Jenny Mortimer – Girls, and their wild side! Part 2

Three women. Wine. Whispered sins. One boy — 14 — will lose his innocence to one of them. Taboo blooms where desire begins the journey to manhood.

Back in the present, the girls were a writhing, breathless audience. Allie’s story had left them all flushed and aroused. Jenny was shamelessly rubbing herself through her jeans, and Melissa was unconsciously toying with her hardened nipples.
Jenny emptied her wine before reaching for the bottle.
“That’s true May December fucking!” Jenny said, refilling her glass.
Melissa took a long sip of her beer. “Okay, my turn,” she said, her voice thick.

It started with my ex, Marc. We were making out, and he hinted at head. I agreed, but with one condition: he had to go down on me, too. But after I finished him off, the bastard gave me some bullshit excuse about ‘next time’ and left to go meet his buddies.
I ditched his ass by text. But I was still worked up. And I had to go babysitting for the Stratfords. I thought it would be a frustrating night.
I was so wrong.
Johnathon, the dad, was a 6’1” god, and his wife Rebecca was this hot Latina. The way they touched each other when they thought I wasn’t looking… it made me ache for him.
Their son, fourteen-year-old Malcolm, was a younger version of his dad. Tall, blond, cute.
One night, he forgot his towel. He walked from the shower to his room, buck naked. He was only half-mast, but Jesus Christ. I was instantly soaked. He pretended he didn’t see me, but the way he dashed into his room told me he knew. Later, I ‘accidentally’ walked in on him again. He was standing in front of his mirror, fully hard this time. That boys cock was a thing of beauty.
He froze. Before he could say anything, I crossed the room and wrapped my hand around his cock. His eyes went wide, like his brain had just short-circuited. I smiled, and he just… relaxed, as I held him in my hand. I started to stroke him, then leaned in and kissed him. He was a fast learner.
I pulled back, looking into his dazed eyes. “My boyfriend lied to me tonight and left me hanging,” I said. “If I take care of you, will you take care of me?”
“Hell yeah,” he croaked, trying to sound cool.
I dropped to my knees and played with this beautiful erection, slow, deliberate strokes. The expression on his face was pure, lustful appreciation. I could see he wanted my mouth on him, wanted me to swallow him whole. So, I gave him what he wanted. I sucked his cock like it was my last meal. And then he shocked me. He tangled his fingers in my hair and started to fuck my mouth. I thought about stopping him, but… fuck, it was hot. I just grabbed his ass and let him hammer my throat until he came so much I thought I’d drown.
He collapsed on his bed, totally wasted. Then he looked at me, this new, confident look on his face. “Now get naked and spread,” he said. “I want to see my first pussy… and I want to kiss it and play with it until you scream.”
I was so wet for this boy. I gave him a little strip tease, and he was hard as a rock again by the time I was on my back, legs spread for him. He asked to kiss my breasts, and I let him. I loved his lips devouring my nipples. But I stopped him, pulling back. His gaze followed mine.
“You want directions, or you gonna figure it out?” I asked.
“Let me see if I can figure it out,” he said with a coy smile.
And God, he did. He wasn’t just a boy anymore; he was a young man discovering his power. He explored every fold with his tongue and fingers, learning what made me gasp, what made me shudder. He brought me to the edge three times before I finally had to push him away.
When he rolled onto his back, that gorgeous teenage cock standing at full attention… I knew my job wasn’t done. I crawled over to him, told him to sit, and then I mounted him. The feeling of that virgin cock sliding into me… fuck. I rode him slowly, taking my time, until he was pulsing inside me.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, breathless from our fucking. “Thank you.”
I was on the pill, so I just smiled and said, “Fill me.” His eyes lit up like he’d won the lottery. I started to ride him hard, slamming down on him until he exploded inside me, triggering my own orgasm. We were still kissing, his cum dripping out of me, when his alarm went off.
“‘Shit!’ he said. ‘That’s my ten-minute warning. My parents sometimes try to get back early, to see if they can catch one of us doing something we shouldn’t.’ We scrambled to clean up, but they didn’t come back until twenty-five minutes later, trying to be sneaky. Can you imagine if she’d walked in on me fucking her baby boy?

The next time Mrs. Stratfords called, I was curious to see how my young charge had changed. He’d never been keen on having babysitters. And I knew a friend who had gotten me the gig, that his parents had changed once or twice. It was solid money, and I needed it. Normally, I could study or relax and watch a movie. I suspected there was gong to be changes.
When I arrived I was very surprised by the welcome.
“Hey Melissa, I don’t know what you did with him last time, but Malcolm has stopped pestering us to stay at a friends house during out date nights, anything other than a babysitter.” she approached me and gave me a short but warm hug. “Thank you.”
“Yes. Malcolm not complaining about having a babysitter, even for a while, is a relief.” I smiled, as I turned to see Malcolm’s dad come into the kitchen behind me. God, he was handsome as ever. And yes, now, I truly could see him in his son.
“I’m happy he came around. We just… connected.” Fucking hell we connected. Is all I can think off. I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge as the couple grabbed their personals and left.
Then I heard it, the hammering of feet coming down the stairs. Malcolm appeared all smiles, and his eyes ablaze for me.
“Hey, how are you?” I asked. I hoped I hadn’t made a mistake that was going to blow up in my face.
“I want to watch a movie, interested?” We did watch movies his parents would kill me for, if they found out. But somehow, I didn’t think it was going to be one of those movies. Not tonight. And once I nodded he took off to the living room.
I made popcorn, we grabbed some drinks and curled up on the sofa.
“What are we watching?” he gave me that puppy dog look of innocence. It was so cute. But I was waiting for the surprise.
"It's... it's supposed to be really intense. My friend said it's... like, a famous sexy movie. It's called 9½ Weeks." He was so enthusiastic. I’d seen it, and yes, it had left me wet and bothered. I knew exactly why he gotten it. Boys will be boys.
So, I played along.
He took the remote and hit play.
“Does your parents know you have this?” I was holding in my laughter. The look on his handsome young face was priceless.
“Nope, and that’s why I have it on DVD… They know if I searched the movie apps.” he looked so proud of himself for being so clever. I had to give it to him. Covering his tracks.
I could see it happening. As the movie played on, the air in the room got thick. Malcolm started squirming beside me, stealing glances, trying to see if I was reacting to the movie was. Then, during one of the iconic scenes, he made his move. He picked up the remote, paused the movie, and then ran to the kitchen, coming back with some more sodas and cups of ice. Once he was settled on the couch again, he turned to me, and asked, "Do you... do you think that stuff really has an affect on a girl? I mean... a woman?" It was the perfect, nervous, boyish way to ask, ‘Can I try that with you?’
A slow smile spread across my face. I peeled away my hoodie, revealing a skin-tight crop top that hugged every curve of my torso. Malcolm's breath caught in his throat as his eyes traced the contours of my body. A knowing giggle escaped my lips as I recognized that familiar hunger in his gaze—the same look I'd seen countless times from boys and men alike. "You're staring," I teased, my voice low and sultry.
Without breaking eye contact, I hooked my thumbs into the hem of my crop top and gradually worked it upward, exposing the soft skin of my midriff first, then the lacy edge of my bra. Malcolm swallowed hard as I slipped my bra off, revealing my breasts that made his hands tremble with anticipation. They were perfect—full and natural, with nipples already hardening in the cool air of the room.
"Better?" I asked, knowing the answer.
Malcolm could only manage an eager nod as he drank in the sight of me reclining on the sofa, clad in just my jeans and bra. His teenage mind was racing with all the things he wanted to do to me. A thrill shot through me as I watched him watching me. The power dynamic excited me—this experienced woman and this innocent boy, about to cross boundaries we both secretly craved.
"Lie back," Malcolm whispered, his voice barely steady.
I complied, sinking into the soft cushions as he retrieved ice cubes from a nearby bucket. The first touch against my skin made me gasp—the shocking cold immediately followed by the warmth of his mouth as he kissed my neck, my jawline, my lips. His lips traced a path down my body, from my nape, neck, collarbone, breasts then stomach. Each location marked by the contrasting sensations of ice and heat.
A soft moan escaped my lips as arousal pooled between my legs. "Oh God, Malcolm..." His innocence was intoxicating—the hesitant way he touched me, the reverence in his eyes as he explored my body. I could feel my panties growing damp with desire for whatever this boy had planned next.
"Would you do something for me?" he asked, his voice hitched slightly.
Our eyes met in the dimly lit room. "That is?" I replied with a deliciously wicked smile.
I saw it then—the nervous anticipation in his expression, the way his gaze dropped briefly to my lap before meeting mine again. "Would you play with yourself? I want to watch a girl do it."
The raw vulnerability in his request sent another wave of excitement through me. He looked almost fearful he had asked too much, which only made me want to grant his wish more.
"Sit back and enjoy," I commanded, my voice thick with desire.
With deliberate slowness, I unzipped my jeans, the metallic sound filling the silence of the room. I pushed them down just enough to free my hips, giving my hand easy access to the lace panties beneath. Malcolm's eyes widened as my fingers disappeared beneath the fabric.
"Like this?" I breathed, my voice already husky with pleasure.
My other hand found my breast, thumb brushing against the hard nipple. Malcolm shifted uncomfortably on the sofa, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, fighting the urge to touch himself.
My movements became more deliberate as I circled my clit, my hips beginning to rock in rhythm with my touch. Soft, breathy sounds escaped my lips. Small gasps and moans that Malcolm drank in with his eyes.
"God, you're beautiful like this," he whispered, his voice strained.
I kept my eyes locked on his, as pleasure built inside me. The intensity of his gaze—the raw hunger mixed with the wonder of a teenage boy. Made me feel more desired than I had in years. My fingers moved faster, slick with my arousal as I brought myself closer to the edge.
"Don't look away," I commanded breathlessly.
"I wouldn't dare," he promised.
The pressure coiled tighter in my belly, my movements becoming more frantic. Just as I was about to tip over into orgasm, Malcolm's voice cut through my haze.
"Stop."
My hand stilled instantly. I blinked, dazed and confused, my body humming with unsatisfied desire. "What?"
"Stop," he repeated, a small smile playing at his lips. "I said stop."
I propped myself up on my elbows, breathing heavily. "But why?"
Malcolm leaned forward, his expression mischievous. "Because I like you like this—all desperate and wanting." He brushed a strand of hair away from my face. "And because the best is yet to come."
I did as he commanded. But I would make him pay for that.
We continued with the movie.
The movie's strip tease scene began, filling the room with sultry jazz and the soft glow of artificial club lighting. I watched Malcolm from the corner of my eye, seeing his pupils dilate, his lips parting slightly as he salivated over the screen's performance. His arousal was palpable—a thick tension in the air that made my own body respond in kind. I could see his hardness straining against his pajama pants, and God, how I wanted to peel open that fabric and swallow him whole as he watched the dancer on screen. But he'd stopped me from orgasming earlier, so payback was going to be a bitch.
"Do you like what you're seeing?" I asked, a wicked smile playing on my lips as I traced patterns on his thigh.
He barely took his eyes off the screen to give an approving nod, his breathing already ragged.
"Would you like to see me do that?" Before I could finish my question, he paused the DVD abruptly.
"One moment..." Malcolm jumped up from the sofa and disappeared into another room.
When he returned, he carried a PE duffel bag that unzipped to reveal a gorgeous red dress and a set of sexy black lacy bra and panties—exactly like those worn by the dancer in the movie.
"Would you put these on?" he asked, his voice husky with desire.
I was blown away, and realized that this boy had watched this movie and planned ahead. What else did this horny young man have planned for me? The possibilities sent a thrill through my body.
"Of course!" I took the clothes and headed for the powder room, my hips swaying deliberately as I walked away from him.
In the powder room, I studied my reflection as I slipped out of my clothes. The red dress was exquisite—silky and clinging, with a plunging neckline that would showcase my breasts perfectly. The black lingerie was pure temptation—lace so delicate it barely concealed anything, yet so beautifully crafted it enhanced rather than simply covered. I took a moment to appreciate myself in the mirror, feeling powerful and desired in equal measure.
Then, another thought hit me, stopping me cold, and exciting me at the same moment. The fabric of the dress, the scent that clung to it... this was Malcolm's mom's dress. For a dizzying second, the pieces clicked into place. Did this boy have a thing for his mom? For some reason, this revelation didn't repulse me; it sent a fresh, exhilarating jolt straight through my core. This wasn't just about seeing me dance for him. This was also about seeing his mom dance for him—oh, this gave me ideas that would blow his mind. The power shifted, tilting on a new, deliciously wicked axis.
When I emerged, the air crackled with my new secret. Malcolm had dimmed the lights further and queued up some music—something sultry with a slow, hypnotic rhythm. He settled back on the sofa, his eyes fixed on me as I began to move.
I didn't try to imitate the dancer from the movie exactly. Instead, I made it my own performance—a private show just for him. I started with slow, deliberate movements, letting the music guide me as my hands traced my own curves, making sure to slowly massage my breasts, and my nipples as they were clear through the silky fabric of the red dress. My eyes never left his, watching as his Adam's apple bobbed with each swallow.
The dress came first. I turned my back to him, looking over my shoulder as I slowly lowered the zipper. The sound seemed impossibly loud in the quiet room. I let the dress slide down my arms gradually, teasing him with glimpses of skin before finally letting it pool at my feet.
Now clad only in the black lacy lingerie, I moved more freely, my hands exploring my own body as I danced. I could see the hunger in Malcolm's eyes, the way his hands clenched into fists at his sides as if he was physically restraining himself from touching me.
I was supposed to stop there—supposed to keep the bra on as part of our unspoken agreement. But seeing the desperate look on his face, I decided payback was too sweet to resist.
My hands moved behind my back to unhook the bra with practiced ease. For a moment, I held the cups in place, building anticipation. Then, with a fluid motion, I lowered my arms, letting the lacy garment fall away.
Malcolm's sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement I needed. My breasts were free now, pale in the dim light with nipples already hardened to tight peaks. I cupped them in my own hands, thumbs circling the sensitive peaks as I continued to dance.
The music swelled as I began to truly perform now, my movements becoming more sensual, more explicit. My hands never left my breasts—squeezing, stroking, pinching my own nipples as my hips swayed to the rhythm. I watched Malcolm's hand slide beneath the waistband of his pajamas, his knuckles pressing against the fabric as he gripped himself.
That's when I stopped dancing, but continued touching myself, my eyes locked with his as I stood before him topless, my hands still working my breasts. His breathing was ragged now, his expression a mixture of agony and ecstasy as he stroked himself beneath his pajamas.
I could have left it there—could have maintained my control of the situation. But the look in his eyes was too intoxicating, the memory of his denial of my orgasm still fresh in my mind. I wanted more—wanted to push him further, armed with my new, wicked knowledge.
Closing the distance between us, I straddled his lap on the sofa, never breaking eye contact as I settled against the hardness straining his pajamas. His hands immediately found my breasts, thumbs replacing mine as he circled my nipples.
"Fuck," he breathed, his voice tight with restraint as I leaned in to kiss him.
The kiss was everything—hot and demanding, tongues tangling as his hands continued their exploration of my breasts. I ground against him, feeling his cock jerk beneath me in response.
When we finally pulled apart, both breathless, Malcolm's eyes were dark with need. "Fair play..." I said with a ragged laugh, seeing frustration flicker in his eyes for just a second before he regained his self-control.
"Now onto the main course—follow me," he said.
He stood, taking my hand as he led me upstairs toward his bedroom, the promise of finally fulfilling our mutual desire hanging thick in the air between us.
We moved to the guest bedroom — lavender and old books, the kind of room meant for guests who never came. The bed was neat, sheets crisp, air cool. That would change. I had a feeling Malcolm would make sure of it. He wanted the sheets ruined, the air thick with sweat, musk, and chocolate. He vanished for a moment, and I wondered what was he doing. It made me smile; he’d clearly watch the movie beforehand for ideas. He had planned everything he needed.
He rushed back from the kitchen, carrying a tray. Not food. Not drinks. Tools. Whipped cream. Chocolate syrup. Strawberry glaze. And beneath it — a velvet pouch. He placed it on the nightstand.
"What's that for?" I asked, laughing, but my voice was already breathy, my throat tight with anticipation. I could feel my pussy clenching, already slick and ready.
He didn't answer. Instead, he dropped to his knees, pulled out the drawer under the bed, and yanked out a wooden box — worn at the corners. He opened it with a slow, deliberate click. Inside, he lifted a layer of toys to reveal another set. Not for children. The kind parents used at night, when they thought their children were asleep. Handcuffs. A blindfold. A sleek, modern vibrator.
"Some of my parents' toys," he said matter-of-factly.
I felt a jolt of electricity shoot through me. I could see my own mind racing. Really? This wasn't just a boy to me anymore. Malcolm's toybox — hidden under the bed — was a surprise that made my breath catch. I blushed, feeling a heat creep up my neck and chest. I was excited. Like he was on Christmas morning. And I'd be the present he unwrapped tonight.
"Take off your hoodie and jeans," he commanded. His voice was different now. Not shy. Not uncertain. Commanding. When he looked at me — the sharp line of my jaw, the curve of my lips — I wanted to kiss him. Not gently. Not sweetly. I wanted to devour him. Bite his lip. Suck his tongue. Taste the power he was trying to wield.
I didn't hesitate. I peeled off my hoodie, then my jeans, letting them fall. I stood in my lace, black, barely-there bra and panties, watching his eyes darken. The smile that spread across his face was confirmation. Yes. This is what he wanted.
"On the bed," he commanded.
I obeyed. I climbed onto the mattress, the sheets cool against my skin. He moved fast. A blur. Fumbling to snap the cuffs around my wrists, locking them to the bedposts. The click was final, thrilling. My heart pounded. I felt a tremor race through my skin as he fastened the cuffs.
Then the blindfold. Black silk. He held it up. I hesitated. A flicker of fear. That excited him. I could see his cock twitching in his pajamas, so hard it must have hurt.
"I don't know if that's a good idea," I whispered. A flicker of fear — What if his mom and dad come home? What if this is too far? — crossed my mind. But he'd planned for this. No one was spoiling our night.
He pulled out his phone, thumbed it open, and showed me the screen. A map. A dot — stationary. Labeled Dad. Both at a concert venue.
"They won't be back till dawn," he said, his voice steady. "I set up alerts. If they turn around, I'll know before they hit the highway."
I stared at him. "You're a dangerous little boy," I whispered, my voice thick with desire. "Let's get this started."
He tied the blindfold over my eyes. Darkness swallowed me. And then, everything else came alive. My breath. My skin. The scent of my arousal. The sound of my heartbeat.
The soft pop of the whipped cream can made me jump — then a giggle. He started with syrup. Slow, deliberate, dripping the sweet, sticky liquid onto my skin. It trickled down my stomach, making me shiver with delight.
"Ooohh, my boy…" I moaned.
"Open your mouth," he whispered.
I did. He pressed a cold, ripe strawberry to my lips. I bit — juice exploding, sweet and tart, dripping down my chin. Then — his tongue. Warm, wet, insistent. He licked it away, lips brushing my jaw, breath hot against my skin. I moaned, arching my back.
Then the sweet smell of chocolate syrup. He drizzled it directly onto my tongue, slow, deliberate. I sucked it in, the rich, bitter-sweet taste coating my mouth. He kissed me then — deep, messy, claiming — his tongue sliding against mine, tasting the chocolate, tasting me. He was playing with me. Not feeding. Claiming. Taking everything I'd taught him — the teasing, the control, the slow build, and making it his.
Then — his hands. He reached around, unclasped my bra with a single flick. Fabric fell away. My breasts — bare, exposed, heavy — trembled. As his hands massaged them, I laughed.
"Malcolm, are you a breast boy?"
He didn't hesitate. He poured whipped cream — cold, thick, sweet — directly onto my nipple. It pooled, a white, creamy mound. He leaned down, sucked it into his mouth, then gently nibbled. I shook — not from cold. From need. My clit throbbed, aching for attention.
"Are you cold?" he asked, unsure why I was shaking.
"No, you beautiful boy — that's what happens when a girl's turned on. Like when your cock pulses," I gasped.
He kissed my lips. Short. Sharp.
"Got it," he said.
I tried to use my tongue. He pulled away — teasing me. Again, games. Just like he'd seen his father do.
He returned to my breasts, squeezing them — heavy, warm, his. His tongue flicked out — slow, deliberate — licking away the cream. Cold against heat. Teeth grazing my skin. It was torture. I was alive as I arched into him, hips lifting, breath coming in short, sharp gasps.
Then — he kissed his way down my body — nape, throat, breasts, nipples, stomach — each kiss a brand, each lick a promise. I could feel him looking down. Time to get where he'd been dreaming — my pussy. He teased it, pulling off my panties with a slow, deliberate tug. He kissed around it — soft skin of inner thighs, swell of my mound — before he buried his face between my legs.
I lowered myself onto my back, legs falling open, hips lifting. He sucked and licked — slow, deep, relentless — his tongue sliding through my folds, tasting me, claiming me. I was drenched, my clit swollen, breath coming in ragged gasps.
Then — the vibrator. His mother's. He pressed it against my clit — low, steady hum — then slid it inside me, fucking me with it as he sucked my clit into his mouth, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh.
"Oh fuck yes!" I screamed, my voice raw. "Harder! Don't stop! Oh god, Malcolm, don't stop!"
My hands fought the cuffs, hips bucking against his face. "I'm gonna cum — I'm gonna fucking cum!"
And I did. A scream tore from my throat — loud, primal, unhinged. My body convulsed, thighs clamping around his head, back arching off the bed. I came so hard I was trembling, gasping, drowning in it — his tongue, his fingers, the vibration inside me.
He didn't stop. He kept going — slow, deep, relentless — until the last tremor faded, until I was trembling, spent, gasping.
Then, there was a pause. Finally he uncuffed me, and removed the blindfold. Then the pause made sense, he stripped off his pajamas. For the first time that night, he was naked. Hard as a rock. His cock — thick, flushed, ready, Stood out against his smooth, gangly fourteen-year-old body.
Before I could recover, before I could catch my breath — he was between my legs. And then — inside me.
I screamed — not in pain, but in delight. The stretch. The fullness. The heat of him. Overwhelming.
"Malcolm! Oh god, yes!" I gasped, my hands gripping his hips, pulling him deeper. "Fuck me! Hard! Fill me up!"
He obeyed. His thrusts were deep, hard, relentless. He was losing control — his breath ragged, hips slamming into me, his cock driving into me with raw, animal need. I met him — legs wrapping around his waist, nails digging into his back.
Then — I rolled him. Swift, powerful motion. I flipped him onto his back, my body on top. I straddled him, hands braced on his chest, hips rising and falling — taking him deep, riding him with slow, deliberate rhythm. I made him groan.
"You're so fucking good," I whispered, my voice thick with desire. "I'm going to milk that beautiful boy cock dry."
He grabbed my hips, his fingers digging into my skin, his eyes locked on mine. And then — he came. A guttural cry ripped from his throat as he shot — once, twice, three times inside me. His body trembled, his cock pulsing. Still hard. Still wanting.
I rode him through it, my own second orgasm building, a slow, deep wave that crashed over me as I collapsed onto his chest, my breath hot against his skin.
We lay there — tangled, sweaty, spent. Room silent except for our breathing. Toys scattered. Sheets sticky. Air thick with sex, sweat, chocolate. For the first time that night — we were just two people. Not babysitter and charge. Not boy and woman. Just us. And it was enough.
But in the quiet after, as I lay there — his cock still twitching inside me — my mind drifted.. I wondered if he was thinking of her, even as he lay inside me. The thought was twisted, but it excited me. I tightened around him, pulling him deeper, wanting to be the one he remembered, the one he craved. Not his mother. Me.

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