Good, Bad, Girl (dark and intense romance) Read online

  Good, Bad, Girl

  V T Turner

  Copyright © V T Turner 2013

  [email protected]

  Also by V T Turner

  My Paid Angel

  Sinister Touch

  Voyeur

  Betrayed

  5 Days a Week

  Forbidden

  1

  She was two years older than me. A twenty-year old goddess with whisper thin black hair and a smile that lit up her compact face. Her name was Lisa. She worked in an office. She was open to possibilities, open to experiences. That, and the fact that she was my brother’s girlfriend, was all I knew about her.

  I don’t know how they met. He was a few years older than her and they didn’t seem to have anything in common. She was timid, frail almost; he was outgoing, boisterous. She was skinny, she smoked heavily and her skin had barely seen a drip of sunshine; he was tanned, sporty, an exercise freak. They had gone to different schools, mixed in different circles and didn’t share a single interest, yet they had found each other.

  I met her for the first time at a party at my house. I still lived at home, as did my brother, and my parents had gone away for the weekend. I didn’t have many friends, wasn’t ready to utilize an empty house, but Andrew, my older brother, had the house packed with party guests within hours of them leaving.

  I tried to keep up with Andrew’s friends. I drank a few beers, joined in a few drunken dances and cheers for those who attempted to drink their body weight in booze through homemade contraptions that looked like torture devices. After a couple of hours I was tired, tipsy and ready for bed. At that point in my life I could count on one hand how many times I’d been drunk and those few beers were enough to slur my speech and unsteady my feet.

  I retired to my bedroom, shut the door and threw myself on the bed. I lay there for a while, listening to the thumping music vibrate through me, listening to the countless catcalls and whistles as Andrew’s idiot friends urged each other on.

  There was a knock on my door. I turned my head sideways, glanced disinterestedly at it. A few seconds passed, seconds in which I heard my brother screaming his delight at having downed an entire pint of beer in two-seconds. The knock came again.

  I called out, told them to go away and leave me alone, but they knocked again, louder this time. I groaned, dragged myself off the bed and staggered to the door. I opened it with a foul expression, preparing myself to face a drunken idiot who probably wanted to use my bed to expel or exchange bodily fluids in.

  Lisa’s smiling face greeted me, looking up at me under a lowered brow. Her hands were held in front of her, her fingers clasped together.

  “Hello,” I managed, my voice a croak. It may have been the alcohol, it may have been the way she was dressed -- pale make-up to accentuate her bright eyes, her dark lips and her neat cheekbones; fishnet stockings over black underwear, tight to her thin, pale thighs -- but the sight of her warmed my heart and instantly stirred up lustful thoughts in me.

  She didn’t speak, just stood there looking shy. I peeked over her shoulder just as one of Andrew’s friends -- his jeans halfway down his backside, his shirt already off -- escorted a stumbling blonde into my brother’s room.

  “Is everything okay?” I asked her.

  She turned to look over her shoulder, waited until the drunken pair had shut the door, oblivious to the rest of the world and desperately eager to begin a fast and sloppy exploration of each others’ bodies.

  When she turned back to me she had a wide smile on her face, a smile that suggested devilment, intrigue and desire. I hadn’t seen any of that in her before, hadn’t seen anything beyond timidity. Before I could question her further she moved forward, grasped the back of my head roughly and clamped her mouth onto mine.

  She kissed me hard, her lips tight against mine; my lips tight pressed against my teeth. She didn’t taste of alcohol, didn’t taste of anything. She pulled away, slightly out of breath, but not from exertion. She looked desperate, eager. She pushed me backwards, watching with a grin as I relented to her shove and fell onto the bed.

  She shut the door behind her, used her foot to press it closed. She touched her face with both her hands, began on her cheeks and then moved down to her neck, caressing the skin above her breasts.

  “I want you,” she told me. Her voice was deep, gravelly.

  I wanted to ask if this was such a good idea. My brother was downstairs and I didn’t have a lock on my door, but I was still a virgin. I had dreamed of having sex for years, had suffered under the strain of my own hormones, and now I had a beautiful, desperate girl in front of me who wanted to be my first. Nothing was going to stop me.

  She didn’t say anything else. She moved on top of me, pressed her body against mine. Our lips locked. She stuck her tongue in my mouth, ran it over my teeth, my gums, then pulled it out, licked my lips, my chin and moved to my chest.

  I felt my erection straining against my pants, pushing to find a way out. I rested back on my elbows, closed my eyes. She squirmed down, her legs against my throbbing cock, then her stomach, her chest. Then I felt her hands, probing and reaching. I was sure I was going to lose it, sure I was going to finish before I started. She reached in, grabbed it tightly, freed it through my zipper.

  She threw herself on top of me again, my penis now exposed, rubbing against the mesh of her fishnets as she ground her body against me. She groaned, making whimpering noises through pursed lips. I felt her hand go down, felt the back of her knuckles brush against my penis as she pulled the stockings down, moved the thread of the G-string to the side to allow me room to enter. She grabbed my cock, flung herself back, gave me a wide and desperate grin.

  “Fuck me,” she hissed softly.

  I was ready; she was ready. I pushed inside, entered a place I had never been, an experience I had never experienced. She released a gentle squeal, shivered, almost vibrated, when I entered. She grabbed at my back, dug her nails into my flesh and thrust her hips, forcing me deeper.

  It didn’t take me long to finish. The relief and the thrill of ejaculation brought a quivering vibration to my own body. She felt me release, held me tighter, thrust deeper, as if she wanted every last drop of semen deep inside. Then I released, spent, and she pulled back with a wild and breathless groan.

  ***

  I stayed awake afterwards. The drunkenness was gone, replaced by a feeling of disbelief and exhilaration. I replayed the sex over and over in my head. I was flaccid, inexperienced enough not to be able to masturbate long after sex, but eventually, with the memories rolling, the urge came.

  I was breathing heavily, my heart pounding in my chest, my eyes tightly shut, as I gently held my burning penis, thought back to the moment I entered Lisa -- to that first inviting piece of ecstasy -- and began to work the stress out. I was halfway through, the pleasure rising, the moment of ejaculation not far, when I heard the door groan open.

  The house was silent. The party had ebbed away half an hour ago, when the last drunken stragglers had either left the house or fallen asleep. Lisa had retired to Andrew’s bedroom to spend the night with him. I didn't worry about them sleeping together, didn’t concern myself with what he might be doing to her. I had seen him before he went to bed, he was far too drunk, far too out of it to do anything worthwhile to her.

  There was no time to hide what I was doing; the door was directly opposite the bed.

  My heart caught in my throat, my fist clenched around my hot, desperate cock -- Lisa’s juices still drying on the veiny flesh -- when the door swung all the way open. It could have been a moment that I never forgot, the moment my brother or one of his friends caught me masturbating and ru
ined my remaining adolescence with taunts, but it was the moment to remember for a different reason. Lisa stood in the doorway, staring with wide, bright eyes.

  I mumbled something, an apology probably, worried that she may have thought the sex wasn’t good enough, that I was compensating or applying the touch that she didn’t have, but she didn’t pay any attention. She closed the door behind her, took a step forward.

  She had changed into a red silk nightdress that stopped just above her knees, exposing a glimmer of pale flesh from her thigh and her thin calves. She touched the exposed thigh, lifted her hand upwards, prying the silk apart with a finger that delicately ascended. She moved it between her legs, until the tip of her finger touched the warm, moist skin of her vagina, then she stopped, grinned at me, at my cock -- my hand still clutched tightly around the shaft -- and gave an upward inflection of her head. Telling me to continue what I was doing.

  I watched as she stood above my bed and toyed with her clit, gently at first, soft, rolling motions, before her hand was moving with a vigorous rubbing. Her eyes rolled back into her head then closed, her neck tilted backwards. A soft moan escaped her lips, turned into something louder, more pleasurable, and then she bit her lip, held in her audible desires. She groaned through closed lips, neared her climax. Her free hand roamed freely over her body, grasping wildly at her legs, at her pussy, her stomach, before settling on her right breast -- hanging out of the nightdress -- clutching the fleshy mound so tightly that the skin turned even whiter.

  I progressed slowly, feeling like I was ready to explode, but when I saw she was nearing the end I tried to finish. I had planned to ejaculate into some tissue by the side of the bed, but, caught in the moment, I didn’t grab it in time. She finished with a loud, stuttered, moment of pleasure, catching the loudest, heaviest of her breaths by throwing her free hand over her mouth. Then she opened her eyes, stared down at my hand. I saw a glimmer, a moment of animal lust flash across her bright orbs, then she lunged at me.

  The warmth of entering her earlier had been perfect, a memory that would live long in my young mind, but when she clamped her mouth over my desperate, pulsing cock, that feeling trumped everything. She didn’t need to give me a blow job, didn’t need to do anything. As soon as I felt her lips, her tongue, cover my penis, I came. I watched her kick her neck back slightly as she quickly caught and swallowed the cum, then she remained, sucking, cleaning, before lifting free, licking a final drop from the tip of my penis.

  She stood up by the side of the bed, looked down at me with a deep desire still in her eyes. I could smell the musty, inviting scent of her sex, could smell my own semen. I thought that was it, that she would turn around, back to bed again, perhaps prepared to kiss my brother with the same lips that had pleasured me. Then she straddled me. My cock was growing flaccid, still throbbing as it tried to expel the final drops of semen.

  I didn’t think I could go again, but the warmth of her body on top of me, the burning heat from her wet vagina which she rubbed over my softening cock, was enough to spur me back into action.

  This time it was longer, sweatier, nosier and far more enjoyable. She kissed me, giving me the scent and taste of my own penis. She threw her head back, her hair wild behind her, and rode me with vigor, her freed breasts rocking and bouncing as her body gyrated violently on top of me. At one point I worried that we would be heard, that someone, my brother or his friends, would hear the sounds of pleasure erupting from her mouth or the squeaking from the bed as it rocked to the sounds of energetic sex, but I didn’t worry for long. At one point, when the sounds were at their highest -- when she felt tight, perfect on top of me; when her hair was loose over her breasts; an animalistic lust in her eyes; beads of sweat glistening on her stomach, between her breasts and on her forehead -- I didn’t care if anyone walked in. I was in heaven and no one was going to take me away.

  ***

  She was gone the next morning. I didn’t remember falling asleep, but I remembered everything else. I staggered to the bathroom in the morning, half-hungover and coated in a surreal glow. She was leaving my brother’s bedroom as I passed. I stopped, half naked, dressed in just my underpants.

  Se was dressed in the same nightdress, her hair, through the perils of sleep, was sprayed around her face as it had been last night, when she toyed with it during the throes of ecstasy. The images and the memories brought a subconscious promise and I could feel a quickening erection in my pants. I didn’t try to hide it, almost expecting her to jump on me and usher me back into my bedroom, or to push me into the bathroom and fuck me on the cold floor. But the animal glint in her eyes was gone. She didn’t look wild or crazy anymore. She gave me a meek and shy smile, tucked a tuft of stray hair behind her ear and strafed past me without saying a word, her chin against her chest.

  I remained standing, watching her walk down the stairs, waiting for her to turn around and rush me, or to do a striptease on the stairs, but she didn’t even look at me.

  2

  Lisa became my dream girl, my obsession. I had had crushes in the past, girls from school; from pop videos or from movies, girls that I would obsess about, masturbate over and dream about. They were pipe dreams, fantasies, but this time my fantasy was real, this time I was obsessed with a girl that I had actually slept with, a girl that I had known intimately, one that had taken my virginity.

  The only problem was that she no longer seemed interested in me. She seemed like a different girl. The day after we had sex, I ate breakfast sitting across from her, my hung-over brother sloppily lapping up cereal next to her. She barely even looked at me, didn’t say a word and left the table before she finished, choosing to eat in the silence of the bedroom.

  I was about to turn to my brother, to ask him about her in an innocent way, maybe jokingly imply that she was hungover or depressed because he was shit in bed, then I saw the desire in his eyes as he watched her leave. He stood up, leaving his breakfast on the table. He licked his lips and followed her, hoping to get a morning fix of something he had missed out on, and I had enjoyed, the night before. It sickened me to imagine him with her, I tried to stop him, to delay him with banal chatter, but there was only so much I could do short of physically grabbing him and warning him against sleeping with his girlfriend.

  I was thankful that I couldn’t hear them upstairs. His bed was old and squeaky; his bedroom above the kitchen, yet I didn’t hear the sounds of sex. I hoped she had turned him down, hoped she had slapped off his advances because she preferred me to him. I had spent all night thinking about her, dreaming up scenarios of us together, but that morning, as I contemplated how them being together would make me sick, I realized that the had obsession had begun. I had fallen in love with her.

  I only saw glimpses of her over the next couple of weeks. They both worked most of the week so she was out of sight. They saw each other on occasional weekends, but rarely did he bring her home. I didn’t have her email address or phone number and I was beginning to think that she wanted nothing to do with me, that our night together was a dream or a drunken mistake and that my brother would find out if I tried to get in touch with her. She wasn’t on any social networks, didn’t have much of a presence online, so I couldn’t keep track of her activities, couldn’t add her in a nonchalant and innocent manner before waiting for her to explain that night to me.

  It drove me mad that I had no way of contacting her, made me even more insane that whenever an opportunity arose, I couldn’t take advantage of it for fear that my brother would find out. Then I had my chance. She showed up out of the blue. It was morning, my family and brother were at work, I was lying in, dreaming about her, about to pleasure myself to the memories of her, when the doorbell rang.

  Annoyed and hiding my morning erection, I answered the door to find her standing there. She had the same smile on her face, the same glint in her eyes as she had the night she took my virginity. She was wearing her work clothes, a simple blue shirt, puffed up at the collar, unbuttoned down to the top of a
black bra, and had seemingly walked all the way from her workplace, a good fifteen minutes away. She was red faced from the cold wind, but her smile was delightful, infectious, enough to stir memories of our night of passion and to stir up my previously waning erection.

  I was speechless at the sight of her. When I finally prepared myself to speak, she stopped me, pressing a finger to my lips. She stepped inside the house, shut the door behind her, removed her finger from my lips and then kissed me. Her lips were cold, tasted of sweet coffee, but it was heaven after waiting so long to feel her against me again.

  She gestured for me to go upstairs. I ran, nearly tripped in my haste, and stood by the open doorway. She followed calmly then jumped on me.

  She wore a pair of black leggings, tight to her contours. She pulled them off whilst our lips were locked, freed my cock from the loose elastic of my pajama bottoms and then pushed me on the bed before jumping on top of me.

  She rode me like she did that first night, her eyes wild, her moans uncontrollable. Afterwards I held her close without saying a word. She was red faced, flustered, but smiling, unlike the shy and retiring girl who had ignored me after sex, more like the girl that I had fallen in love with.