A Trick Is Her Treat

Alyssa couldn't have been a day over consent as I stared into her liquid, unblemished eyes. She was a vision of sex. Wait. Scratch that. She was a vision of fucking. Alyssa was built for one thing: a petite, brunette beauty blessed with that innocent, little girl face. The most haunting feature she possessed were her eyes. Some women don't understand the power of their eyes. They think that if they have a great ass or a bounteous pair of tits then their job of seduction is done. But a woman that knows how to make eye contact can stir a hard-on from a guy in a matter of seconds, even if her body is less than fabulous. But it's not any look that works. It's only those hungry eyes that really do it. Those wide-open eyes that stare you down like you're the first appetizing meal that's come across her path after a long famine. The raised eyebrows, those extra unnecessary moments of eye contact, and the subtle sense of knowing and interest on the side profile of her face as she passes. That's the look that drives me wild. And that's the look that Alyssa was flashing at me this very moment as we sat naked in the back seat of my car under the starlight.

"Again?" she asked.

I looked down at my cock which was still semi-erect and semi-flaccid from my recent orgasm. I figured with a bit of coaxing I could be ready to go at it again very shortly. I looked back at her face. Alyssa was licking her lips and trying to clean off the last traces of my cum which had dribbled from a corner of her tiny mouth.

I reached out my hand and wiped off the last trace of my seed still dangling on her chin. Rubbing the slick cream through my fingers and thumb, I proceeded to insert my index and middle fingers into her gaping vagina and smear my residue along her inner walls like a lubricant.

"Oh, that's different."

I got up on my knees and hunched down on the roof of my car. I pulled her legs up to my shoulders by her feet and grappled her knees in my arms. Then, I pushed the head of my inflamed penis into her pouting labia and thrust slowly and to the hilt, my balls curling around her comely butt.

"Oh, you fit nice."

Every guy, and I mean every guy, gets hard at the idea of fucking someone as petite as Alyssa. At just over 5' 4'', she came up to my chest and not an inch higher. I wasn't the most well-endowed guy in the world (5 inches, sometimes with an extra half when I'm really worked up like now) but in terms of ratios, my cock must have been a monster to her.

There was nothing slow or sensual about my fucking. I thrust into that little sex-kitten for all my burning tool was worth. I knew I had spent the reserves in my sack and that when I came in the next couple of minutes I would probably be firing blanks.

"Unnnh, harder. Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck that pussy with your cock."

Alyssa's eyes were closed and she thrashed her head violently from side to side. My legs were starting to cramp up and fall asleep on me. I had to shoot a load soon. The heat in the car was intense and our erotic coupling had not only fogged up the windows, but turned the interior of the vehicle into a makeshift sauna. I knew I'd either pass out or bust a nut any second. "Oh fuck! Oh yeah! Oh fuck me you stud! Fuck my little cunny. Fuck that juicy twat!"

I rammed her for all I was worth. I was fortunate that I was so deadened in my genitals from my 3 prior orgasms or else I wouldn't have been able to withstand this vice wrenching around my rod like a wet towel being twisted dry.

"I'm coming! Oh God. Oh God."

The silence of the surrounding lake was shattered by the shrill and intense squeal of a young teenager getting the cruelest impaling of her pubescent life. Like a whale blasting out sea water, I felt the pang of relief as my cum came forth, first in small droplets and then into tiny little streams.

"Oh, it's so hot! Make me a baby!"

That made me bust a nut. Alyssa pulled her legs free from my shoulders and wrapped them around my waist, digging her heels into my ass cheeks. We were glued together like that for several moments. Her muscular legs holding me tight and filling her up with my entire length. When my penis finally started withdrawing out of its own accord, she relinquished her grasp and let her limbs collapse beside her.

Exhausted, I fell on top of her and slipped my tongue into her hungry mouth and French-kissed her for all I was worth, relishing in the taste of my jizz mixed with her saliva as she no doubt relished the taste of her pussy on my lips. After several minutes of hot kissing and post-coital petting, I pulled away from her mouth to gaze down at the conquered and violated little girl stretched out before me.

"Oh shit. That was the best sex I've ever had. Can all the Asian guys at your college fuck like you?"

* * * * *

I wake up. Another dream. They keep getting filthier and raunchier. Pretty soon I'll be coming in my sleep. I feel the crotch of my boxers. Just a little bit of pre-cum this time, maybe tomorrow I won't be so lucky.

I come to work every day and there you are sitting across from me at your cubicle, headset covering your ears like dainty winter ear muffs. I devour the curves and angles of your silhouette as I approach my desk for another dreary day of answering customer service calls. It's been a couple of months now since my first day at work and you are by far the only reason why I haven't quit. Your outfit today makes me want to slink off to the bathroom and jerk off. There's nothing outrageously sexy about it except for the fact that you're in it.

You're a little one. In a pair of tight jeans and a lavender tank top you look like the quintessential girl next door. I imagine how hard it must be for you to remain comfortable at your job as every guy around you is clearly thinking out strategies and pick-up lines to get you into bed. But then I see you talk to these same creeps with a genuine candor so well-contrived that I know it's fake. It's a sign that assures me of one thing: you're a natural born cock-tease. I smile inside. I watch as you play your game and note the stupid grin on guy after guy every time they get a good 3 line conversation going with you. For them it's a sign of progress. They're thinking, "that's a good line. She's smiling. I'll get in good now and maybe in a few weeks at that office social I'll mack it hardcore and maybe get to fuck her brains out." And I know just what you're thinking: "God, these tools are so fucking boring. I just wish some nit-wit could see what I'm all about. Look past my good girl genetics and see the deeper truth: I want a man who will fuck me, violate me...take me from behind and ram me with vigor. And stop your stupid fucking grinning. It makes me sick!"

And then you turn and look at me. I'm caught red-handed checking you out, devouring your fiendishly small frame and thinking how easy it would be to pin you down outside in an unlit portion of the parking lot and plow through your cunt like a bulldozer through snow. And you know what I'm thinking because I was staring directly at your hips. I look up. But I don't turn away. You look at me rather distantly, make eye contact for just a second, then focus at the clock above me. You hesitate, drinking in the fact that you have an unexpected watcher admiring your womanly graces. You smile inside as you take too long to read the time on a digital clock. "God, I must be fucking hot!" you say to yourself. "This guy just started last month and he's already at it like the rest of them... Except, why doesn't he look away like the rest of these scared little boys? That's curious."

I withdraw my gaze as I take a telephone call by some irate fucker who can't log onto the web and browse porn. And you look back at your desk, a little confused and insecure about the new male in the potential breeding pack. Our connection is short and primal. No words are spoken but a deeper understanding is reached which transcends any language. I am a new prowler lurking outside your garden. Your fruit was tempting bait and I stared it down with confidence, unafraid of the barbed wire fences you had placed around it to block me and my ilk out. It was enough of a compliment to your vanity that put my name into your mental list of hopefuls. And so we begin playing our silent little game over the course of the next couple of months.

We talk infrequently and you never give me any hints. You make it clear that in this dance, I will have to lead. I am up to the task. Most of our work revolves around the phones so we only get a few moments of time to actually speak. You ask me one day about my age and where I'm from. I reply, I'm from just out of town and that I'm 23 and going to college. You are taken a little off guard by my age but attempt to downplay your youth. You tell me how you're from nearby and only 18. You add, "I'll be celebrating my birthday next week."

We continue like this and our romance feels more like an affair than a real courtship. "What kind of clothes do you wear when you're not at work?" Company policy dictates that we dress business casual so the question is not entirely unfounded as you are still of the age when what you wear is more important than what you are. I understand the question almost immediately having experienced the nature of college cliquey-ness just recently. "I wear what most of the college kids wear. Preppy stuff. Mall outfits." This satisfies you some, but I still remain your first ever enigma.

For the first time in your life, you have met a man who is not intimidated by your looks. My confidence and patience as well as my attention to every one of your feminine details—hair, nails, shoes, perfume, cheekbones, eyelashes, purse, earrings, bracelets—all those things that get lost in most men's field of vision because they're staring too hard at your butt or tits, appear in widescreen before me. And it's this simple fact that makes you wet at night when you take your evening shower.

Tongue-in-cheek conversations are the order of the week when we both know where we'd rather like our tongues to be. This week we have to attend a special evening training class. Our instructor looks bored, bored, bored. We sit by each other at the same computer feigning interest in what's going on around us. You brush up your bare legs nonchalantly against my cargo pants. I am aware of your intentional playfulness. As you turn to pass me the attendance roster, you make deliberate eye-contact. I return the look obligingly and gently touch your warm, small hand. You smile innocently.

After class, I corner you in the lunch room and flirt. You act like nothing happened between us. I accept that you still want to fuck with my head a little while longer but I no longer play it cool when I'm around you. I know you're no prude and over the next few days I'm much more touchy-feely with you. It's a change that you clearly notice, but you make no attempts to distance yourself from me physically. When I arrived to work the other Sunday, you stood right in front of me and deliberately bent over on the ground to pick up a sheet of paper. The way your ass looked in those tight business slacks made my cock twitch in anticipation. You definitely know how to hold a man's attention.

As we wind down the end of the year, it becomes more and more apparent to our co-workers that we are always "going at each other" while on the job. It doesn't take much intelligence to detect the physical attraction between us as we play-wrestle each other for headset muffies, pens, and other precious office commodities. But by the end of the 3rd Quarter, we are stuck at a mutual impasse. I know that you can't ask me out because it's not your style. You know that I can't risk asking you out based solely on causal innuendos—being that you look like total jailbait. You must make an unambiguous pass very soon while I'm still open for it. I'm the wide end and you're the tight receiver. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

We both look at our calendars, anxiously awaiting the end of October. It's the company's annual social and nearly everyone will be there. There will be drinks (both alcoholic and non) for the guests as we all mix in the back lawn of the boss's small estate to celebrate a year well-done and another Halloween. It will also be the first real opportunity for us to have some time alone together beyond the prying eyes and ears at the office. I know that I'll be vying for your attention as about 40 drunken fools will attempt to get between your legs. But I know that I've already secured the first spot in line and as I pull up to the already happening dance party, I am relaxed.

There is a DJ, a wooden dance platform already laid out underneath a tall pavilion with plenty of small tables covered in hors-de-oeuvres and alcohol around it. You tell me the other day that we should hang out at the party. Your friends are there so you don't make it sound like a big deal but I know better. You do too. You inform me that you'll be dressed up as cop and you add, rather jokingly, that "hopefully it will keep all the unruly boys in line."

As I approach the dance floor, I wedge my way through cramped bodies, some of them inviting and others not. I grind up on a couple of the drunker girls, have a few drinks, and make polite party-talk but I have bigger ambitions for the night. I work my way closer and closer to the center, my movements imitating an Enrique Iglesias music video, until I finally catch a glimpse of your hot body in the inner ring of dancers. You sway your hips sensually in a police uniform. The catch, however, is that you've opted for a tight black miniskirt instead of the uninviting navy-blue khakis. The dark blue officer's cap is too precious and kinky to describe. "Always the cock-tease," I say to myself as I approach you from behind.

Your eyes are closed as I press up behind you and wrap my hands around your waist. You jump up in a start and look behind you. All you can see is the mask of a caricature of a person's tortured face screaming. You know immediately where the costume is from (that teen-slasher cult classic Scream).

"Who the fuck are you?"

I've never heard you talk dirty before and I'm taken aback slightly by your brusqueness. But I continue to press up against you in my silence.

"Are you going to fucking speak or just grind me from behind?"

I don't reply.

"Hey asshole, I'm talking to you."

Your potty-mouth is turning me off. I look at the flush on your cheeks and it tells me that you are clearly under the influence. I put my hand over your mouth and whisper into your ear, "Shut up, tease. I've been playing your games for the past five months and now I'm here to claim what's mine."

I pause, trying to gauge your reaction, a little worried I might have gone over the top. But the bitchy look on your face shifts to one of welcoming pleasure.

"Okay...whoever you are. What do you want?" you say to my mask as you turn around and start dancing even more sexually.

I press my crotch up against yours and dance with you in your circular motions.

You whisper into my ear, "Oh, you little fucker! I can feel your dick on my pussy. I can feel you getting hard. Does that make you hard? Is that little cunny of mine, is that what you think belongs to you?"

I don't respond.

"Come here, creep! Let see what you're made of. I'm gonna make you work for it some more."

You smile, very haughtily and your self-absorbed, bitchy airs bring me to full mast. I was expecting you to be a bit more timid. I didn't realize how my age advantage over you didn't mean shit to you. But I also knew that this was a part of your game. You like to egg your man on. I understand at last what kind of sex really drives you wild. You don't want to be loved. You want to be disciplined. And I was sure you were also relishing in your role as a server of justice.

Twenty minutes of grinding away and showing off our moves pass by quickly. You're impressed with how I can move, despite how ridiculous I must look in this outfit. You start to smile and the person I thought I knew was coming back from her drunken stupor.

"Well, well, mystery man...I think I'm ready. Just let me tell my friends that I have to go inside for a while to cool off."

I watch you walk towards a crowd of young girls, all giggling and gawking at their friend's audacity and confidence.

"Alyssa, you can't be for real." "Alyssa, who is that guy?" "Alyssa, no!" They protest, but you ignore them. Stupid girls you say to yourself as you walk back towards me and take my arm. I hand you another drink and guzzle down a shot of vodka for myself as we stroll up to the back patio of the boss's mansion.

"I like your style. Your costume is a real piece of shit, by the way, but I like your style."

"How long have talked like an obnoxious bitch, Alyssa?"

You slap me. But there is no real malice in it. "I'll talk however the fuck I want to you fuck!"

"Fine. Whatever love wants."

You laugh rather sarcastically. "Love? I'm soooo sure that's the reason why you're taking me away from the party!"

"Well, you said you were ready, didn't you?"

"I'm ready to be fucked, if that's what you mean," you giggle into my ear as you lean your head on my chest. Then you add, "you creep. Is this some kind of fantasy you've been building up in your head. To fuck sweet little Alyssa on my boss's bed?"

"I was thinking of the basement game room on his pool table, actually. I checked it out earlier and nobody was there."

"Kinky," you coo as I squeeze your ass.

You put your hand on my crotch and massage my penis.

"Let's get this bad boy ready for action," you tell me as I open the door to the basement.

We hang a left and go down the flight of stairs. The pool room is completely dark except for three dangling lights above the pool table.

"Lock the doors," you say.

"I can't. There's no lock."

"Well, then. How adventurous are you feeling, stud?" "Very."

You smile, a sinful curl in your lips. "Come here, asshole. I want you to take off that stupid fucking mask. You know how I'm such a sucker for those beautiful blue eyes of yours."

I freeze. Blue eyes. Who did she think I was? I don't have blue eyes.

"What? Did I say something wrong?"

"N-no. It's nothing...it's j-just..."

"What? Performance anxiety?" you tease.

"It's just that I kinda wanted to fuck you with the costume on," I add quickly to cover.

You flash me a really devilish grin. "Oh, you perv!" And then, "Shit that makes me hot! God, you're such a dirty piece of shit. Emmmm. A yummy, dirty piece of shit."

You walk up to me and put your lips onto my mask, kissing the smallest bit of my mouth that's exposed. I slip my tongue through the little slit and you suck it into your mouth, milking it like a cock. You moan softly and coo in rapture as I start to grind my cock into you, rubbing my penis on your warm thigh.

You break away. "Oh God, fuck me, Travis."

Who the fuck is Travis?

I grab you by your shoulders and turn you around. With one violent push I toss you onto your tits and mash them on the top of the pool table. I throw your arms behind your back and, ripping your handcuffs off your belt, I deftly make my evening's arrest.

I lean over to your ear and hiss you your Miranda warning. "You have the right to scream and cry, bitch, but nobody's gonna hear you. Anything you say and do will be used against you. You have the right to struggle, but don't waste my fucking energy. You have the right to an orgasm and I expect you to act like your enjoying me fucking you. No wait, better yet. I just want you to moan and cry like the whiny little cock-tease you are."

I slap you across the side of your face and you scream out.

"Ouch. This isn't, this isn't sounding fun any..."

I slap you again, harder. "Shut the fuck up bitch!"