Jenny Mortimer – Girls, and their wild side! Part 1

Three friends, one night of taboo confessions—desire, power, and dangerous liaisons where a 16-year-old girl’s innocence meets experience and carnal fire.

The air in Jenny’s living room was thick with the scent of wine and shared secrets. Empty bottles littered the coffee table, a testament to how deep into the night they’d ventured. The initial giggly chatter about men and dating had long since evaporated, replaced by a darker, more intoxicating current of taboo fantasies and forbidden experiences.
But from the moment Allie started to reminisce, Jenny wasn't interested in rehashing past titillation. She was hungry for something new.
Allie swirled the amber liquid in her glass, a wicked glint in her eye. She was about to continue.
“Allie, this is ancient history,” Jenny interrupted, shifting on the plush rug. “Got anything new? Or are you still a one-trick pony with your old man stories?”
Allie’s lips curved into a slow, predatory smile. “Actually, you know the G-rated, abridged version. You don’t know the really good parts.” The statement hung in the air, electric. All eyes locked onto her.
“Okay, Allie, you have us,” Melissa breathed, leaning forward. “Spill.”
“Well,” Allie began, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that coaxed them all closer. “You all know about Mr. Grainger, that he’s my client now. But you assumed it all started when I was in my early twenties, right? After I got my degree.” She paused, letting the silence stretch, savoring their rapt attention. Jenny’s eyes widened with dawning comprehension, a flicker of raw, undisguised lust igniting in their depths.
“So… when did it really happen?” Jenny pressed, her voice already husky.
“It was the same day I made out with Megan in the locker room on a bet,” Allie confessed.
A collective, sharp intake of breath filled the room.
“The kiss was… thorough. A full-on tongue battle. I collected my winnings and had to bolt straight to Mr. Grainger’s.” The final bombshell landed perfectly. This wasn't just a new detail; it was a complete rewrite of history. Melissa, who hadn’t met the other girls until a later grade, felt a primal thrill. She’d heard a sanitized version of this story before, but she knew, with absolute certainty, that the real, unexpurgated tale was about to be told.
She started.
For Grateful Service - Robert Grainger.
The name alone sent a shiver through me. Not the shiver of fear. Not the shiver of respect. The shiver of hunger. He was 85, but age hadn’t softened him — it had refined him. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Silver jawline. Eyes that still held the sharpness of a man who’d seen war, and won. His family thought he needed a carer. He knew he needed a partner. And I? I was the volunteer who played the part of the dutiful helper — while secretly honoring his wishes for independence. And mine for freedom.
He was waiting for me at the door when my Uber pulled up. “Hey, Robert,” I said, my smile genuine. It always made his day. He tossed me the keys to his vintage Camaro. “Pizza and a movie night. And no, it’s not Amanda-approved,” he grinned, that boyish charm still there, still dangerous.
Later.
Back at his house, we ran through his mental exercises — his part of the deal. He aced them, as usual. We settled on the sofa with pizza, the room darkening as a gritty thriller played on the screen. The film was unexpectedly raw, its sex scenes graphic and forceful.
“Wow,” Robert murmured, shifting beside me. “Not expecting that.”
“That’s hot,” I replied, my voice a low purr. “I love shower scenes, especially when they’re… aggressive.” I felt the air crackle between us. I knew exactly what my words were doing to him. I had seen the stolen glances. I could feel the heat radiating off his thigh where it pressed against mine. I could smell the faint, musky scent of his skin — clean, but alive. And I loved it.
He excused himself to make popcorn, but I knew the real reason. I’d seen it — the way his jeans strained, the way he’d shifted in his seat, trying to hide it. A formidable erection. And the thought of this hardened old man being so affected by me — a sixteen-year-old girl in a school uniform — sent a bolt of pure, electric arousal straight to my core. My panties were already damp. I could feel the slickness between my legs, the ache building with every second he was out of the room.
After the movie, he hoped I’d leave. I sometimes did because of homework or practices. But tonight, I was in no hurry, or need. I heard him go to his room, followed by a muffled, frustrated curse.
Curiosity — or maybe desire — won. I crept to his door, pushing it open just a crack. The sight that greeted me made my mouth go dry and my panties instantly soak. He was standing there in his boxer shorts, arguing with his own body, his cock straining against the fabric, almost vertical. Thick. Veined. Perfect. He was pushing down, hoping to deflate himself. I’d only seen cocks that magnificent on teenagers and men in their prime. A primal, aching need bloomed in my sixteen-year-old virgin’s body. As I stared through the crack, he turned and saw me.
“Fuck! Allie!” He scrambled to cover himself, but I was already moving, crossing the room in three swift strides.
“Chemical assistance?” I asked, my voice teasing as I invaded his space, a smile playing on my lips.
His mind was a riot of wrong thoughts. “No,” he rasped, barely able to speak. “All natural.”
I placed a hand on his, gently pulling it away. With my other hand, I wrapped my fingers around the thick, hot shaft. A jolt went through him. “Don’t,” he choked out.
I faltered for a second, confused. Then he finished, his voice raw with need. “Don’t stop… please!”
A triumphant, wicked smile spread across my face. I didn’t stop. I increased my pace, my strokes firm and sure, watching his face contort with pleasure. I saw a new thought flicker in his eyes, something he was holding back.
“What are you resisting?” I whispered, my own mouth watering for the answer.
“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes roaming my body before locking with mine again.
“Tell me,” I coaxed, giving his cock a long, slow stroke that made his whole body shudder.
“I want… I would like to feel your beautiful lips wrapped around my cock.”
He looked horrified at himself, but I just giggled and, without breaking eye contact, sank to my knees. I lifted his heavy cock and ran my flat tongue from base to tip, tasting the salty bead of precum. Then I took the head into my mouth, sucking hard, my tongue swirling around the sensitive ridge.
His head fell back, a guttural groan escaping his lips. I took him deeper, swallowing his length until he hit the back of my throat. He was lost. His hands flew to my hair, and he looked at me, a silent question in his eyes. I gave a slight nod, my mouth full of him. That was all the permission he needed. He gripped my hair and began to move, fucking my mouth in slow, deliberate strokes. My own pussy trembled, soaking my panties, at the power I held over this man, at the sheer, forbidden thrill of it.
I felt him swell, his thrusts becoming erratic. He tried to pull back, but I grabbed his ass, holding him in place, taking everything he had. With a strangled cry, he exploded, pulse after pulse of hot cum flooding my mouth. I swallowed it all, milking him until he was spent.
He collapsed onto the bed, chest heaving. “Allie… that was… I can’t remember the last time…” He couldn’t finish, just stared at me, his gaze full of awe and something deeper.
I rose to my feet and stood over him, then leaned down, capturing his lips in a kiss that was all tongues and raw desire. “Are you up for doing something for me?” I asked, my fingers combing through his silver hair.
“Anything,” he whispered.
“Before I left school, I won a bet by kissing Megan. It was hot, but it left me… aching.” I smiled. “I want you to cure that ache. I want cunnilingus, Robert.”
His eyes glowed with a hunger that mirrored my own. I took his hand and guided it under my skirt, past the waistband of my panties, pressing his fingers against my slick, swollen folds. I groaned, as he pulled back his hand to taste his fingers, sucking my essence from them.
“Fuck, yes.” In a movement that belied his age, he shot up, grabbed me by the hips, and lifted me onto a nearby dresser. He yanked my panties down, tossed them aside, and dropped to his knees on a pillow from his bed. He dove in, his mouth and tongue a masterful assault. He licked, kissed, and gently nibbled, learning every secret spot that made me gasp. He sucked my lips into his mouth, then fucked me with his tongue, relentless and expert.
My moans grew into cries, then full-throated screams as the orgasm tore through me. My thighs clamped around his head as I flooded his mouth with my juices. I finally had to push his head away, oversensitive and trembling. This was nothing like the clumsy attempts of boys my age. This was what experience could do.
He stood, his hands on my waist, a smug, satisfied grin on his face. “Out of breath?” he chuckled.
“Completely,” I gasped, a blissful smile on my face. Then I saw it. He was hard again, magnificent and ready. My mind caught fire. I reached for his cock, pulling him toward me.
“Are you sure?” he asked, a flicker of concern in his eyes. “Someone your own age…”
“I was planning on giving it to Mr. Reids, my English teacher,” I said nonchalantly, “but he’s resisting. You, Robert, are the right person for my gift.” I pulled him into a searing kiss, lining his cock up with my virgin entrance.
As he pushed into me, a sharp, exquisite pain gave way to an electrifying fullness. My walls gripped him like a velvet vise. “Hold…” he grunted, fighting the urge to cum instantly. Then he felt it, the thin barrier. He looked into my eyes, the realization dawning.
“The gift?” he asked.
I nodded. “And I’m on the pill. I planned to be ready.”
That was all he needed. He pulled back slightly, then slammed into me, sheathing himself to the hilt. I screamed into his mouth as he kissed me, the pain dissolving into a tidal wave of pleasure. He set a punishing rhythm, long, deep strokes followed by hard, fast thrusts. My legs wrapped around his waist, meeting him, urging him on. I came again, and then again, and as my third orgasm crashed over me, I felt him pulse inside me, his own release hot and deep.
Barely able to stand, he lifted me, carried me to the bed, and collapsed beside me. I started to laugh, a low, sexy sound. “What?” he asked, admiring me.
“I’m leaking cum like a broken faucet,” I giggled, gesturing to the mess between my legs.
Robert just smiled, pulling me in for another deep kiss. “You are incredible, old man,” I whispered against his lips.