ve given her lately.
The plants are wilting in the backyard, their leaves drooping under the relentless sun. I fill the watering can, my narrow waist twisting as I bend to pour, my skirt riding up slightly, the breeze cool against my long legs. The neighborhood is quiet, the cul-de-sac a bubble of routine, but I feel exposed, like eyes are on me. I glance toward Marcus’s house, half-expecting to see him in his driveway, but it’s empty, the garage door shut tight. My pulse quickens, my small breasts heaving under my t-shirt, and I hurry back inside, the watering can clattering against the porch.
By midday, the pull is too strong. I’m crossing the lawn again, my skirt swaying around my thighs, my sneakers scuffing the grass, my long brown hair loose and catching the sunlight. The heat wraps around me, heavy and oppressive, making my skin prickle. Marcus’s backyard is a small patch of grass bordered by a low fence, and he’s there, tossing a tennis ball for Rex. The German Shepherd bounds after it, his black-and-tan coat gleaming, his massive frame all muscle and raw power. His sharp eyes lock on me as I approach, and I freeze, my oval face flushing, my hands fidgeting with the hem of my skirt.
Marcus turns, his white teeth flashing against his dark skin, his muscular frame relaxed in a fitted black tank top and jeans that hug his thick thighs. “Good girl,” he says, his voice warm but laced with that same commanding edge, and my stomach flips at the praise, my cheeks burning. “Knew you’d come.” He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, his dark eyes roaming over my body—my small breasts under the t-shirt, the curve of my hips, the length of my legs. I nod, my voice caught in my throat, my long hair falling over one shoulder as I shift nervously.
“Rex needs some attention,” he says, leading me toward a shed behind his house, his hand brushing the small of my back, sending a jolt through me. The shed is small, dimly lit, with wooden walls and a concrete floor. Blankets and cushions are scattered across the ground, creating a makeshift lounge that smells of wood and something musky, primal, like sweat and animal. My nerves spike, my narrow waist tensing, but I don’t turn back, my desire to please him overriding the dread pooling in my gut. Marcus kneels beside me, his hand lingering on my back, his fingers warm through my t-shirt. Rex sniffs at my legs, his nose cold and wet against my thigh, and I flinch, my skirt riding up slightly, exposing more of my shapely thighs.
“Gotta bond with him,” Marcus says, his voice low, his hand sliding under my skirt, cupping my plump ass through my panties. I gasp, my body responding despite the unease, my tiny cock twitching in its cotton confines. His fingers slip into my panties, teasing my cock, stroking the sensitive shaft, and I whimper, my long legs trembling, my small breasts heaving as my breath quickens. Rex growls softly, a low rumble that makes my heart pound, and Marcus chuckles, his breath hot against my ear. “He likes you,” he says, his voice darkening, a promise and a threat all at once. “Let him play.”
He pushes me down onto the blankets, my skirt hiking up to my waist, my panties tugged to my ankles, my sneakers kicked off in the shuffle. I’m on my hands and knees, my plump ass exposed, my small breasts swaying under my t-shirt, the fabric clinging to my sweat-damp skin. Rex’s nose presses against my asshole, cold and startling, and then his tongue laps at me, rough and relentless, a wet heat that sends shivers through me. I cry out, the sensation alien and overwhelming, a mix of raw intensity and primal invasion. “Fuck, that’s it,” Marcus says, kneeling beside me, his hand stroking his thick, 8-inch cock, already hard, the dark shaft veined and glistening. “Let him taste you, baby.”
Rex’s tongue is merciless, probing my tight hole, each lick sending electric jolts through my body, my tiny cock leaking pre-cum onto the blankets. I moan, my narrow waist tensing, my long legs shaking as I struggle to hold myself up. Marcus watches, his dark eyes gleaming with control, his hand moving faster on his cock. He spanks my ass hard, the sting sharp and searing, making me yelp, my cheeks burning as he delivers another slap, the sound echoing in the shed. “Good girl,” he says, his hand gripping my long brown hair, pulling my head back, forcing my oval face to meet his gaze. He leans in, kissing me deeply, his lips rough against mine, his tongue dominating, claiming my mouth as Rex claims my ass with his tongue.
The wet slurping sounds fill the shed, mixing with my moans and Marcus’s low groans. He pulls back, his cock bobbing in my face, thick and heavy, the head slick with pre-cum. “Suck it,” he orders, his voice unyielding, his hand still tangled in my hair. I obey, my lips stretching around his shaft, my tongue swirling as I take him in, my throat gagging as he pushes deeper, filling my mouth. Rex’s tongue never stops, lapping at my asshole, the dual sensations driving me wild, my small breasts bouncing under my t-shirt, my nipples aching as Marcus reaches down, pinching them through the fabric, twisting until I whimper around his cock. “Fuck, you’re so good at this,” he groans, his hands gripping my hair tighter, fucking my mouth with slow, deliberate thrusts, his cock hitting the back of my throat.
He pulls out, a string of saliva connecting my lips to his tip, and moves behind me, his hands gripping my hips. I feel Rex’s weight shift, his massive paws heavy on the blankets, and my heart pounds, realization dawning like a cold wave. “No, please,” I whimper, my voice trembling, my long legs shaking under me. But Marcus’s hand on my back is firm, his fingers digging into my narrow waist, holding me in place. “You’ll take it,” he says, his voice a low growl, his tone leaving no room for argument. He guides Rex, his hands steady and commanding, and I feel the dog’s hard, slick cock press against my asshole, the tip hot and insistent. I scream as he enters me, the stretch painful and primal, a burning invasion that makes my body tense, my nails digging into the blankets.
Rex’s thrusts are fast and relentless, his cock thicker than Marcus’s, stretching me wider, the sensation overwhelming, a mix of searing pain and unwanted pleasure as he hits my prostate with brutal force. Marcus kneels beside me, stroking his cock, his eyes locked on mine, dark and hungry. “Fuck, you’re so hot like this,” he says, spanking my ass again, the pain sharp and electric, my cheeks jiggling with each strike. I moan, my body rocking with Rex’s thrusts, my tiny cock dripping onto the blankets, my tight balls aching with need. Marcus moves in front of me again, grabbing my hair and shoving his cock back into my mouth, throat-fucking me as Rex pounds my ass, his growls filling the air, his cock stretching me impossibly wide.
I’m caught between them, my body a vessel for their pleasure, my long legs trembling under Rex’s weight, my small breasts swaying, my nipples scraping against the fabric of my t-shirt. Marcus’s cock chokes me, his hands gripping my hair, his thrusts matching Rex’s rhythm, a brutal dance that leaves me gasping, my oval face flushed, tears pricking my eyes. “Take it all, slut,” Marcus groans, his voice thick with lust, his cock pulsing in my throat. Rex’s thrusts grow erratic, his growls louder, and when he comes, his hot seed floods my insides, a shocking heat that makes me cry out around Marcus’s cock, my body convulsing with the intensity.
Rex dismounts, his weight lifting, and I collapse onto the blankets, panting, my plump ass sore and leaking, my long brown hair matted with sweat. Marcus pulls out of my mouth, stroking himself fast, his dark eyes locked on my flushed face. “Fuck, look at you,” he says, his voice rough, and then he comes, his cum splattering across my cheeks and parted lips, warm and thick, dripping down my chin. I gag, my throat raw, my body trembling as I wipe my face with the back of my hand, my small breasts heaving under my t-shirt.
Marcus kneels beside me, wiping my face with a rag, his touch gentle now, almost tender, but his eyes are still hard, possessive. “You’re mine now,” he says, calling me his “good girl” as he helps me up, his voice soft but unyielding. I pull my panties and skirt back on, the cotton rough against my sore ass. My long legs are unsteady as I stumble out of the shed, the sunlight harsh against my eyes, the air thick with heat. I cross the lawn back to Clara’s house, my mind a chaotic swirl of guilt, fear, and a twisted satisfaction that clings to me like sweat.
Clara’s home when I slip inside, her gray eyes narrowing as she sets a plate of chicken and potatoes on the kitchen table. “Where’ve you been, girl?” she asks, her voice sharp, cutting through the haze in my head. I mumble something about a walk, my heart pounding, my oval face flushing under her scrutiny. “You look like hell,” she says, her lips pursing, but she doesn’t press further, just points to the table. I sit, my plump ass throbbing against the hard chair, and pick at the food, my thoughts elsewhere—on Marcus, on Rex, on the way my body betrayed me, craving their dominance even as my mind screamed to run.
***
The days after the shed blur into a fog of conflicting emotions, each one heavier than the last. My body feels like a map of Marcus’s touch—my plump ass still sore, my small breasts tender, my narrow waist aching from the way I tensed under his grip. I wake each morning to the same routine: the sun slicing through my blinds, my long brown hair tangled across my pillow, my oval face pale and drawn in the mirror. Today, I’m wearing a loose sundress, the soft yellow fabric brushing my shapely thighs, the neckline low enough to hint at the curve of my small breasts. My tiny cock and tight balls are tucked in pale pink panties, a secret that feels more exposed with every step I take outside my room. My long legs move stiffly, still unsteady from the shed, from Rex’s brutal thrusts, from Marcus’s unrelenting control.
Clara’s suspicion is a constant weight now. She’s been watching me closer, her gray eyes sharp as she pours coffee at breakfast, her voice clipped when she speaks. “You’re acting strange,” she says this morning, her hands on her hips, her graying bun tight as ever. “Don’t go getting into trouble, girl.” I nod, my cheeks flushing, my long hair falling over one shoulder as I mumble something about being tired. The truth is, I’m drowning in a mix of shame and need, my submissive nature chaining me to Marcus even as my mind screams to break free. My phone buzzes constantly, his texts a relentless drumbeat: “You’re my favorite,” one reads, followed hours later by, “Don’t make me come find you.” Each message tightens the knot in my stomach, a mix of fear and a twisted pull I can’t shake.
I try to lose myself in chores, scrubbing the kitchen counter until my arms ache, but my thoughts keep drifting to the shed—the wet heat of Rex’s tongue, the stretch of his cock, Marcus’s hands in my hair, his cum on my face. My tiny cock twitches at the memory, betraying me, and I squeeze my thighs together, my sundress swaying as I move. Clara’s out for the afternoon, her note demanding I clean the windows, but the quiet house feels like a trap, the silence amplifying the buzz of my phone. Another text from Marcus: “Special night tonight. Be here at 8. Don’t disappoint me.” My heart lurches, my narrow waist tensing, but I know I’ll go. The pull is too strong, my body already craving the surrender, even if it terrifies me.
By evening, the neighborhood is hushed, the streetlights casting long shadows across the cul-de-sac. I slip out the back door, my sundress fluttering around my thighs, my sneakers silent on the grass. My long brown hair is loose, brushing my shoulders, my oval face flushed with nervous heat. Marcus’s house looms ahead, its windows glowing faintly, a beacon and a warning all at once. I knock softly, my small breasts heaving under the thin fabric, and the door opens almost immediately. Marcus stands there, his dark skin gleaming under the dim light of the living room, his muscular frame relaxed in a black t-shirt and jeans that hug his thick legs. His smile is sharp, commanding, and my stomach flips, my long legs trembling as I step inside.
He shuts the door behind me, the click of the lock loud in the quiet. “Glad you made it,” he says, his voice low and smooth, his dark eyes raking over me, lingering on the way my sundress clings to my narrow waist, the curve of my hips. There’s another man in the room, lounging on the couch, a pizza box on the coffee table. “This is Jake,” Marcus says, his tone casual but laced with intent. Jake’s in his early 20s, white, with messy brown hair and a cocky grin that doesn’t quite reach his sharp green eyes. He’s lean, maybe 5’10”, with a wiry build, wearing a red delivery jacket and jeans, the kind of guy who looks like he’s always got an angle. “Nice to meet you,” Jake says, his grin widening as he leans forward, his eyes roaming over my plump ass, the length of my legs. There’s something predatory in his gaze, and my heart pounds, the locked door behind me a silent confirmation of what’s coming.
“Gonna have some fun tonight,” Marcus says, his hand brushing my lower back, guiding me toward the couch. My sundress sways, the fabric catching on my thighs, and I feel exposed, my small breasts bouncing slightly as I move. Marcus pulls me onto his lap, my legs straddling his thighs, the dress riding up to expose my pale pink panties. His hands are rough, possessive, groping my shapely thighs, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. “Show Jake what you can do,” he says, his voice a low growl, his breath hot against my ear. I’m trembling, my oval face flushed, my long hair spilling over my shoulders, but I nod, my submissive instincts taking over, my body already yielding to his command.
He lifts my sundress, tugging it up to my waist, revealing my panties and the faint bulge of my tiny cock. Jake’s eyes widen, his grin faltering for a moment, a flicker of surprise crossing his angular face. “Holy shit,” he says, leaning closer, his hand brushing my thigh, his fingers warm and calloused. “Didn’t see that coming.” His surprise shifts to lust, his green eyes darkening as Marcus strokes me through my panties, his fingers teasing my cock, making it twitch and leak. I moan, my small breasts heaving under the dress, my nipples hardening against the thin fabric. “Fuck, she’s cute,” Jake says, his voice rough, his hand sliding higher, grazing the edge of my panties.
Marcus pushes me to my knees, my long legs folding beneath me, my plump ass raised slightly as I kneel on the hardwood floor. He unzips his jeans, his thick, 8-inch cock springing free, dark and veined, the head glistening with pre-cum. Jake follows, tugging down his jeans to reveal a 7-inch cock, slimmer but hard, the tip pink and slick. I take Marcus in my mouth first, my lips stretching around his shaft, my tongue swirling as I suck, my throat gagging as he pushes deeper. “Fuck, that’s good,” he groans, his hands gripping my long brown hair, guiding my head, his cock filling my mouth. Jake watches, stroking himself, his grin cocky again, then steps forward, grabbing my hair and guiding his cock to my lips. I alternate between them, my throat aching as they take turns fucking my face, their hands rough, their cocks choking me, saliva dripping down my chin.
My small breasts bounce under my sundress, the fabric hiked up to my waist, my panties still clinging to my thighs. Marcus pulls me up, bending me over the arm of the couch, my plump ass raised high, my long legs spread wide. He spanks me hard, the sting sharp and searing, making me cry out, my cheeks burning as he delivers another slap, the sound echoing in the room. “Such a perfect ass,” he growls, his hands groping my cheeks, spreading them wide, his thumbs brushing my tight hole. Jake kneels in front of me, shoving his cock back into my mouth, his hands gripping my hair as Marcus enters my asshole, his thick cock stretching me painfully, the burn intense but familiar now. I moan around Jake’s cock, my body rocking with Marcus’s thrusts, my long legs trembling, my tiny cock leaking onto the couch.
They switch positions, Marcus sitting on the couch and pulling me onto his lap, my legs straddling his thighs, my sundress bunched around my waist. His cock slides back into my asshole, the angle deep and brutal, and I gasp, my hands gripping his shoulders, my nails digging into his dark skin. He bounces me on his lap, his hands squeezing my small breasts through the dress, twisting my nipples until I scream, the pain sharp and electric. Jake stands behind me, spanking my ass as Marcus fucks me, his slaps sharp and relentless, my cheeks burning with each strike. “Fuck, she’s hot,” Jake says, his voice rough with lust, his hands groping my hips, his fingers digging into my soft skin.
They move me again, laying me on my back on the floor, my long legs spread wide, my panties long gone, my sundress crumpled around my waist. Jake takes my asshole this time, his slimmer cock sliding in easily after Marcus’s stretching, the friction still intense as he thrusts, hitting my prostate with every stroke. Marcus kneels over my face, his cock plunging into my throat, his hands gripping my long brown hair, his thrusts choking me. I’m overwhelmed, my body shaking, my tiny cock dripping as they use me, their grunts and curses filling the room. Marcus’s hands slide to my narrow waist, his fingers digging in as his cock pulses in my throat, Jake’s thrusts growing faster, more erratic.
When they come, it’s simultaneous—Jake filling my ass with hot, thick cum, Marcus flooding my throat, the taste sharp and bitter as I gag, my body convulsing with the intensity. My small breasts heave, my long brown hair matted with sweat, my oval face flushed and streaked with tears and cum. Jake pulls out, zipping up his red jacket, his grin cocky again as he grabs a slice of pizza from the box. “Fucking wild,” he says, winking at Marcus before heading for the door. Marcus pulls me close, his voice soft but firm, his arm heavy around my shoulders. “You’re mine, but keep this quiet, and I’ll let you go,” he says, his dark eyes unyielding. I nod, exhausted, my body slick with sweat and cum, my sundress crumpled and stained.
I stumble home, the night air cool against my flushed skin, my sneakers scuffing the grass. Clara’s asleep when I slip inside, the house dark and quiet, but her suspicion hangs over me like a storm cloud. The next morning, she confronts me at breakfast, her gray eyes boring into me as I pick at my toast, my long legs tucked under the table, my plump ass sore against the chair. “What’s going on with you?” she demands, her voice sharp, her hands crossed over her chest. I break down, sobbing, my oval face buried in my hands, my long brown hair falling like a curtain. I tell her I’ve been sneaking out, my voice trembling, but I don’t name Marcus, don’t mention the shed or Jake or the way my body betrayed me. She sighs, her face softening but still stern. “You need a fresh start,” she says, already making calls, arranging for me to live with a cousin in another state.
I’m packing my bags that afternoon, my small breasts heaving under a loose sweater, my long legs tucked under me as I sit on my bed, folding clothes with shaking hands. My oval face is pale, my long brown hair tucked behind my ears, but my mind is a storm—Marcus, Rex, Jake, their hands, their cocks, the way they claimed me. Those moments awakened something in me, a hunger I didn’t know I had, but they also left scars, a weight of shame and desire I can’t untangle. As Clara drives me out of the neighborhood, the car rumbling over the cracked pavement, I see Marcus in his driveway, tinkering with a car, Rex sprawled at his feet. He looks up, his dark eyes meeting mine, and gives a slow nod, like he knows I’ll carry him with me, no matter where I go. I look away, my heart pounding, my narrow waist tensing. I’m leaving, but I’m not sure if I’m escaping or just dragging the chains of this summer into a new chapter.
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