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Sweet Corruption

Sweet Corruption
By: Blythe Chappell


The clock on the office wall claimed that there was five minutes left of the day, and the week for that matter. With nothing else to do, I cast my gaze upon her. I decided to indulge my imagination for the remaining few minutes before what was sure to be a very dull weekend.
There she sat little miss religion. Her name was Charity and she was as devout as they come. I wasn’t sure what brand of faith she practiced, but it had a strong influence on her and everything she did.
I am exactly the opposite of her, a twenty-something professional woman with adventurous tendencies. I’m not a freak, mind you, but there is very little about me that could be described as “conservative.”
And here we were, two complete opposites brought together as co-workers (we’re both paralegals). Amazingly enough we got along just fine.
I imagined wonderfully naughty things about this devoutly religious woman during that last five minutes. My mind conjured images of a sweet corruption involving steamy lesbian sex.
Then the clock struck five.
I struck up light conversation with her on our way to the parking lot, like I always do, but on this particular evening I decided to muster the courage to ask Charity out for dinner. You know, girls night out? Interestingly enough she agreed. I had spent many an idle moment lusting after this innocent woman at work but had always written her off. Yet that night I determined that I was going to push the envelope to see how far I could get with her.
We met at 7ish at a not so popular place called The Pie Cart. Charity arrived dressed in her trademark conservative way. She wore non-form fitting jeans, a roomy blue blouse with short sleeves and canvas sneakers. Her lush brown hair was tied back into a youthful looking ponytail.
I, on the other hand, was comfortable in a cotton mini-skirt, spaghetti strap blouse and open toed heels, relaxed but sexy. We greeted each other like girls do, we ordered our salads and grilled chicken and we gabbed for over two hours. Charity was careful not to salt her vocabulary with profanity, as I was prone to use it. Nevertheless the entire time I couldn’t help but adore her countenance. Her complexion was clean and unblemished; she obviously wore very little make-up. Her eyes were green and vibrant; her kissable lips were naturally crimson.
Charity looked at her watch and mentioned that it was way past her bedtime. I marveled that she kept such early hours on a Friday night and was trying to think of an excuse for her to stay. I tried to keep her talking but I was failing miserably. So I did the only thing I could think of, I spilled my drink on her blouse.
Okay, so it’s the oldest trick in the book but I pulled it off with such finesse that it worked. I had convinced her to come over to my apartment and I would somehow get the stain out. Twenty minutes later Miss Charity was in my laundry room, clad in a bathrobe while I feigned trying to remove iced tea stains from her clothes. I eventually threw the outfit in the washer and told her she’d have to wait. Reluctantly she agreed. I excused myself to the bedroom and stripped to my thong underwear and slipped on a revealing tank top. I figured she wouldn’t mind, after all it was just us girls. When I walked back into the living room Charity’s eyes just about fell out of their sockets. I, of course, pretended not to notice. Charity declined a glass of wine while I poured myself one, then we sat on the couch and began to talk.
At first Charity was extremely nervous; she had a hard time looking at me as we spoke. However, in time, she came around and we gabbed like teenagers. We talked about different things, work, our social lives and of course men. With a silver tongue and a lot of prodding I got her to admit that she was a virgin. She had never even kissed a man. I asked her if she had at least ever danced with a man. She hadn’t. Sensing the anxiety that the man topic brought I focused on dancing. I gave her a guided tour through my high school and night club experiences, the times I danced drunk and those few times I embarrassed myself (the Macarena). Then I asked her if she wanted to dance.
After several red-faced refusals, I finally got Miss Religion on the floor and turned on the stereo. We started old-school and danced to 80’s tunes, then graduated to 90’s dance music. It was awkward for her at first but soon Charity loosened up and I caught her enjoying herself. We forgot all about her laundry and danced up a sweat, until a slow song came on the radio. Charity thought we were done until I wrapped my arms around her. She balked at first but I talked her into it.
We giggled like little girls as we held our bodies close to one another and swayed to the music. I whispered in her ear like a horny teenage boy and laughed it off.
“See what you’ve missed?” I said.
Charity’s faced flushed with embarrassment as a dopey grin crossed her mouth. Then tossing all caution to the wind I kissed her cheek. It was the moment I was looking for; her eyes met mine. I stared into them long enough to make my next move.
I kissed her lips.
Of course, this brought everything to a screeching halt. Charity shook her head slightly as if she couldn’t believe or understand what I had just done. She immediately asked about her clothes. Unsure of what to do I walked to the laundry room. Charity didn’t follow me. I had conveniently forgotten to put her outfit in the drier. I went back to the living room and offered to dry it for twenty minutes but she bluntly declined. Charity stomped her way to the washer and told me she’d bring my robe back to me. She gathered her wet clothes and started for the door.
I tried to stop her. “I’m so sorry,” I pleaded, “please don’t leave?”
“I really have to go!” Charity exclaimed.
I stopped her at the door and asked one more time for her to stay. She wanted nothing to do with it.
I wanted to see how far I could push the envelope and I pushed it too far. But I still wanted her. Something came over me (to this day I don’t know what it was); I took her clothes and dropped them to the floor. I then spun her around and smashed my lips to hers, forcing my tongue in her mouth. Charity protested by pushing me away and subsequently smacking my face. That did nothing but make me want her more. I pinned her back to the door and kissed her again, my hands holding hers above her head. She screamed at me to stop. But I couldn’t, my body trembled as my wet pussy began to throb. I kissed her neck, forcibly tasting her sweet skin, the sound of her objections filling my ears.
“Stop this, Blythe!” Charity demanded.
I kissed and nibbled her neck hungrily in response. Again and again she demanded to be released but I had a death grip on her and I wasn’t going to let go until she was mine. She managed to push me away one more time but with one swift move I clasped her hair and quickly forced her into the living room. I then threw her on the couch. I slammed my body on top of hers and I feasted on her flesh.
“This is wrong,” Charity exclaimed, “I won’t do this!”
Yes, she would!
“Blythe…!”
I was busy.
“Blythe…?”
My mouth was full.
“What are you doing to me? Stop...!”
The only way I could get her to shut up was to put my mouth on hers. I kissed her deeply but forcibly. I probed her sweet mouth with my tongue for what felt like several minutes. Charity seemed to have lost some of her fight. Her angry struggling was reduced to mere writhing, her verbal protests turned to grunting.
I stood her up, ripped off the robe and pinned her, face first, to the nearest wall. I pressed myself against her, slipped one hand in her white cotton underwear and with my other hand I unfastened her bra. Yet somehow she managed to slip out from under me.
I turned to find her standing before me, her arms wrapped around her bare chest. “Stop!” she demanded. My eyes got their first taste of her body. Charity had broad shoulders and a narrow waist. Her hips were round but not wide and her legs long and toned. I couldn’t see her breasts or her pussy but it wouldn’t be long.
“Why are you doing this to me?” Charity pleaded.
I took off my top and let it drop to the floor; I slid out of my thong underwear all the while keeping my eyes on her. I let her get a good look at me. My shoulders are as broad as hers and my breasts just as perky. My tummy is a little flatter. My hips are slightly less rounded and I keep my pussy shaved. My legs are lanky, not as toned and I don’t believe in tan lines. I let her take me all in. I watched her eyes walk all over me.
“You’re a virgin,” I said. “Your skin has never been touched, or caressed; your lips have never been kissed. You’re beautiful, Charity. I can’t help myself.”
Silence fell between us; her countenance seemed to run the gamut of emotions. I knew she was thinking, considering, reasoning.
She slowly lowered her arms exposing her firm breasts to me. I was going to be the first person to suck on them.
“Don’t hurt me?” Charity asked softly. I took her by the hand to my bedroom and laid her on the bed. She was like a teenager, unsure of what to do. I looked into her eyes as I slowly explored her milky white body with my hands. Her virgin skin was warm, flawless and soft. Soon my mouth tasted the same places I had touched. I kissed her from head to toe avoiding the only place on her heavenly body I desperately wanted to taste. She wasn’t ready for that yet.
I laid my tanned body on top of hers and looked deeply into her eyes. Her gaze wore questions like eyeglasses. Her body trembled beneath me like a child, so innocent yet curious about these sexual urges she had never experienced before. I couldn’t help but want to hold her and make love to her, gently, tenderly. I lowered my mouth to hers and kissed her softly. Her tongue was earnest but inexperienced as she kissed me back, yet it was delicious. I could have made out with her all night but I wanted more.
“I need you to trust me,” I whispered softly into her ear. Charity nodded slightly. I kissed my way down her body slowly but surely for the second time. I heard her gasp as my mouth tantalized her sensitive skin, particularly around her tummy and waist. But this time I didn’t avoid anything. She was warmed and ready. I slowly peeled her cotton underwear off and tossed them to the floor. I opened her legs and put my mouth on her.
Her mound was lush with pubic growth. With little, opened mouthed kisses I savored the taste of her wet virginity. Her gasping turned to moaning. Saving the best for last I introduced my tongue to her clitoris. Charity cried out three different vowel sounds as I began to lick, finally to lick.
“What is that?” Charity pleaded “What are you doing to me?”
I preferred to show instead of tell. I flicked my tongue faster, licking her at a furious pace as she responded with trembling and squirming. I could tell she was in a tug of war between enjoying what she was experiencing and what she had been taught about lesbianism. I have to admit, I love licking pussy and I’m damned good at it. So I knew what she was feeling would win out. My tongue was too warm, my licking too constant, the feeling too wonderful she would have to wait it out, experience it fully. And of course she did.
“Blythe!” Charity demanded.
I sucked and licked her clit as her body turned and twisted, her salty/sweet juices crossing my tongue. My ears filled with the sounds of lesbian ecstasy just like I had fantasized. Between calling out my name and demanding to know what I was doing to her Charity shrieked louder and squealed higher. Soon she was bucking like a bronco and it was all I could do to keep my mouth on her. Finally she violently arched her back and curled her toes one last time. She grunted as if in the throes of child birth. I could tell this was it, her first orgasm. She got quiet as it built up inside of her, the intensity increasing. I licked harder and faster. A final yelp escaped her mouth and she climaxed.
Instead of stopping I continued to lick at a fevered pitch. After the first time she told me to stop, it was too intense. But I knew what was coming and it would be stronger and deeper than the last. Of course I was right. She came a second time with a fury that rendered her exhausted.
Charity’s white skin glistened with perspiration, her chest heaving for air. I climbed up next to her and cuddled her until she caught her breath. I was asked many questions about what she had just experienced. I felt like the only way to make her understand would be to teach her how to do it. After changing positions I opened my legs and gave her the guided tour. I explained where to put her mouth and how to use her tongue.
“Do it to me just like I did to you,” I instructed.
And she did!
Eagerly she licked and sucked my smooth pussy. I ran my fingers through her hair and gently tugged. My breathing became heavy and rhythmic. It wasn’t long until I could feel the fire of climax burn within me. For a fleeting moment I couldn’t believe that little “Miss Religion” was licking my throbbing mound, bringing me off.
“I’m almost there,” I encouraged her, “keep going, baby!”
Charity responded accordingly, almost expertly. Within moments I showed her what a woman’s climax tasted like. She lapped it up and, like I did to her, continued to lick. She brought me off a second time. And just when I thought she would quit she kept going. I came a third time, then a fourth. I had to pull her away from me to get her to stop.
After I caught my breath we laid with each other, our bodies intertwined, our hands probing and caressing one another. We kissed and talked all night. We eventually fell asleep at the crack of dawn.

Charity was changed that night. Oh, she was still the mild mannered paralegal at the office, but she was different. I had shown her some of the joys of the flesh. And I continued to show her more for a brief time after but eventually her curiosity for men got the best of her. She sacrificed her virginity to some guy she met at the firm. She conceived a child and they ran off and got married. I haven’t heard from her since.
To this day I still smile when I think about the fact that I was the one who awakened her sexuality, the first one to taste her, the first one to get her off. Before she met me she was a proper Bible thumper who dressed moderately, who didn’t employ expletives in her speech and who had never danced with a man. But I corrupted her.
Sweet corruption.





End of Story