Initiated by the woman across the street

I want to be clear from the start—I never felt sexually assaulted. I was a willing participant, even if my mind was screaming with panic. I simply didn’t resist her.

Back then, I was nineteen or twenty, the new guy in town. My friends were all deep in the hookup culture: confident, flirty, and experienced. Meanwhile, I was the only guy in our group who was completely green. I had zero experience with intimacy, my confidence was practically non-existent, and my flirting skills were a disaster. I started working as a clerk at a local bakery, and right across the street was this intriguing spiritual shop. One day, my friend dragged me in.

The moment we walked in, I saw her. She was working there, and I immediately thought she was stunning. I deliberately avoided her, not wanting to bother her while she was on the clock. But as we browsed, I kept catching her eyes flicking towards me. My nerves went into overdrive, and I tried to hurry my friend along. Of course, she decided to buy something, forcing us to the counter where this beautiful woman was working.

She started a conversation with me, diving deep into astrology. What I thought would be a two-minute chat turned into a two-hour discussion. My friend even got bored and left me there! It was a genuinely great talk, but my naive self wrote it off as just a friendly gesture. My friend, however, insisted the woman was totally into me. I denied it, like I always did. My whole life, I’d had platonic friendships with women, and I preferred keeping things that way.

After that, I didn’t see her for a couple of weeks. Then, one day, she walked into my bakery. Let’s call her Spirit. She said hello and, to my surprise, invited me to a metal concert. I agreed, my heart doing a little drum solo of its own. I got dressed and met her there. She was dressed modestly, and we headed inside. We danced a little, and she got a drink. When she offered me one, I had to admit, “I can’t, I’m not 21 yet.”

She gave me a sly look. “Do you know how old I am?” she asked. I guessed, “I don’t know, 21?” She smirked and said, “I’m 27, little boy.” I was shocked. Hanging out with someone so much older felt intimidating, but I tried to play it cool. After the concert, she was a bit tipsy, and I was completely sober. She asked me to walk her home, and I did. When we reached her door, she simply said, “Thank you for walking me home. I’ll text you soon.” I crashed at a friend’s place, and he immediately started in with, “Duuuude, she’s so into you! You’ve got a cougar on your radar!” And yet again, I denied it like a complete fool.

A week later, my phone buzzed with a text from her. “Hey, I like your boyish charm… come over tonight at my place.” My brain short-circuited. Boyish charm? What did that even mean? Part of me still thought this was innocent, but the echo of my friends’ voices was getting louder. This woman was definitely on the prowl.

That evening, I headed over, my stomach in knots. Her door was unlocked, so I let myself in. My intentions were pure—or at least, I told myself they were. I was just there to chat. And we did, for a while. But as we talked, I noticed her gaze intensifying. She was biting her lip, her eyes locked on mine. My nerves came rushing back. Then she stood up, walked over, and started rubbing my hands with hers, intertwining our feet. I was so flustered I wanted to curl into a ball and vanish from the pressure building in my chest.

She started rubbing my head, whispering, “Everything will be okay, everything will be okay.” I was burning up, my mind a blank slate of red-hot embarrassment. Then she took my hand and led me to her bedroom, sitting me down on a chair while she settled on the bed. We kept talking, but my eyes began to wander around the room. That’s when I saw her “decor.” A gimp mask, spanking paddles, and a weird bat handle with leather strips. My curiosity overpowered my shyness. I asked her what they were.

Feigning innocence, she said, “Oh… you weren’t supposed to see that.” But she had a side smirk and brushed her hair behind her ear. I asked to see the paddle, and she handed it to me, telling me to show her my swing. My attempt was pathetic, weak and hesitant. She said, “Let me show you,” and took it back. In one swift motion, she pushed me onto the bed, landed a sharp spank on my backside, and when I yelped, her hand clamped over my mouth. I froze completely.

She leaned in, her breath hot on my ear, and whispered, “I think it’s time that I start things.” She licked my earlobe, and her other hand started rubbing my cock through my pants. A cocktail of emotions exploded inside me—nerves, excitement, fear, and a powerful, undeniable turn-on. I surrendered, letting her take complete control. She quickly escalated, turning me onto my back and unzipping my pants. She took my cock into her mouth, her hand jerking me off while her tongue flicked over my nipples.

The sensations were overwhelming. I was moaning, whimpering, squealing, and squirming beneath her. She owned me. “You’re my pet,” she cooed. “You’re my good boy. My little boy toy.” Then she stopped and looked at me. “Ready?” she asked. I must have looked utterly confused. “I’m gonna ride your dick,” she clarified. I stammered, “Wait, I’ve never done this before.” Her eyes lit up. “Oh,” she purred, “even better.” She guided me inside her, and I was lost. The warmth was incredible, a feeling I had never known. I was terrified about the lack of a condom, but I was too far gone to stop.

I finally caved, letting all my inhibitions shatter. She had her way with me, choking me while she rode me with a furious pace. She’d stop just as I was about to cum, edging me over and over until I was begging for release. “Are you gonna come over tomorrow?” she demanded. “Yes!” I pleaded. “Good boy,” she said, and then she started riding me hard and fast. I came harder than I ever thought possible inside her. She didn’t stop, even as I grew painfully sensitive, and I felt her squirt all over me.

Afterward, she collapsed on top of me, grinding her crotch against my spent body and licking my ears again. She fell silent for a moment, her body tensed, and then she grabbed me hard before her grip loosened and she passed out right on my chest. We continued that intense, confusing “friendship” for about a year until we both moved to different states. I still think about her sometimes. I genuinely hope she’s doing well.