by Rufus T. Horne
The Little Princess And The Naughty Boy
In the dimly lit bedroom, he lay quietly, trembling slightly, in the bed. He was naked under the covers, and he was acutely aware of his soft, tender sex as it shifted with his body or brushed against the covers.
His ears pricked up as he heard soft footfalls in the hallway outside. His sex began to surge and balloon as he heard the door open and he saw her enter, closing the door behind her.
He saw the soft curves of her 21 year old body sillouetted beneath her gauzy nighty.
He looked expectantly, searchingly, up into her face as she quickly padded over to the the bed. Her scent came to him, a sweet muskiness mixed with the smell of soap. She stood for a moment, towering darkly over him. Then she gracefully bent forward and began to slowly pull back the covers, until finally the dark throbbing flower that sprouted between his legs was revealed to her gaze. She purred softly when she saw it and then turned to look warmly into his face.
She stretched her right arm out, the long elegant fingers of her hand reaching towards his tender, throbbing sex. He gasped and thrust his hips upwards in anticipation, but she smiled, and stopped half way.
“Oh, oh, don’t do this to me,” he whined. “I’m 20 years old now!”
“Why, what’s the matter? Do what to you? What don’t you want me to do to you? Hmmmmmm?” she purred, with a wicked little smile.
“Oh, oh, you know what, oh please, please,” he begged her.
“Would you like me to do something? Something to you? Something nice? Something very very nice?” she asked.
“Oh, yes, please, you know what it is, you know what to do, oh! oh! you’re so good at it, you know what you do to me,” he whimpered.
“Is this what you mean?” she asked, as her hand covered the remaining distance and her long, soft fingers slowly closed around his pulsing hotness.
“Oh! God yes! Oh god, yes, yes, yes, oh yes!” he exclaimed as he bucked his hips up desperately to try and obtain friction to quell the burning need that rearred up between his legs.
“Now, now, settle down and be a good little boy, or you know what will happen,” she said, “if you don’t settle down and behave yourself, I’ll have to leave, and then where would you be, hmmmmm?”
“I’m sorry,” he whined, “I couldn’t help it, you make me feel so good. I’ll settle down, I promise, I’ll be good, please don’t leave, please.”
She continued to look into his face, to look deeply into his eyes as she began to slowly, softly slide her hand up and down his rigid sex. “Is this what you like?” she purred. “Do you like me to do this to you?”
“Oh yes, oh yes, you know I do, oh, oh,” he babbled.
“You like how I make you feel down in your sensitive private area, don’t you?” she asked.
“Yes, yes, I can’t help it, it feels so good, you make me feel so good, oh, oh,” he said.
“Yes, I make you feel good, and do you know why? Why it is that I make you feel so good?” she asked while still slowly, softly stroking him.
He was so overcome with the intensity of what she was doing to him that he couldn’t answer.
“I’ll tell you why,” she said, “it’s because you’re a naughty boy.”
“No!” he gasped out.
“Yes, that’s right, don’t try and deny it. You a wicked, naughty, bad, bad boy,” she said, “all you do is think about things that are bad. Bad, dirty, naughty things, just like the thing I’m doing to you now.”
“No, no, it’s not true! I’m not a bad boy! I’m good! I’m good!” he protested, somewhat feebly.
“Don’t be silly, you bad, bad boy, you and I both know what a dirty little boy you are, a dirty little boy who likes girls to come into his room in the middle of the night and do things to him, down in his special, sensitive, private area.”
As she was speaking, she could feel his hardness swell to an even greater fullness, and she felt a light drizzle of thick liquid begin to ooze down over her thumb.
“Yes, oh yes,” he cried, “oh god, don’t torture me! Oh god, you know how good you make me feel, like I’m going to explode. I admit it, I admit I’m a dirty boy. I can’t help it, I try, but then you come into my room and you reach down, and then you start doing it, you start making me feel all these things, all this things that make me feel so good, and I can’t help it, I can’t help it, you make me do it, you make me!”
“Hmmmm,” she purred, never taking her soft loving eyes off of his, “hmmm, that’s just what I thought, just what I wanted to hear, you bad, bad boy. But now I wonder what else I make you do? What else do I make you do, hmmmm?”
“Oh, oh,” he said, “you make me do that thing, that special thing, when I can’t help myself and have to let go and do it, do it right in front of you.”
She continued to slowly and sofly stroke him, and her thumb was now liberally coated with the liquid proof of his intense arousal.
“What thing is that?” she asked innocently, “I’m sure I haven’t the vaguest idea to what you refer.”
“Oh god, oh god,” he moaned, “you make me do it, your hand, your soft, stroking hand does it to me, it makes me do it, it milks me, it makes me let it all go, let it all come out!”
“Oh,” she said, “I milk you, do I? How do I do that? What happens when I do that? What is it that you let go of? What is it that comes out?”
“Oh god, you know what it is! Why do you torture me?” he cried, “my cream, you make me let go and let all my cream come out, you make me do it right in front of you, even though I am so ashamed, so ashamed to do such a special, private thing in front of a pretty young girl like you!”
“And how do I milk you?” she asked, “how do I make you let go and let all your cream come out? What happens when your cream comes out? What does it look like? What does it feel like?”
“Oh god, oh god,” he moaned, “you know very well what it looks like, it squirts, it comes in big thick wet squirts, you keep stroking me and stroking me until I can’t take it anymore and I have to let go and let the squirts, my creamy squirts start, and it feels like heaven, it feels so good, and so shameful, so embarrassing to do such a totally secret and private thing in front of you while you look down on me, smiling your wicked little smile.”
“You like that, hmmm?” she purrred, “would you like me to do that to you now? Would you like me to milk you? To make you give up all of your thick hot creamy cream while I watch? Would you like me to make you do it, to make you let go and let the hot, delicious creamy squirting start? Hmmmmm? Would you like that, hmmm, would you?”
“Oh yes, oh yes,” he panted, “oh god, yes, I’m almost there, you’ve almost got me where you want me, you wicked little girl, you wonderful, naughty girl, if you keep doing that to me, then very soon, you’re going make me do it, oh god, you don’t know what you do to me, oh god, oh god, don’t stop, for god’s sake don’t stop.”
“Hmmm,” she purred, “you want me to milk you, eh? That’s a very wrong and naughty thing, and you know it. And it’s not me who is wicked and naughty, it’s you who has this big, hot, pulsing naughty thing between his legs, and it’s you who likes to have pretty young girls stroking and stroking and stroking it, like I’m doing now, and it’s you who wants to make a big hot sloppy mess with all your creamy cream right in front of a poor, innocent little girl like me.”
“Just to teach you a lesson,” she continued, “I think I’m going to milk you now, just to show you who the real naughty person is. I’m going to make you do the most secret, private thing that a man can do, and I’m going to make you do it right in front of me while I just watch and smile.”
Suiting her actions to her words, she tightened her grip slightly on his throbbing hotness, and began stroking slightly faster. Within moments he was babbling and whimpering like a little girl, and then it happened: he totally surrendered to her power over him and began letting his cream squirt out, over and over and over, completely covering his abdoment and lower belly. She watched it all and smiled to herself.
After she had milked the last drops out of him, she leaned forward, wiped her hand on his pillow and gave him a little peck on the cheek. Then she turned and softly padded out of the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
