It was the start of summer, and I’d just gotten a few new bikinis for the season. Day four, bikini number four—it had sort of become a daily ritual.

There was a boy from down the street who had been stopping by more and more often. I could tell he liked the show, and honestly, I liked the attention. But that fourth day… yeah, things really took a turn.

We were chatting outside, and he kept dropping hints, wanting to see a little more. I wasn't super into the idea at first—he was being persistent—but eventually, I gave in.

We went inside to grab some water, and somewhere between the kitchen counter and his constant begging eyes, I slipped off my bikini top. Before I could even process it, his hands were on me—one on each boob, like he’d been waiting forever for that moment. I was backed into the corner of the counter, kind of pinned, so I just... let it happen.

He kept talking to me—dirty, flirty, playful—and I didn’t know whether I should stop him or just melt. I guess I melted.

And then—bam—his hand dove right down the front of my bottoms like he was making a slam dunk. I tensed up at first, ready to swat him away, but… honestly? It didn’t feel bad. Not at all.

His hands stayed busy while we kept talking. Then he asked if I’d be willing to get down on my knees. He didn’t have to explain. I knew.

After a minute or two of indecision (and a very convincing set of fingers), I gave in. I knelt down on the soft kitchen rug as he kicked off his shorts. My heart was pounding, and my hands shook a little as I reached up and wrapped them around his cock.

I lifted it toward my mouth, paused for a deep breath, then took the head in. My tongue swirled around the smooth, warm tip. It was velvety soft, a little salty, and—oddly enough—a hint of urine,  something... not unpleasant.

I started to move, slow at first, letting more of him slide between my lips with every bob of my head. I could feel him growing inside my mouth—lengthening, thickening—like he was waking up fully for me.

He started rocking his hips gently, so I slowed my own motion and let him take the rhythm. After a while, I just stayed still, lips wrapped tight, letting him do all the work.

Then he stopped moving, and I picked the pace back up. A few minutes later, I noticed him rising onto his toes, and I was wondering why when it hit me.

He reached behind my head, gripped tight, and thrust forward hard. The taste hit instantly—salty, slightly sour, a little tangy. He was cumming, and I didn’t panic. I just let him ride it out.

When he finished, he pulled back slowly, and his cock slipped from my lips. Instinctively, I swallowed what he’d left behind.

He gave himself a little squeeze, and a drop of cum beaded at the tip. He held it out, and without thinking, I leaned in and licked it clean.

I stood up, slipped my top back on, and he pulled his shorts up like nothing major had just happened. We laughed a bit and talked about it, and before he left, I told him I’d be down to do it again tomorrow.

And just like that, it became our thing. Once a day. Sometimes twice.