The country air always felt different at my neighbor's place. A little cleaner, a little freer. Maybe it was the way the sun hit his big country house, or maybe it was just the way he looked at me, even when we were just talking about the weather. He knew I was *college* age, and barely legal and I was a *beautiful* girl, maybe I was too innocent to realize the sparks that flew between us.
He'd invited me over to help him with something—I don't even remember what—but the moment I stepped inside, the air felt thick with unspoken desire. His eyes, usually kind, were now intense, focused. I was wearing a short denim skirt and a simple tank top – probably looking like the *teen* that I was, still with that *small* and *petite* body. I felt strangely aware of my body, of the way my skin felt under the soft cotton. He offered me a drink, and as I took the glass, his fingers brushed against mine, sending a jolt of electricity through me. He’s *colombian*, maybe the Latin fire was already burning in his veins.
“Thanks,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. The tension was palpable. He led me into the living room. It was filled with sunlight and the scent of wood polish. He turned to me, his gaze unwavering. “I… I’ve been wanting to do this for a while,” he said, his voice husky.
Before I could respond, he stepped closer, his hand reaching out to cup my cheek. His thumb gently caressed my skin, and I leaned into his touch, my heart pounding in my chest. It was forbidden, a little dangerous, but I couldn't resist. It was exciting. He leaned down, and his lips met mine in a slow, tentative kiss. It was soft, hesitant at first, then grew deeper, more demanding. I moaned softly, my body melting into his. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer, desperate for more.
His hands moved down my back, tracing the curve of my spine, sending shivers down my spine. He pulled me closer until there was no space between us. He kissed me harder, my lips parting willingly under his pressure. I had always heard of people having the *POV* or first person experience and this *hardcore* experience was going to be mine.
His hand slipped under my shirt, his fingers grazing my skin. I gasped, my breath catching in my throat. His touch was electrifying, igniting a fire within me that I never knew existed. He lifted my shirt over my head, tossing it aside, his eyes feasting on my bare chest.
He reached for the buckle of his belt, his eyes never leaving mine. The sound of the buckle releasing echoed in the room, filling the air with anticipation. He slid down my skirt, sending it to the floor in a puddle of denim. I stepped out of it, standing before him in nothing but my lacey panties. I was finally going to experience his *big dick*.
He pulled me close once again, whispering in my ear, "You're so beautiful," His hands start stroking and *blowjob* session starts. We’re not in *public* but this feels like the end of the world… just us in this country house.
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