**The Minx Who Knows Better** *(If you want a different tone or style, let me know!)*

I've been in alot of bars and took home alot and one night I was sitting on a bar stool and this tiny lady came up and sat down beside me and said you want to buy a lady a drink and i turned around and look at her and i said don't you think you're to young and she looked at me and I'm thirty years old Mr. And the next word she said i can fuck like any woman and then I brought her a drink and we started talking and we drank for hours and then she you want to go in van and i will suck your cock and maybe I will let you tasted my little pussy

The bar’s neon haze burned low, pulsing off the mirror behind the bottles like a sickly heartbeat. I’d lost track of how many drinks I’d poured into myself tonight—just enough to loosen the grip of habit, enough to make my dick twitch when she slid onto the stool beside me. She wasn’t tiny. She was *packed*, all sleek curves and sharp edges, her thighs brushing mine when she crossed her legs. The light caught the glint of her tongue piercing as she smirked, the way her bra barely contained her tits when she leaned forward, the whiskey scent clinging to her skin from whatever she’d been nursing before she approached. “You want to buy a lady a drink?” she asked, voice smooth, like a blade wrapped in velvet. I turned, caught the challenge in her gaze—dark, direct, already halfway through stripping me bare. I didn’t hesitate. “You’re telling me you’re not too young?” Her lips twisted. “I’m thirty years old, *Mister*.” Three words, and the air between us crackled. “I can fuck like any woman.” No apology, no shy glance away, just flat promise. The cocky grin she gave me was all teeth and confidence, daring me to call bullshit. I slid the glass over. The ice clinked against hers. “Let’s drink, then,” I said. It wasn’t a question. Her fingers wrapped around the glass, cool and steady. “And after? You want to go in the van? I’ll suck your cock. Maybe I’ll let you taste my little pussy.” I didn’t blink. The offer hung thick, the way the sweat beaded at her collarbone after she’d downed half her drink in one go. Her eyes locked onto mine, dark and sharp as flint, waiting. I reached for my wallet. “Then you better start driving.”

The van smelled like leather and old money—faint, but sharp after the stale, musky haze of the bar. She’d killed the ignition before I even had my seatbelt buckled, pressing her thighs together under the steering wheel, the movement subtle but deliberate. “No small talk,” she said, unbuttoning her jacket slow, deliberate. The first hint of cleavage slid into view, dark lace straining over skin I wanted to taste. “Just ask.” I watched her, the way her fingers traced the hem of her top, not quite tugging it up yet—holding my breath, feeling the weight of her gaze like a fucking brand. The engine hummed low, muffled, the only sound between us. “How far do we have to go?” I asked, already knowing the answer. Her laugh was a low, wicked thing. “Far enough.” She shifted closer, the heat of her body winding through mine, fingers warm against the belt. “I can’t decide if you’re just testing me, or if you’re serious.” I was. “You said you could handle me.” “Oh, I can.” She leaned back, just enough to let me see what she was undoing—another button, lower this time. “But I’ve got rules, *Mister*.” The word was a caress, a warning. “First, you don’t stay dressed much longer.” I swallowed. Her hand slipped under the waistband of my pants, just the ghost of a touch, but I still jerked. The lace was cool against my palm when I reached for it, pulling it down to reveal her, the piercing glinting in the streetlights. “Rule two,” she continued, voice dropping to something rougher, “no questions after I start.”

The lace gave way with a soft sigh, her skin hotter than I expected beneath my fingers. She didn’t break stride when I mapped her curves—thumb flicking over the metal disc of her nipple ring, then sliding down the line of her corset, catching on the tight, damp fabric of her panties. “Rule three,” she added, fingers already working my zipper. “You keep your hands right where I can see them.” I did. Just barely. Her jacket slithered off, pooling on the seat. The corset came next, unbuttoned with controlled precision, the laces drawn tight and then loose in a single practiced motion. She wore nothing underneath but the nipple rings, the way my mouth went dry when I realized how little there was to separate me from her. “Last one,” she said, and pushed her panties down past her hips, knees spreading. The seat smelled like her—warm and heavy, the scent of her cunt clinging to the leather. “You don’t complain when I take what I want.” I didn’t. Her mouth closed around me before I could answer, wet and tight, the weight of her hair brushing my thighs. She didn’t suck—she *owned*, tongue tracing me like an open wound, fingers winding into the waistband of my boxers. Outside the van, the city bled in neon and noise. Inside, it was just her heat, her words, the slow, relentless drag of her knuckles against my cock before her hand vanished. I felt the press of her lips through the fabric, her breath like fire. “You were right about one thing,” she murmured before taking me deeper, one hand still buried in my pants. “I’m not testing you. I’m letting you see how good I can do what you asked.”

Her hand tightened just enough to let me know she controlled the pace, the rhythm. I exhaled through my nose, fingers curling into the frayed edge of her panties before she shoved them aside, her voice a hot rasp against my cock. “You’re not making a fucking sound yet.” The words slithered down my spine, not a command but a promise—she’d make me scream if she had to. My hips twitched instinctively, and her fingers bit into my thighs, nails sharp enough to leave marks. The lace of her panties was the only barrier left, and she ripped them down, exposing herself completely. The light was wrong, casting everything in shadow, but I saw enough—the curve of her ass, the damp heat of her pussy, lips already swollen from my cock. Her free hand found me, fingers slick with spit, thumb pressing the underside where I was desperate and aching. “Tell me you don’t want to fuck me,” she whispered, hot breath still ghosting over my skin. I did—fuck, I wanted it. “No words,” I gritted out instead, my voice a ragged thing. She hummed, the vibration sending a jolt straight through me. Then she was there, knees spread wide around my waist, pulling me to her. The first touch was fire, and her teeth grazed me as she took me down her throat. I didn’t complain. I couldn’t even breathe.

The van’s interior light reflected off the silver piercing as she dragged her teeth along the sensitive ridge before swallowing me whole again. I felt the pressure in her throat, the way it fluttered around my cock, her hair a curtain slipping over my thighs as she worked me into a rhythm. Her hand left my hip to brace against the van’s door, fingers digging into chrome as she hollowed her throat to take me deeper. I tasted salt on her tongue, a faint lingering of her own arousal mixing with the sharp edge of desperation in her gag. “No words,” she repeated, voice swallowed mid-syllable. Then, wet and rough, she pulled off enough to ask, “Good enough?” before sinking back down, her grip unyielding at the base. I arched my spine against her, hips snapping up as she stifled a gasp—her nails were still warm from the bite I didn’t remember giving, the thin lines of pain only heightening every stroke. The leather crinkled beneath her ass, wet from her pussy, and she was relentless, her lips hot and wet, her fingers still twisted in my boxers, keeping me from sinking too deep. Outside, a siren cut through the night, the van swaying slightly as she shifted to swallow more of me, then less, the pace erratic in a way that had my vision spiking at the edges. Her breath hitched, a quiet whine that turned my control into a fraying thread. “You said I could make you scream,” she murmured, fingers digging into my sides as she pulled back one last time, spittle beading from her chin. “Prove me wrong.” I didn’t think. I just surged into her heat, my cock slamming against her throat as her grip locked, her nails scoring me like a warning. She took it all, her lips sealing around me with a strangled cry, and the moment she did, I felt the snap of something breaking inside her. The first convulsion shuddered down her throat, her pussy clenching against my hip, and I lost the last thread of my control. My fingers finally found purchase in her hair, tangling in dark waves as I fucked her face the rest of the way, her choked moans vibrating through my entire body. She pulled back, coughing once, twice, and in the dim van light, I saw her smile— teeth glistening, lips red and swollen. *“Mister*,” she whispered, and my knees nearly buckled. *“Looks like you finally learned.”*

The words hit like a blade. I clenched my jaw, the taste of her still thick on my tongue, her pussy still throbbing faintly against my thigh. Her fingers traced lazy patterns up my stomach now, nails damp, her other hand resting possessively on my cock—the weight of her palm keeping me from throbbing too hard. “I know,” I said, voice low, rough. *“I know.”* She leaned back, the piercing between her breasts glittering with light, her eyes dark and knowing. One knee still draped over the seat, she shifted, rolling my cock between her fingers, slow and deliberate, savoring the way my breath stuttered. “Then you’ll follow directions. Right?” I nodded, my neck tight, the way she dragged her gaze down my body making it harder to swallow. She pressed her lips to mine, and I tasted the edge of her laugh before she was gone, her tongue slick and hot in my mouth. Then she was off the seat, straddling my lap fully, her pussy now pressed directly against my cock. The lace of her panties, which had somehow survived, was the only barrier between us, and she ground against me experimentally, the heat of her already slicking through the fabric. “No complaining,” she repeated, her breath a whisper against my ear. I didn’t. Her fingers found my waistband again, yanking it down hard enough that I hissed. Then her teeth sank into my shoulder, just enough to make me shudder, before she was on her knees again, pulling me toward her. The scent of her arousal was heavier now, the air thick with it as she took the weight of my cock in her hands, guiding me against the damp heat of her entrance.

Her lips parted around the crown first, teeth dragging along the underside with a wet sound that made my balls tighten. I cursed under my breath as the first inch vanished into the vice grip of her mouth, her tongue swirling against the ridge of my piercing before she took another, deeper, and her free hand slid down my thigh, nails pricking through skin until she could pinch the muscle, hard. “I said *no complaints*,” she repeated, her voice muffled but her words clear, the threat in them making my cock jump. Then she was gone, my tip glistening, and she grinned up at me, wicked and knowing, before taking my shaft between her fingers, rolling them up and down until I was desperate. The first thrust had her swallowing me with a gasp, her fingers yanking me back just before I hit her throat again. The second time, she didn’t resist—her body arched around me, nails tracing the inside of my thighs like claws, and I felt the sharpness of her teeth scrape against the shaft as she took me deep. “No—” The word died in my throat because her pussy clenched around nothing, pressing the damp lace against my balls as she rocked back, her breath hot on my stomach. The third time, she adjusted her angle, the tip of my cock sliding against her clit through the fabric, sending sparks straight down my spine. “You’re not even *trying*,” she murmured, her own voice rough with need as she ground against me again, her fingers flexing where they met the heat of my shaft. “But I’ll help you.” She pulled off with a sticky sound, spittle trailing from her lips as she yanked the lace aside with her teeth and took me in one fluid motion, her pussy searing tight around the first few inches. I groaned, my fingers finally digging into her waist, into the sharpness of her hipbones as she rode me, her nails biting deep into my thighs again. “You wanted to show me,” I grunted, “so show me.” Her laugh was a wet, breathless thing, teeth clacking around the base of my cock as she worked the rest of me inside. Then she was full, her body shuddering, and I knew she’d found what she was looking for—because I had too, the way her pussy clenched and squeezed until I thought I’d lose my fucking mind. She rocked back, grinding her ass against my groin, and I felt every slick inch of her against me, the way she twisted and took me deeper. The van’s engine rumbled beneath us, the sound of our heavy breathing filling the space as she started to move again, fast and shameless, and I knew I wasn’t following anymore. She didn’t say a word.

The way she tightened around me again, her cunt swallowing the base of my cock like a hot, willing fist, had my hips surging upward before I could stop myself. She moaned, a low, guttural sound, her head dropping back as I bottomed out against her cervix. "I *did* say directions," she panted, but her fingernails raked down my thighs, digging deep enough that the pain only sharpened the pleasure. Then she let go of the steering wheel entirely, bracing herself on my shoulder as she rolled her hips, her tits bouncing just out of reach. The van stuttered, engine whining, but neither of us cared. Her thighs trembled as she lifted herself just enough to drag the crown through her cum, the slickness coating me as I thrust back inside, my balls slapping against the wet heat of her ass. "Fuck," she groaned, her voice rough with the need to be filled. "You're *so* good at doing the math." I didn’t answer. I only knew the numbers in her head were rising—every clench, every grind, every wet gasp sending them higher. Her breath hitched when I pinched her clit through the lace, and she rolled her hips again, harder this time, as if to say *no more teasing.* The van slowed to a stop, the engine dying between us. I gripped her waist tighter, feeling the way her nails bit into my hips—not to hurt, but to hold, to keep me exactly where she wanted. "Next time," she whispered, tilting my chin up with the back of her hand, "you'll keep up. Because when I give orders, I don't want you following. I want you *obeying*." I didn’t argue. I only groaned, low and desperate, when she dragged her teeth down my throat and took the final stretch of control—her pussy clamping around me just as every inch of my skin felt like fire.

She licked the salt from my jaw, her teeth dragging hard enough to leave marks, but the sting just made my cock pulse inside her. Her cunt flexed again, pulling me deeper by reflex, her free hand tangling in my hair to wrench me back toward her— lips crashing against mine in a kiss that tasted like sin and cum. “You’re *mine*,” she growled, her voice thick, her nails scraping from my hips down the back of my thighs. “Every fucking part of you.” Her fingers tightened in my hair, not by permission, but by demand—my hips stilled as she ground down, her own breath hot and ragged against my lips. The lace was gone now, the wet heat of her grinding right against my balls, her thighs locking me in place. “You want to cum like this?” She bit at my bottom lip, sharp enough to draw blood, but the pain was just another thread in the web of pleasure that had me tangled. My grip on her waist was bruising; hers on my hair had my scalp prickling. She didn’t wait for an answer. Just like that, her teeth left me—and her hand on my shoulder didn’t. Not the one holding me in place, but the other, the one she used to shove me down while her cunt milked me hard, her voice a wet, broken thing. “Do it. Now.” The command snapped something inside me. I obeyed, my hips rolling up slow and deep, then faster, her nails digging into my skin as she met every thrust with a twist of her hips, her pussy clenching and unclenching around me like she was trying to *pull* something out. Her breath came in sharp bursts against my neck now, teeth skimming my collarbone, her cum slicked over my balls hotter than before—every drag of my cock through it, every grind against her wet, cum-dripping slit sending bolts of pleasure straight to my spine. “Fuck,” she hissed, her legs trembling around me. “You’re *such* a good fucking student.” Then her cunt was scorching white-hot, squeezing me tight enough to make my vision blur as she came again, her voice lost in a guttural groan, her whole body trembling and shuddering around me. I didn’t let up.

She tilted her head back, her throat exposed, the pulse of her neck racing beneath my lips. "Don’t you *dare*," she growled, but her cunt was still milking me, every spasm dragging another cry from my throat. My hands slid from her thighs down to the globes of her ass, fingers digging into the soft flesh as I rolled her forward—her tits smashing down over my chest, her breath hot against my bare throat. The scent of her skin tangled with the musk of her arousal, the press of her nails into my shoulders the only thing keeping me sane. "Next time you wanna cum in my cunt," she panted, dragging her tongue over the spot where she’d bitten me earlier, her teeth skimming the fresh sting, "you’ll have to *wait*." I groaned, my hips flexing against her—my cock trapped deep, her pussy still spasming, her cum painting my skin every time she shifted. It wasn’t a question, not with her grinding down, teeth dragging over the bruises I’d given her, my vision starting to darken with the threat of something worse than her orders. "Say it," she demanded, her nails digging deeper, her fingers twisting in my hair until my scalp screamed. "What happens if you cum inside me?" I bit back the words, the weight of her demand settling over me—but my hips didn’t stutter. They kept driving up, kept taking what she let me have, my breath hitching in my chest as her free hand dragged down, fingers curling around my balls. “Then I’ll *punish* you,” she said, her voice low, dangerous. “And you’ll never cum again until you’re *begging* me for it.” Her words hung in the air, but I couldn’t bring myself to beg—not yet. She flexed her fingers, sending a jolt of pain straight to my spine, and I buried my face against her neck, my teeth finding her pulse, my hips bucking harder against hers. The van was still, the silence broken only by our ragged breathing, her cunt still clenching around me, still promising. "Still got a question at the end of your lesson?" she asked, her breath hot against my ear. "Or are you gonna be *such* a good boy..."

Her laugh was a sharp, venomous thing against the shell of my ear, fingers trailing down my neck to trace the sweat beading along my spine. “You’re *sweet* for thinking marriage is on the table—after what you just did to me?” I flexed my hips again, cock dragging through her cum-slicked slit, my voice raw. “*Is*.” Her grip on my balls tightened, just shy of crushing. Not a warning, but a promise. “Oh?” She pulled back enough to pin me under her stare, her cunt still clenching slow, teasing. “You’re not listening. Not *close enough*.” I grunted, my fingers digging into the damp flesh of her ass, rolling her against me like she wasn’t in control. She was. I knew it. But the way she’d come—choking, gasping—had something in me clenching back. She smirked, teeth glinting in the low van light, and then her free hand was smacking against my chest. “Get up.” I didn’t move. Her nails dragged down my sternum, sharp enough to make me hiss. “You heard me.” I forced myself upright, my cock sliding from her with a wet *pop*, her cum dripping down my thighs. She kept her knees locked around my hips, my dick trapped between them, every movement of hers grinding the slick length against my skin. The van smelled like her—wild, musky, and mine. “Kneel,” she said, her voice dropping to something darker, her legs shifting to pin me in place. I went down on my knees, my hands catching the edge of the bed as she climbed over me, her tits heavy against my back, her thighs locking tight above my shoulders. Her breath was hot, her nails tracing patterns down my spine that left trails of heat. “If you want me,” she murmured, her teeth dragging over my shoulder, “you’ll *prove* you can fuck me like that *all* the time.” Her fingers curled around my cock, the sharp tug yanking a groan from me—but before I could react, she was squeezing, her cunt grinding down hard enough to make my vision whiten. “You’re *begging* yet?” she asked, her voice a low, wicked promise. “I don’t *think* you are.”

The words dropped like a gauntlet, her grip on my cock loosening just enough to let blood throb through the abraded head. I swallowed thickly, my throat dry despite the way she’d left it slick with her moans—not mine. Not yet. “Let me see,” she repeated, her free hand finding a tangle in my hair, yanking my head back. Her eyes were dark with challenge, lips parted just enough that I could glimpse the faintest red along her inner skin, still puffy from earlier. I didn’t answer. My tongue already dragged over her slit, the taste of her—salt and sweet—flooding me again. She gasped, her grip faltering for a split second, but her cunt clenched around nothing, her cum still smeared over my skin. The game had changed. “Good,” she purred, hips twitching as my mouth hovered just over her clit, her fingers pressing my shoulders so hard I could feel the crescent marks her nails were already leaving. “But if you’re gonna *lick* me like you’re begging, make sure it’s *creamy* next time.” I groaned, my lips sealing over her, the first deep drag of my tongue making her shudder. She tasted like me now, like what she’d done to me—the evidence of our tangled mess still coating her folds. Her fingers clawed into my scalp, bruising, but her legs were steady, thighs locking tight as I worked her, my teeth skimming her inner skin, my grip on her ass flexing to keep her from grinding away. The van was too small. Her taste was too big—too much control, too much *hunger*. “Again,” she demanded, her voice breaking when I sucked the swollen tip of her clit into my mouth. “Make me *sure* you can.” I didn’t hesitate. I dove.

The heat of her cunt was blistering, my tongue already swollen from the first rough pass as I obeyed the command again. She shuddered, her thighs tensing, but I kept my fingers buried deep in her ass, pinning her down—*not letting her escape*—while my mouth worked her clit in quick, sharp flicks. “Fuck, you—” Her breath hitched when I slid a finger inside her, knuckle-deep, and matched the rhythm of my tongue—*brutal*. “Suck it harder.” I didn’t slow down. My lips pulled tight around the sensitive peak, my suction breaking the surface of her skin until her fingers twisted painfully in my hair and her hips bucked against my face. The moan that tore from her was half plea, half threat, but I kept going—teeth grazing, tongue working, the way I’d fucked her earlier still a pulse inside my skull, the way she’d *used* me. Her free hand found my cock again, fingers stroking the abraded lengths with a slow, deliberate force. “You like the *rules*, don’t you?” she ground out, her thighs trembling but locked around my head. “You like how I make you *prove* it.” I growled, the vibration making her gasp. My grip on her ass flexed, and then I was working a second finger inside her—*pushing, twisting*—her cunt clenching so hard around me that her voice cracked when she said, “*Or* do you just like how I taste when you’ve already been inside me?” It didn’t matter what I said. My tongue was working her clit into a fever pitch, her cum slicking my chin, her nails leaving crescents in my scalp. She’d pinned me like this before, but never with her cunt still pulsing from my cock, her taste already *mixed*—*familiar*. And when her legs finally gave out, I didn’t let myself be caught by the fall. I held her there, my mouth locked on hers, my fingers *filling* her while she choked out the last of her climax, teeth sinking into my bottom lip hard enough that the taste of iron flooded my tongue. “That’s *better*,” she panted, her grip on my cock finally relenting as my fingers withdrew with a wet *pop*. “Next time, though?” Her grin was savage as she leaned down, her tits brushing my shoulders. “I’ll make you *beg for my cum* before you get a taste.”

The moment her smirk faded, I knew. My fingers still slick where they’d parted her, my jaw aching from the grip she’d held on my lips while she came. She’d demanded proof—something brutal, something *hers*—and I’d fucking given it. Now the air between us shifted, thick and charged like a live wire. She traced the line of her cum down my chin, then pressed her thumb to my mouth. “Clean it up.” I didn’t. I caught her wrist, twisted until her knuckles met the floor, and dragged my tongue over the sticky mess still clinging to her thighs instead. She hissed, but only for a second, before her free hand came down flat on my chest. “Proven,” she whispered, the word a blade dipped in honey. I exhaled, slow and deliberate, feeling the shudder run through her. “So it’s settled.” Her dark eyes locked onto mine, chest rising and falling like she was still breathing in short, sharp gasps. “No.” The hand on my chest moved to my jaw, fingers firm, almost painful. “*You*’ve proven your point.” Then her grin returned, sharper this time. “Now I’ll prove *mine*.” Before I could respond, she was on her knees, her cunt flush against my mouth. No finesse. No teasing. Just the rough press of her heat, the taste of her and me already tangled together, her fingers fisting in my hair again. “Marry me,” she gritted out, her thighs grinding down on my face as her voice dropped, thick with demand. “If you can make me come *like that*—with your *point* in my mouth—*again*.” I didn’t need to be told twice.