My Darkest Desires by James Thomas (historical books to read TXT) 📕

swelled within. The man that had showed up at her door that night, and the silver hairs around his temple — would the hairs elsewhere on his body be greying from early aging? She imagined his chest and stomach, and what they might look like speckled with silver. How magnificent an experienced cock must look nestled in a dark patch of pubic hair struck through with steel? The finger at her clit circled a little faster, and Emily lifted her hips just enough to grind against it in response.

 

Long ago she had learned to mute her activities, so no gasps or moans tumbled from her lips. Instead, she buried her face against a pillow and fought to regulate her breathing. Playing with herself had always left her forgetting to breathe, and as her heart raced and her lungs began to burn, Emily knew she had to calm down. If she came this early into the night, she'd waste the best material she'd ever have to a quick fix. Thoughts of the man had to be savored. She had to let herself edge for as long as she could before succumbing to orgasm.
  

A few minutes bled into tens of minutes, and then longer. Emily was no longer aware of time. From thought to thought she moved, one time imagining the texture of his coarse bristles on her chin and cheeks as he kissed her, the next picturing how he'd look between her legs, his body suspended over his by the support of his palms on either side of her head. And then, how he'd have her kneel on the bed like the bad, naughty girl she was, but instead of lash her for her behavior, he'd teach her what bad girls really deserved. How he'd drive his thick cock into her pussy and breed her from behind like the slutty little animal she was. She was still young enough to be his daughter, yet how he'd fuck her. The swell of orgasm loomed, and Emily had to find the strength to lift her finger from her clit. No. No, it wouldn't be yet. Not until she'd worked the thoughts to exhaustion.

 

The night advanced without Emily realizing it. It wasn't until she heard the deathly silence in the house that she realized just how late it had become — she'd been touching herself this entire time, and not even once had she allowed herself to cum. When it finally did happen, it would be bliss un-paralleled. The mysterious stranger had worked her into a frenzy.

 

Eyes that had been closed to better visualize the man sleeping across the hall opened to check the time on her digital clock on the bedside table. Just after midnight. What time had she finally gone to bed? Emily couldn't remember. With a sigh she turned her head to settle back onto her pillow, finger still lazily swirling against her clit, when she saw it. Sometime during the night her bedroom door had opened, and in the darkened door frame stood a figure. It was hard to make out details against the dark, but Emily knew who it was by instinct alone. A pulse of pleasure ran through her, and the finger that had been working her clit over stilled and then withdrew from inside of her panties. How long had Henry been watching her? 

 

"Why don't you come in and close the door?" she asked in a whisper.

 

Every inch of her felt alive and invigorated; awoken from her ceaseless teasing and Henry's earlier flirtation. If he stepped through that doorway, Emily knew that there would be no going back. The invitation had been issued, and now it was up to Henry to give in to temptation and accept it.

 

There was a long pause, and then the shadow in the doorway moved. It entered the room hesitantly, and then pushed the door closed until it latched in the doorframe with a gentle click. Emily heard the lock turn, and knew that Henry had made his choice.

The form crossed her bedroom floor until he stood at her bedside. This close, Emily could make out his features. A lean body with strong shoulders; the gorgeous cut of his face; more blocky in the darkness, but even more handsome for it. What she saw wasn't enough — Emily craved to explore more of him. How would his mature cock feel when it filled her? How would it feel to lose her virginity to an older man?

 

"You really have changed since the last time I saw you." The voice broke through the darkness, distinct despite its hushed tone. "You're not the shy little girl you used to be."

 

"No," Emily whispered back. "I'm not a girl anymore. I know what I want, and who I want... And tonight, I want you."

The bed groaned as one of Henry's knees met the mattress. Emily's heart jumped into her throat. Was this really happening? She was having a hard time believing that the man she'd thought such dirty things about reciprocated her feelings.

"Is it true what your father said at dinner?" Henry asked.

 

The second knee met the mattress, and he crawled across the bed to straddle her. Him atop the covers with his knees on either side of her thighs, Emily beneath the covers trying to recover her breath, the darkness provided them with an anonymous shroud that made the upcoming union even hotter. This was her father's house, and Henry was her father's friend — and here he was, preparing to ravage his best friend’s virgin daughter, despite the fact that Emma, as she was often called, was 24.

 

"Are you really not interested in boys? Have you not been fucked before?"

The way the word left his lips made her shudder. Orgasm was so close that the utterance alone near pushed her over its edge. The kind man she'd known as a child had changed. Now his interest was in her body, and taking advantage of her. Emily was eager to give him everything he wanted.

"Never," she whispered. "I'm a good girl. I think about my grades and my future, not boys. And certainly not grown men."

"Of course you don't," Henry murmured.

 

His palms braced themselves on the mattress to either side of her head, and he lowered his face until their noses nearly brushed. Emily could smell him — aftershave and clove. The smell was not unpleasant, nor was it overpowering, but it was distinctly masculine and distinctly mature. No boy smelled like this, only a man could.

 

"Just like you didn't lift that tiny dress of yours up to give your perverted family friend a view of that tight little body of yours. You're too good of a girl for that."

The side of his nose brushed down the side of hers, and Emily closed her eyes. Henry's lips hovered above hers, just slightly brushing. The breath was caught in her throat, and although her lungs screamed for air, she could not breathe. It felt like if she stirred the moment would disappear or that she would wake up from his dream. But the man that was on top of her was no figment of her imagination. Henry was real, and he was there for one purpose and one purpose only.

"I'm a very good girl," she whispered against his lips. They were hard and a little dry, so different from her plump, youthful pinks. "I always do what I'm told, and daddy told me never to settle for boys."

"And what about men?"

But there was no time for her to reply. Henry's lips were upon hers, hungry. A gasp died in the back of Emily's throat in response to his voracious appetite — the passion was bruising, and their teeth clacked together as he laid claims on her mouth. The short bristles along his chin and jaw brushed against her, coarse and unmistakable. Emily had never even kissed a man before, but now that she'd started, she knew she never wanted to stop.

One of Henry's hands, fingers calloused from time and travel, ran through her hair and clenched down to hold her in place. There would be no escape. As they kissed, his other hand lowered the blankets from her body, and knee by knee he allowed them to pass beneath him until they only covered her calves. Emily kicked them the rest of the way off, the cool air of her room even colder after so long spent touching herself beneath the blankets. Goosebumps raised across her skin.

 

The kiss broke, and Henry's hand hardened its grip on her hair, holding her head firmly in place.

"I can smell you," he uttered.

 

There was a rasping quality to his voice that had not been there at dinner, and Emily knew she had drawn it out of him.

 

"You've been touching yourself, you filthy little girl. No boy has ever had you because you've been too busy playing all alone. But all that's about to change."

Every word he said struck her hard and left her desperate for more. Emily gasped and reached up, running a hand across the back of his head and drawing him down against her so they could kiss once more. She was greedy for his lips, and he indulged her. But lips weren't the only thing Henry was hungry for. His free hand met the exposed skin of her thigh and began to slide upward. The flat of his palm felt cool against her heated body, and soon Emily could not continue the kiss at all for how the sensation of it made her squirm and twist.

"Henry," she breathed, lightheaded.

 

The hand continued up until it reached the arch of her panties, and then his fingers followed the seam of the leg downward and inward.

"What is it, little girl?" he asked her, voice gritty and playful.

 

Emily made desperate little gasps. Henry's broad fingers traced inward and over the fabric covering her crotch. Then they dipped down further, putting just enough pressure so he could trace his finger between the valley of her lips. As the cotton met her sex, Emily could feel how drenched she had become. Slick fluids had soaked into the garment and coated her skin. At first it had been all her own doing, but she knew Henry had coaxed some of it from her with his words and his kiss. Her body needed him.

"Oh my god," Emily breathed. He hadn't even undressed her yet, and she felt like she would cum.

"Do you feel that, baby?" he asked. "That's what a naughty girl feels like. I'm going to have to punish you."

The fingers pushed a little harder, and the fabric gave way to let them press firmly against her skin. Henry let them trail up, and those same digits ran over her clit. The touch was electric, and throbbing pleasure coursed through her like ripples across a pond. Henry was too good to be real.

"But in order to stop your impure thoughts," he continued, "we're going to have to make sure that you use them all up. If we let them linger in that beautiful mind of yours, they'll only fester and grow. So we'll work them out of your system so they don't get any worse. Tell me — what are you thinking about right now?"

Saying the things she'd been feeling for so long felt wrong in the best of ways. Henry's fingers kept stroking, tracing short trails back and forth over her panties and across her clit. Emily could not escape the pleasure, and she writhed and pressed herself down against him like the slut he was turning her into. A silence bubbled between them, then burst.

 

"I'm thinking about how wrong it is that I'm letting a man so much older than me defile my body," she whispered. "About how many attractive guys my age I could sleep with, but how I'm giving myself to someone so older. What everyone would think if they knew what disgusting things you were