Cinnamon Girl

Soon the meal is over and the tables are cleared. It's time for dancing. He was surprised this was on the program, and would rather get on with the ceremony but whoever put this together decided a short interlude of after-dinner dancing would be a wonderful idea.

As they rise to join the crowd on the dance floor, he cringes. "I'm not much of a dancer," he tells her.

She grins. "Don't worry, it's what I do, I'll make you look good. It's all slow dancing tonight."

He leads her onto the dance floor and she helps him position his hands, one holding her hand, the other on her hip. She teaches him the box step and they begin to move.

"Loosen up, she whispers, you'll enjoy this more. Don't worry about anyone cutting in, I'm your dance partner tonight unless a few very special patrons ask you for a dance. I know who they are. Anyone else gets a firm but sweet no. Dean's orders," she says, smiling up at him with those obsidian eyes.

By the second song, he's relaxing. She senses it, and melts into him, laying her head against his shoulder. It feels good to be held by him. The intimate contact causes a stirring in his loins, and he does his best to keep it under control but is unsuccessful. She feels him growing against her. Fortunately, Maureen approaches and requests a dance. Brooke nods and steps away. He and Maureen chat during their dance to the song, and once the song ends Brooke is there waiting, ensuring no one else cuts in.

Maureen whispers her thanks for the dance as she surreptitiously slides a hand down and rubs his semi-rigid cock. "I've noticed the way you look at her. Enjoy yourself, I chose her special for you."

And just like that, he has a full-blown erection as his young escort melts against him again. She quickly notices the third person in this dance and smiles up at him before laying her head on his shoulder again. He detects a firmer contact with her now. He knows it's inappropriate, but he's enjoying the feeling of her body. He feels her press against him, and it's only making his problem worse. On the other hand, she's excited by the situation. It's one thing to excite a college-age guy whose hormones are still raging, but it's a whole different level of sexuality to excite a man who's lived a life. She feels butterflies in her chest and a warmth spreading through her loins. Could he be my first older man? Please, please, please! Argh, I want him. I'm already wet. So wet.

Two of the patrons she mentioned approach for the next two songs and ask to dance. The loss of intimate contact with Brooke is a relief and he dances with them, one after another, as they discuss art. He makes sure not to let their bodies get too close to him. At that point, Maureen announces an end to the dancing and he returns to the table where Brooke awaits. Fortunately, the last two songs have served to also relieve the problem between his legs and he manages to make it to his seat without a tent in his tuxedo pants. As he approaches, Brooke stands and takes his hand as she rises on her toes and kisses his cheek.

"Thank you very much," she smiles, "I quite enjoyed dancing with you."

"The pleasure was all mine," he responds.

"Trust me, it was not," she whispers as she looks up at him through her thick lashes.

Next on the program is the President's speech, which is long-winded; and Jon's acceptance speech, which is thankfully not. He's not a public speaker so he had an engineer friend help draft his words. His friend is used to speaking on technical topics in front of large groups and has also been in the position Jon finds himself in tonight, accepting a wholly unnecessary award. When he finishes there is a polite round of applause and he returns to his seat.

Maureen takes the stage once again, announcing the cocktail hour. It's his final responsibility of the night. Everyone rises and the waitstaff passes swiftly through the room, each one carrying a different cocktail on their tray. Once again, Brook secures herself to his side and they make their way around the room speaking with the other guests. She never leaves his side, she's simply there, his escort, sipping a cocktail and keeping him moving when someone attempts to monopolize his time. Thankfully, cocktail hour draws to a close and Brooke maneuvers him back to the President so he can bid him goodnight and offer his final thanks.

With the niceties complete, she whisks him back to the private elevator and to his suite. She uses her access card to open the door. She has a key to my room? I'm a bit surprised at that. He turns to her before crossing the threshold. Unexpectedly, she presses against him with one hand on his chest, again gazing up at him with those deep brown eyes. Her heart is pounding in her chest. She wants this man, wants to give herself to him, pleasure him, taste him on her tongue. She knows it's now or never. If she turns to leave, or if he rebuffs her advances, she'll have to go back to her empty apartment and pull out her vibrator while she daydreams about what might have been.

"It's been a pleasure to spend the evening with you, Mr. Tate. Congratulations on your award."

"Thank you, Ms. Windsor. You made my evening quite enjoyable when I thought it'd barely be able to tolerate it."

"This is the end of my official duties, but based on my conversation with the Dean, I can't help but wonder if there are any more... personal duties I can perform for you before I leave."

The Dean, that'd be Aunt Maureen. What has she been saying? He feels Brooke's pelvis gently press against him, and his cock stirs again. She feels it and her smile grows wider.

"I have nowhere else to be tonight, I don't have to check in with anyone, my roommate is gone. No one will know if my bed's not slept in," she purrs.

He is torn. He has fifteen years on her twenty-two. She has her life ahead of her and he's solidly into middle age. He desires her with every fiber of his being. He wants her, craves the heat of her skin against his own, the taste of her on his tongue. Tonight she was his arm candy, but with a purpose, and she fulfilled that purpose with grace and charm. He has no desire to become a tired cliché - the older guy with a young, hot girl hanging off his arm. He's not that guy, and he knows that she definitely deserves to be more than that girl. She's not a prize to be flaunted.

They stand there on the threshold and she's looking into his eyes for an answer. His pulse is thrumming in his ears, and his heart pounds against his ribs, but silence falls between them like a blank canvas, filled with possibilities. Tension fills the air, indecisiveness, begging to be broken. Her gaze dances from his eyes to his lips and back. There's no possible way to misinterpret what she's offering.

"Earlier you were concerned about being alone with me behind that door," she says. "That was so refreshing, college boys would never feel that hesitation. But now? Now, Mr. Tate, you don't have to feel concerned. I'm asking you to let me in. Let the door close."

"Brooke," he murmurs her name like an invocation and succumbs to his lust.

Taking her wrist, he draws her across the threshold, allowing the door to latch, shutting out the world. Now it's just the two of them. His hand finds her waist and he draws her closer. Her heart races. She tips her head back and closes her eyes, offering her mouth. Unable to resist, he leans in. Their breaths mingle. The distance between their lips dissolves like fog in the morning sun, and he swallows her soft moan as he feels her plush lips pressed to his. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in. They both feel the fierce want and the promise of something forbidden.

She breaks the kiss and turns her back to him as she raises her hair. A slight glance from her tells him she wants to be unwrapped. With a trembling hand, he grasps the zipper pull between her shoulder blades and slides it down while she holds one arm across her chest. Two steps and she creates distance between them. Her pulse pounds in her ears and she feels lightheaded. She's about to expose herself to him, there's no going back from that. What if he rejects me? she worries. She takes a deep cleansing breath, and a moment later her dress pools on the floor. She stands before him naked save for her high-heeled shoes. He swallows, hard, and his cock hears the sirens song of her young, firm flesh. He wants to fuck this young woman, and it's clear that's what she wants too.

In an instant she's pressed against him again, arms around his neck, lips pressed to his. His hands roam up her sides, groping her firm breasts, pinching her nipples. Her flesh is so young and supple. There's nary a blemish on her cinnamon skin. He can smell her excitement. He trails a hand down to her hip and then between her thighs, into her wet heat. Two fingers sweep between her folds. Fuck, she's so wet. Wet for me! He feels the soft probe of her tongue and willingly offers entrance, momentarily forgetting to breathe. She tastes fruity—like the Island Breeze she'd been drinking. The taste reminds him that she was drinking. Is her desire the result of alcohol? He has to know.

"Brooke," he gasps, remembering to breathe.

"Yes, Mr. Tate?"

"You've been drinking."

"Yes, and so have you."

"But—"

"Mr. Tate, would I have neglected to wear panties if it wasn't my plan to seduce you?"

He breaks the kiss and looks at her. Her eyes are dark with lust.

"I've had weeks to research you, gaze at your photos, study your art. You're a handsome and passionate man. I found myself wanting to be with the man I found on the internet. You invaded my fantasies without ever having been introduced. When I met you tonight, you took my breath away. After spending the evening with you I only want you more."

She grasps the shoulders of his jacket and pushes them back. It slides down his arms and onto the floor.

"One of us is inadequately undressed," she smiles, and she removes his bow tie, then begins unbuttoning his shirt.

She fights to hide the trembling in her hands. She's never been with a man this much older, but she simply must have him. He's nothing like the college men, boys actually, that she's slept with. At the award event tonight, he was confident, worldly, and intriguing. He took an actual interest in what she had to say. He's not a boy, he's a man by any definition of the word. She craves his touch. In no time she has him naked from the waist up. He takes care of himself. His firm torso calls to her and she runs her hands over him. She kneels before him before her legs give out, and unfastens his pants. They join his jacket on the floor and she moans softly as the bulge in his boxers is exposed. He stands there unable to move with his pants around his ankles and his shoes still on his feet. She hooks her fingers through his waistband. He notes a crooked little grin on her face just before she pulls his boxers down to his ankles. Her eyes widen, her pupils are black with lust, and her gaze never leaves his cock.

She slides her hands slowly up his legs, chasing the goosebumps that form on his flesh. He can't help but tremble slightly, excited at the possibilities of tonight, but slightly fearful of embarrassing himself. When her hands reach his manhood she takes his balls in one as the other encircles his shaft at the root before gently sliding up to the crown. Her face is inches from his shaft, and she looks at it lovingly as her fingers dance up and down his length and across his crown. She can smell his muskiness. His crown leaks with excitement and she craves the slick taste.

"Oh, Mr. Tate. You have such a handsome cock."

"Thank you," he croaks.

"It felt powerful pressed against me while we danced."

"Mmm," he moans.

"Are you enjoying this, Mr. Tate?"

"Yes, very much," he whispers, regaining just a touch of composure

She continues playing her fingers over his cock and gently massaging his balls. He can faintly hear her moaning and hissing. She runs her thumb up the underside of his shaft, milking him, and a bead of his precum escapes the tip and flows over her digit.

"I want to take you into my mouth, feel you between my lips, taste you on my tongue. Would you like that, Mr. Tate? Will you allow me to suck your cock? Please?"

Please, that last word flushed away any uncertainty he might have been harboring. Please, such a simple word. Yet hearing it come from her lips gave it a cloak of desire he hadn't heard in years.

"Yes, yes I want it. Please call me Jon again. It seems only right since you have me in your hands."

"But Mr. Tate sounds so naughty, and I'm going to be very naughty," she purrs.

Hearing him acquiesce, she places her lips at his root and plants a wet kiss, then blows against the moisture. Jon hisses in pleasure. I love having this power over a man, his pleasure held within the actions of my lips, she muses to herself. Men are so predictable, just put your lips on their cock and they turn to putty! Brooke enjoys the power of her mouth, most of her sexual encounters are oral. Few boys have plunged themselves into the wet heat between her thighs. Few are special enough to be granted that privilege. Tonight it will be Jon's privilege, and she's ready for him. Kneeling before him, she's been pressing her thighs together. She's sopping wet, and anxious to allow him entrance.

Her lips reach the edge of his crown and she blows against the slick fluid leaking from his tip, then flattens her tongue and gives it a firm lick. The quick flip of sensation from cool to hot sends a shiver up his spine. She feels another rush of power as she senses his pleasure, and she pauses momentarily to enjoy his salty slick discharge. She milks him again, forcing another drop to flow. She swirls her tongue around his crown, then quickly engulfs him, driving his crown to the back of her throat in one swift movement.

"Yes," he hisses as his cock is suddenly plunged into her warm, wet mouth.

She slides her lips up and down his shaft as her tongue flutters. She gazes up at him through her lashes. She makes a soft 'hrrk' sound each time his tip reaches the back of her throat. Each time it does, she takes him a little deeper into her throat, until her lips are meeting his root with each bob of her head. Once she's comfortable, she takes him deep. Holding his cock in position, she moans deeply. The vibrations on his crown nearly send Jon over the edge.

"Oh, God!" he gasps and grasps her hair. He pulls his cock from her mouth. "You can't do that to this old man, Brooke! I nearly came!"

"Isn't that the whole purpose of tonight? To cum?" she smiles up at him with a devilish grin.

"Yes, but—Oh fuck, I need to be in you!"

"So needy, Mr. Tate. So you want to fuck me now? Put this glorious cock in my warm, willing," she draws out the last two words, "pussy?" she whispers the last, pronouncing it with a pop on the p. In this moment she wants nothing more than to feel him stretch her open and take her. She trembles inwardly with excitement. He stands there mutely, still attempting to recover from his near orgasm. God I want to cum down her throat, but I want to put my first load in her tender pussy. We have all night, and with a mouth like hers I'll surely be able to recover quickly—I hope!

Brooke stands and stretches before prowling to the end of the sofa. She spreads her legs and bends over, placing one hand on the sofa arm while the other reaches between her thighs. She slips two fingers into her folds. Damn, I'm so hot and ready for him. She presses her thumb to her clit and moans.

Looking over her shoulder at him, she purrs, "Well, if you need to fuck me so badly, come over here and do it. I've been thinking about you for weeks now. Show me that dreams really do come true. I have condoms if you want to wear one, but you don't need to, do you?"

She folds herself over the sofa arm. Her fingers spread her lips, exposing her pink core.

"Sweet Jesus," Jon whispers as he kneels behind her.

Her exposed pink flesh is in stark contrast to the skin of her vulva, which is a darker shade of cinnamon. She is bare, shaved smooth. He runs his fingers over her sex and she shivers with anticipation. She is slick with arousal, ready for him. Fuck she's so wet for me! He takes in her scent and his cock throbs with anticipation. She smells so damn sexy. I want to devour her. He leans in parts her folds with his tongue, she tastes amazing. He draws her juices and her scent deep into his mouth and nose, tonguing her open. Her breath hitches, and she coos under his probing tongue.

"That's it, Mr. Tate. Taste me. I'm so wet for you, so eager. My pussy is so needy. I need you in me, filling me. Enjoy my taste on your tongue and then pry me open with your cock."

His tongue probes her clit and he buries his nose in her entrance, bathing it in her nectar and filling his head with her scent. Fuck, I could taste her pussy all night. She's savory with a touch of sweetness. He loses himself in the act of pleasuring her with his tongue. He circles his lips around her clit and begins rhythmically sucking, drawing it into his mouth then releasing it. He begins slowly, gently; but soon he increases the rhythm and vacuum. She writhes with pleasure. Oh fuck, he eats pussy like a god! This is why want an older, more experienced man. Boys lick pussy, maybe. But men? Men EAT pussy.

"Yes," she hisses, "eat my pussy, Mr. Tate. Fuck yes, just like that. Oh, oh, oh. Harder! I'm going to cum."

He sucks harder and her body quakes. She arches her back, rotating her pelvis to give him full access.

"Oh, Mr. Tate! I'm cumming! YES!"

The orgasm begins by fogging her brain, followed by tingling sensations in her fingers and toes. A surge of sensation sweeps up her spine and it's like a wave breaking over her. Her mind tumbles as her body spasms. He's holding her clit in his mouth, sucking—HARD. She's never experienced anything like this before. It's her first orgasm with a real man. Omigod, I might pass out! Her breaths come as panting. As her quaking subsides he slowly releases her clit. With a trembling hand, he gently caresses her sex, easing her down from her orgasm. He kisses her lips, now engorged with excitement, then moves to her ass cheeks and thighs. He caresses her with his lips and fingers until her breathing returns to normal.

"Best cum ever. But I still need to feel your cock inside me. Please fuck me, Mr. Tate. My body is on fire, and it's not from the alcohol in my veins."

Being called Mr. Tate is driving him wild. Jon rises behind her. His cock is semi-flaccid now so he strokes it as he wipes the head against her ass, leaving trails of his sticky fluid across her cheeks. He's quickly at full erection now, and he uses his free hand to smack her ass.

"Oh!" she squeals. The sharp pain startles her, but he caresses where he smacked her, soothing the burning sensation. No one has ever spanked me before!

Smack! Again on the other cheek, and again she squeals. With this strike, there's a heady dose of pleasure along with the pain. Her brain is fogging again. Damn, I had no idea that I would enjoy being spanked!

"Who's my slut, Ms. Windsor?"

"I am," she groans, and he smacks her again. Oh fuck, yes! Spank me more!

"Are you sure? Tell me."

"I'm your slut, Mr. Tate!"

Smack! "What do you want, my slut?"

"I want you to spank me, fuck me hard, please. Use me for your pleasure!"

Jon grins to himself. I love to hear her beg. I need to fuck her before my cock explodes. I hope this old man can last long enough to not embarrass himself. He wipes his crown within her folds, it glistens with her excitement.