Her Goal Was to Corrupt Me. Disgusted, Drinking My Cum from Her Pussy, I Think She Succeeded.
I'll never regain my boyish innocence.
By Jaime Plynth
“Mr. Librarian, all sad and alone. I think I can help you with that,” Cheryl said, grabbing a slice of tomato off my salad and popping it into her mouth as she sat down beside me.
She was a bottle blonde with a big personality who I met through my job as a library assistant. As a humanities major with wide hips, beautiful lips, and a bold manner that drew and distanced people, I didn’t know what to make of her.
Was she a keener, a striver, a player, or just an insecure 23-year-old trying too hard to shed her high school self? Regardless, everyone knew she existed whether or not she paid you any attention. Me? She paid me attention.
That wasn’t our first interaction in the university food court when she invited herself to my lunch. She always seemed to be coming by the library when I was on shift, finding an excuse to chat with me. I’d been going through a rough patch then and didn’t mind the playful banter, but I couldn’t escape the feeling that she was constantly sizing me up. That lunch, though, the flirtation came on strong. Did she want to… fuck? Was I imagining this? Did I like her?
Before I could decide, Cheryl had made her intent clear, leaning forward to show off some cleavage while taking my hand and whispering, “Let’s go somewhere private.”
The salad was shoved in my bag, and in no time, I had my pants around my ankles as I pounded away at Cheryl’s wet cunt in the staff bathroom at the library. Her mouth was an open snarl as I held her in place by the neck and pumped her full of cum. As I withdrew and caught my breath, Cheryl slid off the counter and put my cock in her mouth, displaying her truest gift. The girl was showing me just how good a blowjob could be, and I stumbled against the door as I felt my penis begin to stiffen once more.
If that was our first date, there were three more before we actually decided to go out in public together. And after our night at an art gallery, when we were walking back to my place, I felt I had to be 100% honest with her.
In a halting voice, I explained that I was bisexual and had been with men. Instead of getting fretful or recoiling as many other women had before, she scrunched up her nose and laughingly expressed her playful disappointment.
“Aw, all this time, I was trying to corrupt you, Mr. Button-down cardigan and perfectly gelled hair,” she said. “You know what? I still think I can.”
Her acceptance of my bisexuality was a relief, but it also seemed to herald a challenge between us: Could she “officially” corrupt me?
In the following months, we carried on as any burgeoning relationship, but Cheryl always wanted to do something “corruptful.” There was the handjob on a Greyhound bus, the blowjob in the Christmas tree lot, and the stand-up fuck session against the glass window at her apartment. From time to time, we would lay around after sex, and she would ask me about all the stuff I’d done with men, which would often lead to rounds two and three. I might have been worried about her curiosities if I wasn’t enjoying the sex so much.
After a while, we grew comfortable, and I found myself letting my guard down. One lazy day, I visited Cheryl at the oxygen bar where she worked. The bar was closed, but I knew she’d be there cleaning by herself. She saw I was exhausted and immediately took me to their “space room” to relax.
Dark and empty save for an oversized beanbag chair and a ceiling-mounted projector, the space room was warm and smelled like patchouli. Cheryl led me to the beanbag and opened a panel in the wall flicking switches and turning on the projector. Abstract shapes and patterns began to ooze out of the wall in front of me as I sank into the beans. It kinda felt stupid.
Cheryl then walked over and stood above me before dropping to her knees on the beanbag and straddling my waist. She brought her face to mine in what I thought was a kiss but noticed she had something in her mouth. We shared a fruity bite, and as she pulled back to watch me chew, she smirked and said one word, “Edible.”
I smiled back as she left the room. “I’m getting you some air, brb.” Maybe the light show wouldn’t be so bad.
Cheryl rattled around outside and returned with the mobile canister and jar as I began to relax and fade out. She straddled me, giving me a knowing glance to get me to lift my head so she could wrap me in tubes and pinch the nozzle under my nose. With a kiss on the forehead, and a cool breeze through my sinuses, the little minx up and left, closing the door to the outside world and turning on an ambient soundtrack.
It could have been an hour; it could have been a minute. I was in and out with the shapes on the wall as my brain processed the gummy and the rush of the oxygen treatment.
I hadn’t even noticed the door open and close before I found myself staring at my naked girlfriend, standing in the light as a galaxy of colors covered her body. She looked statuesque and belittled me with her presence. I sat there melting in awe of her powerful beauty.
Cheryl emerged from the projection and became a shadow in my lap. Her hands pulled my belt away and tore at my pants until my cock had sprung forth, looking angry and wet. Her mouth found my piece and tore my brain away from its last shreds of reality. I closed my eyes but couldn’t escape the imagery I’d just witnessed. My body remained still while my mind writhed from every lick at the tip of Cheryl’s tongue.
I pushed back further into the pillow as my legs were shoved against my chest, and Cheryl began to work her way across my ballsack and perineum. Effortlessly, she stabbed at my anus with her tongue just as her fingers gripped the base of my shaft. It was the most insane denied orgasm I had ever experienced. Flipping out on THC, mesmerized by the visuals, and having my brain lit up on pure oxygen was intense enough; the addition of getting blown, rimmed and fingered was going to kill me.
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