Krystal

byLaceAndHumiliation©

{A good friend of mine asked me to write his story. There is very little actual sex in this one, think of it as foreplay : ) }

*

"I'd tear that ass up." "I'd break my cock off in that." Even though I cringe when I hear guys say that about her I know how they are feeling.

Men know what I mean. There's always someone who will stir that in us. Someone that makes you just want to do all that and more. For me, that woman is Krystal. It doesn't happen that often. I have to admit there's quite a number of women I'd like to have some amazing sex with, however, for that particular reaction, there's been a choice few, in my experience.

The funny part for me is, Krystal is the kind of woman that makes me feel guilty for wanting it. You see, to me, Krystal is the perfect woman. If you were designing the perfect woman, she's got all the parts. She's got the face of an angel, but in an approachable way. She's the nicest young woman, polite, friendly, chipper, with a "golly gee, me?" attitude towards flirting and attraction. Her skin looks so soft, so silky smooth, like it is begging to be touched, caressed. She has beautiful tits, firm and perky, with a cleavage that leaves me drooling. She is short, which I like, and she has a wonderful body, curvy in all the right places and with a small, tight waist. Her ass is round, with just enough extra meat on it to make guys say things, again, like, "I'd tear that ass up."

Funny thing is, I'm not really an ass man. I love women's asses, don't get me wrong. It's just that I've always felt that the whole "anal" fixation is overrated. To me, if a woman gives her ass up now and again, that's enough. To me, it's just the thought of it that's most of the excitement. It feels great, sure, but so does a pussy. The fact that a woman is excited enough about you to let you fuck her ass is what is hot to me. She doesn't need to do it all the time. That's what made the whole thought of Krystal and her amazing behind weird for me. I wanted her ass so badly, yet, I'm neither an ass man, nor would I ever consider her to be into that.

This all makes me a dirty old man. You see, I'm in my late 40's, Krystal is not yet 25. She works as a waitress in a place I frequent. It's one of those places that just seem to hire only sexy, cleavage gifted women. The other women really play the game. You know how that goes, the "I'll show you my fabulous cleavage all night and you tip me far more than you should," game.

Krystal doesn't really do it. She dresses the part but with her natural looking innocence and girl next door appeal she doesn't play that game. In fact, she often refuses the obscene tip or finds ways out of it, as is her nature. It's as if she knows that by accepting that sort of thing, she's encouraging the next step, which would be the, "hey, you wanna go out?" or the "let's have sex" thing.

All of that is why this story is surprising still, to me at least. My name is Devin and I'd have been the last person to think there'd be a chance of anything between us.

I'm not saying I'm not a bad "catch," though. Even though I'm older, I am athletic, a former marathon runner and have kept up my physique. I still play sports, softball, golf, basketball, whenever I can. I probably look ten years younger than I am, at least from the responses that I get. I still have a full head of hair. I'm a professional, I'm responsible, trustworthy and loyal to a fault. I'm generous with what I have. I've had a couple very long term relationships with wonderful and beautiful women. And, despite my age I remain interested in sex and have a very kinky side. In fact, with my exes I've experienced threesomes, sharing, BDSM and some Ds. Despite all that, you still had an upper 40s guy lusting after a perfect 24 year old with no apparent interest. So, did I end up fucking this beautiful creature, and if so, how the fuck did it happen? Here's my tale.

The women that work at this bar, and most women in general, see me as this nice guy. I am nice, exceedingly nice, it seems. I treat them well, I compliment them often and as I've mentioned, tip generously. The problem with nice, as I've discovered, for women it also means safe, boring. Women say they want nice guys but they really don't. They want guys who are nice, when it suits them, but really, they want men to be men, even as frustrating as we can be, at times. So, the irony was, the nicer I was to women, the less attractive I became to them.

It was a Friday night, a few weeks ago. I was at the bar. Krystal was working. She was wearing a low cut top, as per usual, along with some nice black short shorts. Again, she had me drooling. She just looked so fucking soft, so incredible. I was ordering wine and I even had a couple hits of dope in the parking lot with a friend. I smoke weed probably once every year or two, not usually a big fan. This time though, I was pretty buzzed. The problem with alcohol, as most people know, is that it loosens one's inhibitions. I really tried to make sure I didn't come across as a typical drunken lustful idiot and do something stupid like tell her I love her.

She was, as usual, pleasant, cheerful, but aloof. It's her way of keeping a distance without totally losing out on the profitability of the tipping. Many times, her and one of her waitress friends will hang out at the bar for a drink or two (most often provided by leering and hopeful suitors such as myself) when they are off work. This time she was with one of her other waitress friends, Alena, who was waiting for Krystal so they could go out somewhere and "party." Alena is one of those waitresses who know how to play the game. She's got an incredible set of tits and has no problem showing them off. She flirts back, she encourages the attention, and accepts gifts unabashedly. I'd asked her out before, somehow though, it never seemed to happen. One advantage for me this night though was, Alena has no problem asking her bar friends to accompany them when they go somewhere else. This was the case on this night. I joined a small group that would go to another bar and hang out.

The other bar turned out to be a karaoke bar. We were drinking, talking, laughing, having a good time when most of the others went outside to smoke as it's illegal to smoke in bars here now. Krystal isn't a heavy smoker, she stayed inside. She had changed from her cleavage baring top and the sexy short shorts to a pink "hello kitty" top and jeans. She looked so adorable. She was a goddess, dressed like a teenager. She had no idea how sexy she was, even though I'm not into the teenager/cheerleader thing. Just the juxtaposition of her innocent outfit and her smoldering hotness had me shaking my head.

I sat down next to her and for the next twenty minutes or so listened to her go on about how jerky men are and how young men have continuously mistreated her and misunderstood her. I'm pretty good with people, it's actually my job. I felt she didn't really want anything other than a sounding board. I think she really expected me to take the "man" side so she could reject me as well. Instead, I just listened, nodded now and again, and compassionately stroked her ego.

She turned to me, " you know, I think this is the longest conversation I've had with a man in my life who didn't try to turn it into talking about him somehow."

I laughed, "you obviously hang around the wrong kind of men."

She looked at me earnestly, and with a nod said, "I certainly do."

"Why do you think that is?" I asked, turning it on her.

"I don't know," she slurred. "I like nice guys," she said uncertainly, "or, at least I should...it's just that, the guys I tend to find attractive are just so....so..."

"So, what?" I asked, now with increasing interest.

I could see her start to blush. She has such beautiful, milky white skin that it spread across her face like wildfire.

"I dunno..." she stammered, her tongue starting to loosen, "they are just so fucking hot."

"Physically they are hot?" I asked.

"Oh yeah," she said, her face still red but her eyes were now more focused, intense. "But I don't mean that's what makes them hot," she said with increased excitement. "God, I shouldn't be telling you all this," she giggled.

"Why is that?" I wondered. "Do I look like a priest or something?"

She laughed. "Kind of, I don't know, it's hard to explain, you are just so....so, nice."

"Nice," I said, rubbing my chin overly dramatically. "Yeah, I can see how that would be a problem."

She giggled again. "I just mean I'm telling you some personal stuff and you just...I don't know....are too nice to hear it?" She said, questioning herself.

I said, "tell you what, you finish what you were saying about men, then I'll tell you something about me that might shock you, or even change your opinion of me, deal?" I said, taking a flyer. I just sensed something, an opening, perhaps.

The whole time I'm just sitting there thinking, "she's gorgeous, you have to be kidding yourself." Still though, as I've said before, I'd been spoiled in my lifetime with experiences with some beautiful women.

She nodded. "Ok, so, the men that I've been attracted to and been with since high school are hot, well, attractive to me not just because of their bodies. There's something about their jerky, cocky, arrogant natures that turns me on. I know I shouldn't but it's like they are trying to make me try to change them, so I do. For awhile they are getting what they want and for awhile it seems like I'm successful at making them nicer. Well, at least making them treat me nicer. But, as has happened each time, in the end they tend to go back to being who they are, self absorbed pretty boys who are just looking for their next score, their next hookup.

"So they are getting what they want?" I asked knowingly, I just wanted to hear her say it. "What is that exactly?"

She giggled, "pussy," she said, her eyes avoiding mine, as her face reddened again.

"Bingo," I laughed to myself. "So what is it you get, or, better yet, what is it you want?" I asked.

"I don't really know," she shrugged, somewhat defeated by the revelation. "Being with them sometimes is so exciting, I get caught up in it. But, after while those differences just bring us down."

"I get it," I said. "You want someone who you can be excited about but still have the comfort of having someone who you can trust, count on, and even love you. You'd be glad to give it up for that.

"Yessss," she hissed, "Too bad that person doesn't exist!"

I refrained the temptation of jumping up and down in front of her, screaming, "me! me! me!"

Then she remembered. "Hey, you are supposed to tell me something about yourself that would surprise me! Don't tell me you are like a mass murderer or something," she chuckled.

"No," I laughed. "I meant I'd tell you something personal, like sexual, like you kind of have. I think you and everyone else at that bar, misjudge me."

"How so?" she asked with interest.

"You guys see me as this nice guy."

"Well, yeah, we do, cuz you are!"

"True, I am nice. But, to you, nice means boring. Nice means, "thank you for the compliments and the tips but I can't see me ever thinking of you as a man, in that way."

She looked at me with seriousness. "I guess that's true. No, it's totally true, you're right, that's how we see you."

Brutal honesty can be harsh, but it can also lead to higher truth. I was at the precipice.

"Do you know that I've done things, sexual things, in my life that you'll probably never get a chance to do, or even dare to do?"

"Like what?" She asked, her interest was now piqued.

"I had more sex and in varied ways by age 35 than you'll probably have in a lifetime," I said, while thinking of exactly what or how much to tell her.

She didn't appear moved by that statement at all.

"Ok, I actually am kinky. The things I used to do with my exes...." I said with a wink.

She rolled her eyes. "Everyone says that," she chuckled. "What does that mean to you? Do you like to dress up in women's underwear or like to wear diapers or something gross?"

I knew she was baiting me. She was trying to get me to reveal myself to her. I sensed it was just another way for her to reject me. She wanted to hear something she'd find distasteful so she could shut it down for good. She was looking at me intently, waiting for me to hang myself. I think I surprised both of us with what I said next.

I laughed. "Not exactly. More like some good, old fashioned hair pulling, holding you down and giving you what you need, kind of thing. The biggest sex organ is the brain. It's all about the mental stimulation. If your brain is turned on, then you are turned on. There are so many ways to stroke the brain. Yes, I'm nice. But I also like to make dirty little sluts do all those things they long to do but need someone to make them. My ex wife and I were like that, we had the excitement we craved, yet we also had the love and the trust of knowing we would have the relationship when the sex was over."

"Oh gawd," she drawled in her buzzed state. "You mean like bondage and spanking, stuff like that? I've seen stuff like that on the internet."

I cringed a bit. "Too much? Yeah, that was the risk," I said.

I heard the rest of the group coming back. "Nice chat," I said as I gave her a knowing wink. I figured I'd just laid all my cards out on the table and a big gust of wind came and blew it all away. Everyone went back to drinking, singing, laughing. I caught Krystal's eye now and again but we never were alone again.

A week went by. Krystal seemed like she was avoiding me when I'd show up at the bar. At best she seemed indifferent. But, maybe that was just me viewing it that way, I had no real way of knowing. The next Friday night, as luck would have it, I ended up in another small group and headed out to another bar for some more fun. At first Krystal wasn't going to join us. I was disappointed, but I figured it was because of me.

I didn't get a chance to be alone with her while she and her friends drank themselves silly. I saw her eyeing me several times. I wondered what she was thinking. I figured it wasn't good, whatever it was.

Being the responsible one, having a job and all and having to work early the next day I bid everyone farewell. Krystal barely acknowledged me as I walked out. I figured she'd now just see me as that creepy old man. I was in my car and pulling out of the lot when I saw her outside, scanning for me. I pulled up next to her and rolled down the window.

"Are you ok?" I asked.

She got in the passenger side. She was pretty well lit by now, she was unsteady on her feet.

"Are you serious about what you said?" She said unsteadily.

"About what?" I wondered. "You mean about my past?" she nodded.

"Of course I am, if I'm anything, I am truthful. You should know that by now. I am truthful, I'm responsible, I'm nice, and yes, I'm even kinky."

She said, "Wow, when you told me that stuff I was like, oh my god. But, I have to admit...." she paused.

I had to help her. "You have to admit that that's what you meant when you said you like men treating you like that."

"Yesss," she said bashfully, her face down and hidden from me.

"But, you just can't deal with the other shit that goes along with someone like that?"

"Uh huh," she said in a playful pout.

"Well," I said hopefully for the first time, "you'll just have to trust that there are people out there like that. Someone that will treat you as you need to be treated, both sexually, and emotionally, outside of the sex."

She was nodding nervously. I could see her biting her lip. I knew what she was going to ask but it was as if I was frozen. I wanted to hear her say it, I'd dreamed about it. I'd waited so long for it.

"Do you think you could....you know...show me?" She said softly, barely above a whisper.

"You want me to show you what I've learned?" I asked with a commanding tone. "What do you want me to show you?" I was making her say it.

"You know..." she whined softly. "...how to treat women...like that."

I was toying with her now. "Like what?"

"You know..." she said again, almost begging.

"Do you want me to treat you like the dirty little slut you are, use you in ways you've only imagined, then treat you like the absolute goddess you are the rest of the time?"

"Oh god," She whined softly. "That sounds so fucking hot."

"Krystal!" I said sharply. "Nice, sweet, Krystal...words like that coming out of your sweet mouth," I said sarcastically, in jest.

"I know, right? Both of us, look at us, we're both viewed as too nice and here we are discussing...this."

I laughed. "It's not as uncommon as you think, baby."

Her face changed again. "So? What does this mean? Does this mean you'll do it? I don't even know what it means for me," she said, still uncertain with it all. It was a big moment for her.

"Krystal, listen to me," I said as I guided her chin towards me so we could look eye to eye. It was the first time I got to touch her like that. Her skin was as soft as I could've ever imagined. "First, I'd never mistreat you a day in your life. Anything we'd do, we'd do because we'd both enjoy it. I think the world of you. I'd never hurt you and I'd treat you better than anyone has, that I can promise you."

"Ok," she said with a sniff, there were tears in her eyes. I could see this was all overwhelming her. "I do believe that," she said. "So what does this mean for us then? Should I just come home with you?"

I thought, "Wow!" That was really quick.

Ok, maybe I am the nicest guy in the world, or maybe I'm a complete idiot but, this just wasn't right. She was totally wasted. As much as I wanted her, as much as I've always wanted her, I couldn't have her, not like this. I was giving up the opportunity to have her. I was rolling the dice that like this, I may have her once, only to be followed by regret. It was a risk I had to take. My whole point to her was that I was different, not like other guys. I had to man up and prove it.

I still had her face in my hands. "Krystal, honey. Not tonight. Not like this."

She formed a drunken pout on her lips, her beautiful, succulent lips, those lips I've dreamed about for months now. She started to protest but I stopped her.

"Look, you are drunk, if we were in a relationship and we already had that trust then, ok, we could go have some fun. But now, like this? I'd feel lower than a rapist if I took advantage of you in this state."

"You wouldn't be!" She started to argue.

I cut her off, I leaned in quickly and kissed her. I kissed her hard, deep, fully. She responded in kind. I pulled away after enjoying her like that for too short a time.

"Trust me," I urged. "Tomorrow, when you sober up, well, after your hangover, then sober up, if you still feel the same way, we can talk about things. I want you to want to do it on your own, not influenced by tequila."

"Gawd, you really are a nice guy," she said, somewhat dejectedly. "I can't think of one guy I've ever been with or who has hit on me that wouldn't take me home and fuck the hell out of me."

I shuddered even as she was saying those words. "I know," I thought, "I must be fucking crazy." Still, if I waited and she still wanted it when she was clear headed, it would be magic. On the other hand, if she woke up the next day after this talk and regretted everything about it then I'd have missed out on the opportunity to make love to this beautiful creature. I gambled. I told her to go back inside and think about things. We exchanged phone numbers.

She was pouting. Her beautiful face was so inviting, so fucking cute. She nearly melted me. "I've been thinking about this stuff for a week now," she whined softly. "I'm so fucking worked up right now I just can't stand it. Can't we do something?" she whined playfully.

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