Message-ID: <59660asstr$1259219412@assm.asstr.org>
From: Uther Pendragon <nogardneprethu@gmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Antonio -- Uther
Lines: 2151
Date: Thu, 26 Nov 2009 02:10:12 -0500
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Antonio
Uther Pendragon
nogardnePrethU@gmail.com
MF mF Mf 1st

This material is copyright, 2009, by Uther Pendragon. All rights reserved. I
specifically grant the right of downloading and keeping one electronic copy
for your personal reading so long as this notice is included. Reposting
requires previous permission.
If you have any comments or requests, please e-mail them to me at
nogardnePrethU@gmail.com .
All persons here depicted, except public figures depicted as public figures
in the background, are figments of my imagination. Any resemblance to
persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

"You know," said Sylvia, "when you invited me here to eat take-out, I
pictured pizza."
"Well, you've had me as a guest in your apartment; I thought I should
reciprocate. Did you like the pancit?" Greg gestured for her to
stay seated as he rose to clear.
"Delicious. I'd never had it before. The chicken was great, too." She raised
her voice a little to carry into the kitchen. It wasn't really
necessary.
"Add Filipino to your list of possible restaurant types. Now, this isn't
ethnically pure; but would you like a little Sauterne to polish off
your meal?" He was carrying  the bottle and two glasses from his last trip
into the kitchen
"Half a glass."
"Half a glass it is. I know you're into moderation." He poured her half
glass and a little more than that into his. He remained
standing.
"That tastes good. Aren't you going to have some?" She looked at him, and
saw that he was standing with his arms open.
"Soon. Stand up." She did. The kiss was sweet. He didn't press firmly or
demand anything. He continued, "Your mouth is warm. It
tastes of wine, and spice, and you."
"Did you plan to get me drunk to kiss me? You didn't need to." She was
holding him around the waist as loosely as he was holding
her.
He bent down to give her another kiss. "No. I planned to kiss you to get me
drunk. It's starting to work."
Sylvia could feel the beginning of an erection against her hip. Some boys
she had gone with would have pressed it into her groin to
make sure she'd notice it. Others, especially earlier, would have been so
embarrassed that they would try to hide it. Greg let it stay
there. One of the advantages of dating an older man, one of the advantages,
for that matter, of being an adult college graduate
herself, was that he treated his desire with maturity.
Greg kissed her once more, then stepped away. He carried the wine glasses
over to the coffee table in front of the sofa. He'd
prepared the entire apartment for this date. The light focused on the dining
table was bright. It cast enough light on the sofa and
coffee table so that he wasn't inviting her into a dark nook. Even so, it
wasn't enough to read by.
She took the suggested seat. He punched a button on the entertainment center
on his way to pick up the rest of the clutter on the
dining table. Quiet music filled the room. It was a piano piece, maybe
Chopin. She asked when he settled beside her.
"This piece, yes. I've made a selection: classical, but nothing that demands
attention." He sipped from his glass before kissing her
again. This time, she tasted the wine on his tongue.
Greg liked Sylvia as a person. He wanted the relationship to go further, but
he wanted a relationship. He was quite certain that
grabbing her would end the relationship. He was equally certain that she
expected him to take the lead. He took her face in both
hands, and worked at the kiss. Her tongue met his. When he moved them apart,
she was breathing heavily. He caught his own
breath while staring into her eyes. She looked down. He let go of her face
and leaned back on the sofa with his arm behind her.
When she settled back against that arm, he hugged her. He kissed her temple
and then her ear. She turned so that the kisses were
mouth-to-mouth. He hugged her with his right arm and gently held her face
with his left one. As the kiss continued, he stroked down
her face and neck until the hand reached her clothed breast. He held it,
supported it. Finally, he dropped his hand and broke the
kiss by leaning away from her.
"Take another sip of your wine," he suggested.
Sylvia was puzzled. He couldn't really be trying to get her drunk. She had a
good idea of her capacity, and half a glass of whiskey
-- much less wine -- would be insufficient. The kiss and the petting had
been pleasant; why should she stop to sip wine. Her
previous experience was with men (boys really) who would have been trying to
get her top off by now. Boys she'd liked less than
Greg had succeeded.  But Greg having offered her the wine, she took a sip.
When she set the wine glass down, he turned her face
towards him for another kiss. His tongue touched hers again.
"Quite the most intoxicating way to drink wine," Greg said. "The taste is
there, if the quantity is low; and the kisses provide the
intoxication."
Chopin came to a climax; a Brahms string piece followed. Greg kissed her
again, pulling her into the kiss. When she seemed
involved, his hand went to the buttons on the back of her blouse. She made
no objection. He'd expected none. The problems he
expected wouldn't be above  the waist. When the blouse was fully unbuttoned,
he rested his hand on her back while leaning back
from the kiss. He held out her wine glass again.
"Share another sip?" he asked. She took the glass and sipped. When she'd put
the glass back on the coffee table, he pulled her into
another kiss. This was more insistent. She bent back a little while his
tongue explored her mouth. At that point, he unsnapped her
bra. He let her settle back. He held her loosely by the shoulder while he
kissed her brow and the side of her face.
Sylvia enjoyed these kisses, even if they weren't as exciting as the earlier
ones.  She'd had a blazing romance her junior year, a
romance which had stopped just short of intercourse. And, she sometimes
admitted to herself, it would not have stopped short if
Aaron hadn't graduated. But Aaron had never made her feel so cherished as
Greg sometimes did. The kisses were signs of being
cherished, and the hand brushing up under her blouse to hold her right
breast was as exciting to her as it probably was to
Greg.
Greg kissed Sylvia again as he fondled her. Lovely girl, dear girl, she was
responding to him. When his thumb brushed her nipple, it
was already erect. He dropped both hands to her hips and lifted her onto his
lap. Now, his kisses went from her ear to her neck
and back. His hands cradled her breasts with one finger occasionally
straying across a nipple.
Greg's sudden display of strength surprised and impressed her. When the
motion didn't threaten her in any way, she relaxed into a
new level of arousal. The kisses were gentle gifts to her excitement, not
something he was taking from her. Even when he brushed
the blouse and bra straps off her shoulders, she was being freed, not being
stripped.
"Sweet girl," he whispered, "lovely woman." When her head turned towards
him, he kissed her temple near the corner of her eye.
He half raised her again. When he let her down, she was seated almost
sideways on his lap. He returned his mouth to hers as the
fingers of his left hand began to stroke her breast gently, always toward
the nipple.
Sylvia felt aroused in general, but the nipple of her left breast felt
engorged. It was as if his fingers were sweeping the emotions
along her breast to its end. She was afraid of her feelings. She almost
decided to do something to slow the evening down. Yet she
felt disappointed when he leaned back with only his lap and the arm around
her shoulder holding her.
"My turn," Greg said. He reached for his glass and poured a healthy swig
into his mouth. He raised her with his arm while ducking
his head until his mouth covered the tip of her breast. He let the wine in
his mouth surge forward to soak her nipple and areola. He
sucked twice before swallowing. Then he licked the nipple before withdrawing
his mouth. With his hand on her knee, he went back
to kissing her mouth.
The wine had an astringent effect on Sylvia's nipple. She felt as though all
the arousal that his stroking fingers had stored in the
nipple ran down into her belly. She could barely taste the wine in his
mouth, but his searching tongue aroused in a different way. By
the time she felt his hand sliding up her thigh, it was more exciting than
threatening.
Greg caressed up her thigh until his fingers could pass under her clothed
labia. Some moisture had seeped through panties and
pantyhose. He rubbed that dampness as lightly as his fingers could manage.
Meanwhile, he kissed a trail from the corner of her
mouth to her ear before returning to lick her nipple again.
Greg wanted to get out of the living room. That afternoon, before showering
and changing his clothes, he'd prepared the bedroom.
He'd changed the sheets and folded the top sheet into a narrow pad at the
very foot of the bed. He'd secreted several
contraceptives under the edges of the mattress on either side. He'd left the
light off, but the bathroom light on with the door half
closed. The door from the bedroom into the living room, he left barely ajar.
He was ready; the room was ready; now to get Sylvia
ready.
Sylvia felt more aroused than she had ever felt this fully clothed. Had she
been alone, she would have ripped off her skirt and
underclothes and brought herself some relief. But she wasn't alone. All this
arousal was coming from him. She tried to keep still, but
she couldn't keep herself from wriggling slightly under his caresses.
When Sylvia started writhing in his arms, Greg's patience snapped. He put
his left arm under her legs and straightened on the couch.
He pulled his legs under him and pushed himself up. For one horrible second,
he was unbalanced. Then he straightened with Sylvia
in his arms. He'd been aroused for some time, and was careful to hold her so
that she didn't press against his erection. He walked
to the bedroom and used a foot to shove the door open. He carried her
through. When he set her on the bed, he knelt beside it. He
kissed her mouth once, and then returned to licking and sucking her breast.
Sylvia knew she should say something when he picked her up, but she was too
busy holding on. Besides, what she really wanted
was for his hand to resume stroking her. Soon it did, and his mouth returned
to her breast. The bed, although frightening, was also
more comfortable. She could move as much as she wanted to without pressing
against his hard arm.
Greg thought that Sylvia was ahead of him in terms of clothes. He used his
mouth and left hand to keep her aroused, while his right
hand unbuttoned his shirt. He stroked his left hand down to her knee,
abandoned her to release two cuffs and toss the shirt behind
him. He took another two minutes stroking her thigh through the pantyhose
and playing with her ear with his right hand before he
stopped to tear off his t-shirt. The loafers didn't need any hands at all.
When he bent over her to kiss the breast he had been
neglecting, he felt the wet nipple of the other breast against his skin.
Sylvia felt aroused, but confused. She was staring up at a ceiling dimly lit
from two other rooms. She felt bare skin pressing into her
bare skin. Wasn't that awfully far along? Yet the kisses were welcome, the
feelings in her crotch were delightful. It seemed weird to
accept these and question mere touching. Then he was kissing her mouth
again. Then he was whispering to her.
"Sylvia, beautiful Sylvia, delightful Sylvia, raise your hips a little."
When she did, Greg drew her skirt down and off. As it was passing over her
feet, he grabbed her shoes, as well. He turned to lay
the skirt across a chair, and put the shoes safely under it. He could treat
his own clothes as cavalierly as he wished; messing up her
clothes might poison her entire memory of the evening. He returned to her
mouth. After a moment, he stroked her leg upward from
the knee.
When he reached her mound, he pressed that and relieved the pressure
rhythmically. He wasn't being rough, but he used more
pressure than he had on her labia, more -- even -- than he had on her leg.
He went back to sucking her nipple, and let his fingers
stray down to her labia.
Sylvia felt her nakedness more now that the skirt was gone. It certainly
hadn't hampered his hand, but she felt more exposed. That
exposure, however, added to her arousal. And the kisses were still sweet.
Indeed, she wished that he would be more direct on her
clit.
Greg was burning with desire, but he had only one hand for his own clothes.
He got his right sock off easily; the left one defeated
him in this position. He loosened the belt and dropped his trousers down to
knee level. He raised himself to kiss her mouth, using
the opportunity to get his right leg out of the trousers. He stood up again
with both hands on the edge of her pantyhose.
"Darling Sylvia, raise your hips again." He started to draw down the
pantyhose, but the panties rode down. He grabbed them, as
well. When he turned back from dumping her underwear on top of her skirt, he
saw Sylvia in all her nakedness. The hair on her
mound was beginning to rise from the compression that her panties had
caused. Lovely ringlets. Her thighs were white, smooth as
silk, calling his hand. They were parted enough that he could see a tiny red
line glistening between her labia. His cock jumped when
he saw that, breaking out through the fly of his boxers. He knelt back
immediately.
Sylvia found her full nakedness as arousing as it was frightening. Nobody
since Aaron had seen all of her. She closed her eyes as
the panties left her hips, but the air on her skin told her that she was
bare. Like this, she couldn't know what Greg would do  She
opened her eyes to see hie face just before he kissed her again. She was
bare to his hand, but only felt his mouth.
Greg peeled the trousers and sock off his left leg. Then he stroked his left
hand from her knee to her mound. His finger stroked the
moistness. When she shuddered, he thought, "She's ready, but I'm
overdressed." The boxers proved too much for his lone right
hand. He searched under the mattress for the condom. With it in his right
palm, he managed to extricate himself from the boxers.
Then he rolled on the contraceptive. He applied a little of the extra jelly
to her slit. Then he stroked upward to the clitoris itself.
Sylvia felt something chilly-but-smooth against her lips.. They were being
stroked again. It felt heavenly. Then, it felt better. He got
the spot, and he got the rhythm right, too. She began to drift towards her
climax.
When Greg saw her accept his strokes, he rose again. He continued stroking
as he climbed onto the bed and between her knees.
With his right hand on her breast, and his left spreading her labia, he
stopped just outside the sweet entry. He looked into her
closed eyes and spoke.
"Sylvia, darling Sylvia, look at me. Say 'yes,' sweetheart. Say 'yes.'"
Sylvia opened her eyes to see him staring into her eyes. She felt him
between her thighs. "Yes," she said. She had no real choice.
She felt his fingers spread her lips, then something cooler and smoother
enter her. Where nothing but Tampax had gone before, it
spread her and filled her in the way no Tampax could. The sensations were
exciting, and so was the idea. He was filling her,
possessing her.
Greg felt the tightness of her entryway against the head of his phallus. He
pressed forward slowly. It spread around him, gripping
him tightly but offering no resistance. "Between tampons and gymnastics,
girls don't keep hymens very long," he thought.  He was
sure that he was deflowering a virgin, however little resistance he felt
inside her. The idea was even more exciting than the smooth
grip she provided along his entire phallus. When he felt his groin press
against hers, he reached back his left hand to raise
her knee higher against his hip. Placing his left hand on her breast and his
left elbow beside her to support his weight, he reached
back with his right hand to lift that knee. He felt himself sinking
microscopically deeper into her.
"Lovely woman," he said. Must remember not to call her a girl. In a decade,
she'd be glad to be called a girl. Now, she was newly
a woman. "So sweet." He bent down and kissed her lips. "So soft." He moved
both thumbs, not enough to rub against her nipples,
just enough to move them. "So warm. Lovely woman." He began to move within
her, the sensation from  the slippery clasp around
his phallus almost driving him to speed up too soon.
Sylvia heard his compliments, felt his hands on her breasts, then felt his
motions deep within her. The motions created a new sort of
arousal. His motions were so slow that she started moving to increase the
sensations. If many of the sensations were new, she also
felt the tension which presaged her approaching climax. She raised her hands
to grip his arms.
Greg was beyond words, now. He tried to keep himself moving slowly through
her tight, warm, slick tunnel. When he was fully
inside, he moved from side to side to rub the base of his phallus against
the top of her vagina. He hoped to stimulate her clitoris that
way. As she gripped his arms and moved under him, he felt himself losing
control. But only when she clasped around his phallus
rhythmically did he let go. He drove into and out of her in increasing
speed.
Sylvia was luxuriating in the sensations coming from the piston moving deep
within her when her climax -- which she had felt
approaching for some time -- surprised her with its arrival. She clutched
her hands on his arms as she clutched him deeply within
her. She arched into his driving thrust and writhed as he moved back. She
heard herself moan.
"Oh, darling," Greg said. "Oh sweet." He drove in and out of her clutching
warmth. Then he thrust himself against her and felt his
whole being poured deep into her. He held himself rigid above her for
another second, then collapsed onto her soft body.
Sylvia held him while she heard his gasps near her ear. Some time later, she
realized that she was gasping as well.
"Am I too heav?" Greg asked.
"I think so."
He pulled out, reaching between them to hold the rubber around his shrinking
penis. When he had fallen onto his side, he hugged
her with his right hand on her far shoulder. He kissed her near shoulder
every once in a while.
Sylvia felt comforted by the hug, romantically pleased by the occasional
kisses and the contact of so much skin with skin. Then she
felt exposed to be lying naked on top of the bed.
"I shall return," Greg said, "with wine." He rolled off the bed and went
immediately into the bathroom. He wrapped the condom in
toilet paper and buried it in the waste basket. He used the facilities,
washed his cock before his hands, and left the light on but the
door nearly closed. They didn't need much light in the bedroom, but Sylvia
would probably welcome knowing where the bathroom
was sometime soon.
When he passed through the bedroom, he saw that she had pulled the sheet up
over her.
As soon as Greg left the bed, Sylvia felt extremely exposed. She was
terribly embarrassed by her nakedness, a little embarrassed
by his. When the bathroom door closed, she moved down to the bottom of the
bed where her feet had felt some folds. She brought
the top sheet up to cover her to the neck. She lay there wondering if she
should get dressed. The idea of his watching her dress,
somehow greater exposure than seeing her naked, prevented her. She hid under
the sheet, feeling it against her skin instead of the
nightie she wore in her own bed. The past hour, which had been pleasurably
exciting while it happened, started to seem dreadful.
She had loved Aaron. She had reminded herself for more than a year that she
shouldn't give any boy she didn't love what she had
refused Aaron whom she had. Now, Greg had taken that. She shouldn't lie to
herself. She had given that to Greg; she had said
'yes.'
When Greg passed through the room into the living room, she saw his
nakedness with his cock waving at his groin. She felt herself
blush. She had handled Aaron's cock, but never seen it across the room. She
shouldn't blush about that sight after what she had
done. And she hadn't known what to do. She had been an inexperienced virgin,
certain that when she had experience, she'd know
all about it. Now, she had the experience, and she still knew nothing about
it. He probably felt that she was a dry stick.  He
was treating her casually enough. And what if she got pregnant?
Greg turned off the music and light in the living room. He came back
carrying the bottle in his left hand, and the glasses in his right.
She still had the sheet up to her neck. He set everything down on the night
stand on her side.
"Should have been champagne," he said. "Can't drink lying like that. Would
you be more comfortable wearing this?" He picked his
own shirt off the floor and draped it over the sheet. She would probably be
more comfortable with him in the boxers, too. He
turned his back to pick them off the top of the stack and put them on
slowly.
As soon as he had turned, Sylvia grabbed the shirt and put it on. for some
reason, the buttons gave her great trouble, but she was
decent, and under the covers again when he turned around.
"As I said, it should have been champagne." He picked up his glass and went
around the bed. Setting it down on that night stand, he
climbed in. He was careful to keep his distance from her. He sat with his
back against the headboard and sipped from his glass.
"Drink up. You know I'm not going to take advantage of your inebriation, and
this is a night to celebrate. It was your first, wasn't
it?"
"Was I that clumsy?" She was certain she had been, but he didn't have to
announce his disappointment. She had thought him a kind
man if a bit devious.
"Clumsy? Oh no. Dear girl, you were delightful. Still are delightful even
though my desire is less. That's because it was sated, not
because you are less desirable." All that about his desire was a great
exaggeration, but probably necessary. She didn't look like she
wanted to repeat the activity just now.
"Now, my feelings are grateful memory and a sense of having been honored.
You allowed me to share a turning point in your life."
"Well, I hadn't really planned this." Still it sounded better to have
honored him than to have been a total klutz.
"No," Greg thought it would be gauche to say that he had. "And, when you
said 'yes,' you were a bit   hmm -- distracted. But there
were times you could have said 'no.' You have said 'no,' I'll wager, at
similar times in the past. And you didn't. I feel honored. Sit
up. You're covered. Drink; it doesn't have to be more than the remains of
the half glass if you still want that to be the limit. But this
is an event to celebrate."
She sat up and took the glass. In fact, she was thirsty. He reached his
glass over, and she clinked hers against it. She felt better. If
she'd gone further than she had intended, at least she hadn't done so
clumsily. And probably she hadn't gotten pregnant.
"Girls don't get pregnant the first time do they?"
"Not when they use this." Greg felt under this side of the mattress. It was
easier to find when he was less desperate and maddened
by lust. He handed her a wrapped condom. "I used another one of these. The
wrapper is somewhere over there on the floor.
Sorry. I thought disposing of the used one was a concession to your
modesty."
Actually, it had been. She'd have blushed purple to see it. "A teacher told
me that if a girl knew a boy well enough to go to bed with
him, she knew him well enough to discuss contraception first."
"A good rule. Mine is that if the lady in question hasn't convinced me that
she has taken care of the responsibility, then the
responsibility is mine." This night had hardly been a time he was ready to
discuss contraception first.
That worry dissipated, convinced that he didn't express dissatisfaction with
her -- if less convinced that he hadn't been dissatisfied,
she relaxed and drained her glass. She poured herself more. He'd said it was
a celebration, and treating it as a celebration was
better than crying over it.
"The first time for anyone is a major event," Greg said. "Maybe a bit more
major for women, but mine certainly felt major. Top up
my glass, and I'll tell you about it." He wanted her to sleep beside him
this night. Being Friday, and her living alone, she could. On
the other hand, this was too early for going to sleep. The longer she
stayed, the more reasonable spending the night would look to
her.


And this is the story he told:


Greg was elated. He'd taken  Deb's roommate, Janet, on a date to the movies.
Enough of his friends had  seen them there that the
entire school would know that he'd had a date with a college woman! And,
now,  she raised no objections when he pulled of the
road into a private spot. He'd get to make out with an adult  woman.
Janet would never have gone on a date with a high-school boy at home.
Visiting Deborah's family over  Christmas break, however,
incurred a debt. Her parents were preparing for a divorce, and she did not
want  to go home. On the other hand, she had no
reputation in this town; so she was losing none. And she was  repaying not
only Deborah but her family by dating her brother.
Deborah said that he "had a few rough  edges." None had been obvious, but
what conversation did you expect in a movie. And she
had enjoyed "Same Time Next Year,"  not ever having seen it before. She'd
expected the parking; she knew what "date" meant.
Above  the waist, fine; below the waist, no. That was serious, and she
didn't feel serious about Deborah's little  brother.
Greg learned that Janet could really kiss. But it was the breasts he wanted
-- the breasts of a real woman --  preferably the naked
breasts of a real woman.
Janet was learning about the brother's rough edges. His kiss was insistent.
Tongues were fine, but a better  lover worked up to
them. She'd been willing for him to unbutton her coat and blouse, but she
had expected  him to earn it. Deborah's brother went for
the buttons much too soon. Even so, she owed Deborah. When  her brother
fumbled at her back, she leaned forward to let him
reach the bra straps.
Greg was in heaven. He was about to fondle the bare breasts of a real
college woman. When the bra came loose,  he dug his left
hand under the near cup. Nipple!
Janet had had enough. That hurt. She grabbed his wrist with both hands.
"For the love of God, Greg. Those are sensitive. You know, those aren't the
most sensitive parts of a girl. If  you treat them like
that, it's a wonder your girlfriends let you into the parts that are even
more sensitive."
Greg blushed. Then he turned white. She would complain to  Deb! Deb would
razz him. She'd guess that he  struck out with all his
dates, even if Janet hadn't.
Janet saw him turn pale. God! He hadn't. He must have. He was on the
football team, after all, even if he  was no sort of star; he
drove his own car. But, clearly, he hadn't.  Poor boy. She'd hurt him to the
quick,  although she owed his family  Besides, being a
teacher had its own appeal. She'd been taught at about his  age.
"Poor guy. They don't, do they?" He shook his head, reached for the key.
"Wait. Will you do what I tell  you?"
"Anything, if you don't tell Deb."
"Neither of us is going to tell Deb. We saw a movie; that's it. Now, fold
your hands in your lap. Lean over  towards me." She took
his face in her hands and kissed his lips. When she licked them, he opened
his  mouth eagerly. She drew back. "Not so fast. Do
what I did. You can hold my face, but don't use force."
Greg was being kissed rather than being ratted out. He followed directions.
The feel of her cheeks was nice,  even if it didn't
compensate for the feel of her breast. The kiss was sweet, erotic if not a
conquest. When he  licked her lips, they tasted of popcorn
and lipstick.
"Again. More gently." The guy was learning fast. The kiss was beginning to
provide an erotic frisson.   Maybe not; maybe being the
instructress provided the charge. She buttoned up her blouse. The bra would
be too much trouble. She opened her lips the third
time he licked them. She opened her teeth only enough to  let the tip of his
tongue in, but she let the tip of her tongue touch it. "Isn't
that more erotic than playing  tonsil hockey?" she asked after she'd drawn
back.
Greg was far from certain of that. On the other hand, he was getting a
charge both from the kisses and from  being in her hands.
And ten more minutes of kissing meant that they would get home late enough
that Deb  wouldn't know that he'd struck out.
"During this kiss," Janet said, "unbutton one of my buttons." He did. "Like
what you see?" she asked when she leaned a little back.
"Oh, yes. You're a pretty girl. I like all that I see." Though he'd like to
see more.
"Then why don't you show your appreciation by kissing the skin that has been
revealed?" God! She had to  tell him every little thing.
"Gently," she added before his lips touched her skin. And he was gentle.
Rough  edges, for sure; but he could learn. For that matter,
the kiss began to feel good. She tipped his chin up for  another kiss on her
lips. She brought his hands up to the next button.
Greg was hard as a rock. With his lips an inch from her breast, he could
smell her perfume. It was, somehow, an adult perfume. He
kissed her again, touched tongues again, opened another button. This time,
he was kissing a breast. He licked it -- gently.
Janet was getting turned on. The kid might be young, but he could learn, The
tongue against her breast was arousing, and his own
idea. They repeated the mouth kiss, button, kiss on her breast twice more
silently.  He'd learned that lesson. She held his head on
the next kiss with her left hand while her right hand finished  the
unbuttoning. She raised the bra to neck level.
"Janet!" he said when he could see her. His hand went to her breast.
"Gently."
"Of course. You're beautiful." He cupped his hand under her breast and
approached the tip reverently. He  took a good look at the
nipple before his mouth touched it. He kissed it gently, licked it lightly,
took it into  his mouth.
"We should really have gone more slowly," she said. She was, after all,
teaching this kid. "But you can suck  it if you can manage
gentle sucking."
He managed gentle sucking. It was the peak erotic experience of his life.
When he shifted his hand to hold,  simply support, the
other breast, she put her hands on the back of his head. It was wonderful.
He suddenly  came in his pants. He blushed, but she was
still holding his head against her. Finally, she spoke.
"I'm getting cold. Can we stop?"
There never was a question whether he would obey her. He pulled back and
zipped up his coat.He waited while she did the more
serious restoration to her own clothing.
"Another kiss," she said. They kissed with her mouth closed. "You're a fast
learner. If we had a place to go,  I think I'd take your
lessons further. But don't worry. You're a sweet kisser and a football
player. Some girl  in your class will let you go as far as you
want to, as long as you're gentle with her."
She meant it. The  experience had been arousing. Teaching was fun. Maybe
she'd visit again sometime when the weather
encouraged more liberties.
Greg heard only the promise. What he needed was somewhere warm and private.
He didn't have any chance; his only privacy was
in his car -- hardly warm enough and cramped even for petting. He had no
privacy at home. He could keep his parents out of his
room, but he could hardly invite his sister's roommate  in. He couldn't even
have a girlfriend in his room with the door open. Still, he
thought as he drove home,  this was the best date he had ever had. Even
though he'd have to conceal his jism-soaked
pants, it had been his finest night. He should probably be nicer to Deb this
Christmas. She was Janet's friend after all. Janet  must
know what she was talking about. If he couldn't find a time and space to go
further with her, he'd find  a new girlfriend and try
gentleness with her. He wouldn't find any warm privacy for the new
girlfriend in  January either, but maybe he could bring her along
slowly until they were both looking for the place.

"Your brother isn't stupid," Janet told Deborah in the privacy of their room
-- well, Deborah's room.
"I didn't say he was stupid, just that he had some rough edges. Did you
enjoy your date?"
"Very much." And she went on to tell Deborah about "Same time Next Year."
This was understood etween them as a  hint that she
didn't want to talk about the parking afterward. Deborah accepted that.
Talking about a date  was one thing; talking about a date
with her brother was something else again.
Greg was trying to be nice to the entire family. Family fights must look
juvenile to Janet, and he owed Deb  -- his number-one
enemy in the family. When his mother wheedled him to go on the visit to Aunt
Jennifer  this year -- he'd skipped the last two -- he
almost agreed. Then a light dawned.
"Sorry, Mom, I promised the guys on the team I'd do some things with them."
Janet wouldn't possibly be  interested in a visit to a
nursing home to see a relative of her roommate.
He managed to get Janet where they couldn't be overheard. He was steadying
the stepladder while she was  hanging the highest
decorations on the tree.
"Beg off the trip to see Aunt Jennifer if you are asked. I'll be out of the
house when they leave, but I'll come right back."
"And then?"
"Then, you'll continue my lessons.": He held his breath. She had promised,
but he couldn't force her if she  had changed her mind.
Janet took a deep breath. The first lessons had been exciting. Being the
teacher was really a turn-on. Still. . .  . But she would be a
good teacher. "And if Deborah stays home?"
"She won't. Please!"
"Don't beg. It's not masculine." Now she was being the teacher already. And
she had packed her diaphragm.  But that was bad
teaching. "If Deborah or somebody else interferes, it's all off. No begging.
And you have  to provide condoms."His puzzled look
made her correct  her vocabulary:   "rubbers."
The word gave Greg an instant hard-on. It meant that she would go through
with it.
The hundred things which could have gone wrong didn't. the drugstore clerk
didn't call the cops; he didn't  even blink. Deborah
didn't beg off so she could be with her guest. She didn't even comment on
his  showering and shaving in preparation for a night with
the team. When he got home, Janet was waiting in  the living room of an
otherwise empty house.
"Do you have the contraceptives?" she asked. She'd inserted her diaphragm.
Teaching him that he had to  provide contraception
was one thing; risking pregnancy on his using them right was another.
"They're upstairs."
"Well, starting in your room is a bad lesson. You should spend at least an
hour with the girl being social  and another half hour
petting before you even invite her up." His face fell. "On the other hand,
we might not  have all that much time. Rushing sex is a
greater evil. Lead the way."
He led her up to his room.
"Well, you cleaned it up. Good for you! I've had sex in some raunchy places;
but neater is more pleasant,  and making it as neat as
possible shows consideration for your date. Now show me." He got the box of
condoms out. "Take one packet out, but don't
open it yet. Put it where you can reach it from the bed."
She looked receptive to a kiss. Greg didn't have to be told about that. He
walked over, tilted her head up,  and kissed her mouth
gently. When she put her arms around his waist, he held her by the
shoulders. When  he thought he'd put enough time into the kiss,
he licked her lips. She opened them, and their tongues  touched. He backed
off. Maybe it was just the expectation of getting laid
for the first time, but. . . .
"That way does seem sexier."
"It is sexier. They say that 'rape isn't about sex; it's about power.' The
closer screwing is to rape, the less  sexy it is. You think I'm
here to lay you. Surprise! I'm here to see if you can seduce me."
That was an unpleasant surprise. Given the choice, however, he'd try to
seduce her. He drew her close  again. Instead of
cooperating in the kiss, she scattered kisses over his face.
"Did you like that?" she asked. "Want to try that with me?"
Kissing the rest of the face was what you did when you weren't accepted
enough to get a mouth kiss, but  she was the teacher. He
kissed over her face, finally landing on her ear.
"Ooh," she said, "that was sexy." And it had been. This boy could, with a
little teaching, learn to seduce  her. "Let's sit down." They
sat on the bed. He hugged her and resumed the kiss on the mouth. Their
tongues  met freely. He opened one button and bent to
kiss the skin revealed. She'd left enough unbuttoned that he  reached
cleavage with his first kiss. Nevertheless, he followed his lesson
until the blouse opened to show all  her bra. She held him in the next kiss.
He was bright enough to finish unbuttoning the blouse.
"Appreciate the outside of the bra," she directed. "Don't start removing it
until you've fondled and kissed  through it. While he
followed her directions, she kicked off her shoes. When he finally reached
to unsnap  her bra, she pulled her shoulders back to
cooperate. "Take them off," she said. He helped her off with her  blouse and
lifted the bra strap from her shoulder. She lay back,
pushing at her socks with the opposite feet.
He lay down beside her. She looked down his length.
"Oops,' she said. "You have to get your shoes off." As he sat up to do so,
she went on, "If you're going to go all the way, you're
going to need to be naked. It's much better that way. And shoes are one of
the worst  problems. Invest in some loafers. Take them
off with your feet while your hands are doing something more  important.
You've spent hours imagining what your prick will be
doing; that's the least of your worries.  Plan out what your hands will be
doing, and what they shouldn't be bothered with."
He wasn't happy with her teacherly tone. When he lay down beside her,
however, she went back to kissing.  Soon she was guiding
his mouth to her breast.
"Yes," she said. "Both of them. Gently!" The last direction wasn't really
necessary yet, but she was a little afraid of his enthusiasm.
She was starting to be aroused by his attention. She unbuttoned his shirt;
that was only fair. Soon, they were lying sideways,
pressed skin to skin while they kissed. He remembered to kiss around to her
ear, exciting her more. His erection pressed against
her belly through layers of cloth.   When his hands went to her belt, she
pulled his head back to her breast. He kissed her
willingly, although not taking the time on the trip down to her nipple the
way a more skilled lover would. She was in eager enough a
mood that she welcomed his directness. He pulled her jeans down, and then
her panties. She worked both off with her feet. He put
his hand between her legs. She should tell him to take his time, but -- by
this time - - she was aroused enough to welcome the hand.
He fumbled around her genitals, delaying the gratification she sought.
Greg had never got this far. She'd said that she was more delicate between
her legs than on her breasts. He tried to be gentle, but
the first contact with her moisture almost unhinged him. His cock jumped in
the trousers which had already been too tight against it.
He parted her lips and stroked there. After a minute, he parted her inner
lips. Stroking there supplied much more moisture. He
stroked upward until his finger passed over a tiny bump. She seemed to
flinch.
"Yes," she said, "but gently." He was there, and she was getting there. He
stroked the length of her labia each time beginning by
gathering moisture and ending by stroking over her clit. "Yes," she said
again, She was getting too deep into her own feelings to do
the teacher bit any more.
Greg lay back down to suck her nipple while still stroking her slit. She
gave him no more instructions for  what seemed the longest
time. Her hips were rising and falling, though. He must be affecting her in
some way.
"It's time to put on the condom," Janet said. She really wanted it now, was
afraid that she was going too deep into her own feelings
to keep control of her voice -- much less direct him.
Greg rolled away to fumble off his jeans and shorts. He had to reach across
her to get the packet, and then it took forever to tear it
open. He rolled it on and turned towards her.
Janet had cooled off without the boy to provide stimulation. "Kiss me
again," she said, holding her breast out towards him. He
sucked her nipple again. His hand returned to her clit without any
prompting. She lay there returning to her arousal. She was close;
there was something she should do first.
"Janet," he said, "I have to." He was about to explode into the rubber.
"Okay." That was what she should do first. She spread her legs. He got over
her left one and knelt between  them. She grabbed
him by the hips, holding him back. He rested one arm to her right while he
put himself a  bit into her with his other hand.
Greg could feel her lips around the tip of his cock. She was holding him
back. Then she let him come forward and into the glory of
her cunt. Through the rubber, he could feel the tightness hold his tip, the
bulb of his cock, the shaft, further and further down the
shaft.
"Yes," she said. She could feel him gliding into her, filling her. "Come all
the way inside." Being filled was  good, but the pressure of
his delta against her clit was better. She rolled slightly from side to side
to rub it against the base of his prick.
Greg was in heaven. In Janet's cunt, which was heaven by itself, but her
motion was the most arousing  thing he'd ever felt. He
couldn't keep still for long, though. He moved back and then in again.
"Slowly," Janet managed to say. The slippery motion of his prick entering
and leaving her sent her arousal spiraling upward.
"I love you!" And he did. He loved everything about her, though her cunt was
far at the top of the list. He tried to slow down, but
he couldn't. Every time he ground deep into her he had to draw back. Every
time he felt his bulb at her entryway, he was driven to
bury his cock in her again. If there had been space, he'd have crawled in
after it.
Janet hadn't the attention to pay to the rest of Greg, let alone the bed or
the room. All she felt was the sensation of his prick sliding
into her and out of her faster and faster. Her hips were meeting its every
thrust. She felt her climax rushing toward her.
Greg felt himself driving into and out of her while his desire peaked and
his muscles clenched. Then he drove into her without
backing up. He pulsed. The pulsation was centered in his cock, but every
organ had the same beat. Everything poured out of his
cock, until he thought his heart would go there. He poised rigid above her,
only touching where it mattered.
Janet felt him pulse deep within her. Then her body answered. She spasmed,
spasmed again and again. She soared. She came back
to earth with Greg's body a limp weight pressing her into the mattress. She
pushed at his shoulder.
"Sorry," Greg said before rolling off her. He lay on his back. "Whew!"
"Enjoy your first time?"
"More than I can say. You are wonderful." Saying that much was, as a matter
of fact, an effort. He felt as though he'd played the full
four quarters, not against hie usual opponents, but against Notre Dame.
"How long do we have?" Janet was recovering quickly. This had been fun, but
she didn't want to get caught.
Greg struggled up to look at his bedside alarm clock. "They won't even have
started home yet, and they'll take an hour."
"Okay. I want to shower before Deborah gets home. I don't want her to smell
what we've done. "Now, you were great. I have a
steady, and he doesn't take me any higher on his best days." She might have
been exaggerating a tiny bit, but Greg had been great.
"It's like you made the touchdown. No, what position do you play?"
"Right guard."
"You've made the tackle that won the game. The next practice, the coach
doesn't say, 'Greg knows  everything about playing his
position; he doesn't need to practice.' Well, you did great. You have
tremendous talent, and for something more important than
football. That doesn't mean that there aren't things you can work on.
Especially, you might be dealing with a girl who hasn't decided
to go to bed with you as firmly as I had.
"Yeah, I know, you held back, took your time, were gentle. But you'd do
better to hold back more, be gentler. The face, the lips,
the ear, the neck -- you didn't really get to the neck -- are all different
phases. You can go back some, but they each deserve their
time. Each breast and, separately, each nipple, is a different phase. You
need to kiss the breast thoroughly before heading towards
the nipple. The thighs, the lips, the clit, is each a phase in itself."
"Is every girl I date going to want that?"
"Maybe, maybe not. Girls who want you to go faster have ways of letting you
know. And, if they don't, what have you lost? If
you're stroking the inside of the thighs of a girl who wants you to get to
the clit, she isn't about to get dressed and go.
"Another thing we skipped is the entire dating part. Not every girl who
dates you will kiss you in your car. Not every girl who
kisses you will pet with you. Not every girl who welcomes you inside her
blouse will welcome you under her skirt. Not every girl
who lets your finger into her panties will let you prick into her snatch.
You have a reputation, don't you?"
"Yeah." And he wasn't fond of it.
"Well your reputation here can change, not overnight, not all the way; but
it can change. And you're going to college in September.
That will be a whole new reputation. A girl is unlikely to say, 'he got me
off when I let him finger me in my panties.' On the other
hand, she's likely to say that you were a good date. Bad reputations travel
faster and are more specific. 'He was rough. He was an
octopus. He tried to pressure me.' That all can hurt you through the entire
school.
"After all, guys have one advantage over girls. They ask for dates. If you
have five dates with a girl, and you aren't making progress
with her, you can ask another girl for a date. If every girl you leave
wishes you hadn't, you'll always have girls saying 'yes.'
Ultimately, you'll having girls saying 'yes' to everything you want."
"You're so good to me."
"Well, a guy was good to me. We still have time, I'll tell you about my
first time."


And this is the story she told:


Jan was excited to be back at the antique store. Not only would she need the
money for college expenses in the fall, but she had a
great boss. Cindy, who worked at the supermarket for crabby Mrs. Jonas,
claimed that Jan didn't deserve to be paid, "with a boss
who looks like that, you should work for nothing." And Mr. Fisher had a
personality as pleasant as his looks.
"Well, Janet, we've got to get ready for the summer." Dan Fisher was
relieved that Janet had come back for a second year. Some
graduates took their last summer of freedom, and he'd been worried that she
would join that group. His antique shop made enough
profit to pay rent on the building for nine months of the year. The summer
people tripled his business, earning him a good  living. He
didn't want to train someone new in June, and Janet had been much better
than the two assistants he'd had in his first year running
the business.  But he really valued Janet's presence even more than her work
justified.
Locals bought different things than the tourists did, and they spent the
next three hours carrying local goods upstairs to the storage
room he'd made out of an unused bedroom in the owner's apartment. They
carried summer goods back down on the return trips.
Dan enjoyed walking upstairs behind Janet. He watched her hips clench as she
climbed. He hoped that she didn't notice. He should
have done the carrying himself, but she neither complained nor looked tired.
"Break!" he said after they'd stored an especially heavy chair which had
taken the two of them. "We can leave the other furniture
down there. Summer people don't object to seeing it; they just won't buy
it."
"You want to start on arranging the display space?"
"The energy of youth! I want to have a glass of lemonade and sit in the
kitchen for ten minutes. Join me?"
"Please." Jan had never been in Mr. Fisher's actual apartment. The storage
room didn't count. He opened the door into a living
room and led her across it to the kitchen. He took a pitcher out of the
refrigerator and poured them each a glass. "Delicious," she
said. This glass gave her much more pleasure than she had ever had from a
glass of lemonade before. She was more excited than
she'd ever been by a beer or a glass of spiked punch. Her only regret was
that she was wearing jeans and an old blouse -- fit for
the dirty work, but not for being entertained in the home of  the most
sophisticated man in town.
"Out of a can. One person living alone tends to let lemons spoil if he buys
them. So, tell me. How was your year?"
"I did all right."
"Which means all 'A's when you say it."
"I got some 'B's." Trig had been a bitch. Still, "State accepted me."
"And your social life? Have you chosen a young man yet?"
"It's a choice among octopuses." She could never admit to him that part of
the problem was comparing callow boys to his
sophistication.
"You can do better in college. Not that there aren't octopi in college." Jan
noted the subtle correction. Her English teacher would
have made a big deal about it. Her social-studies teacher wouldn't have
known. Mr. Fisher was not only smart, he was kind. "As a
male," he went on, "I can't really blame those boys. You are a lovely girl."
"But you don't grab." Not that she would have been in any hurry to push him
away. There had been days when she was tempted to
do the grabbing.
"I may not grab, but that doesn't mean I'm not tempted." He might not grab,
but he knew he was entering risky territory here. But
Janet was more than lovely, she exuded youthful femininity. The nine months
of her absence had only made his silent infatuation
worse.
"A handsome, adult, man like you must have real women falling at your feet.
Don't tell me that you notice a girl like me." She hoped
she didn't sound jealous, though she knew she was a bit jealous. Maybe more
than a bit. She'd seen some of the summer women
flirting with him. And he'd flirted right back.
"Okay. I'll try to keep it a secret. I think I was successful last year. But
don't say that you aren't a real  woman. Young, yes. But
when did 'old' become desirable? One reason that it is silly of me to talk
like this, one reason of scores," -- he thought he was
probably talking to himself more than to her -- "is that you probably put me
in the same age bracket as your principal." Who looked
to Dan to be in the same age bracket as Dan's father.
"You're not old."
"I'll take that as a compliment. Well, I'm old enough to be able to tell
that this conversation is getting me in hot water. Let's go down
and arrange the showroom. We'll see tourists coming in next week." He led
her out into the living room and toward the stairs.
Jan resisted making an offer to wash the glasses. Considering that he was
paying for her time, it wouldn't be all that generous an
offer. It would be, in fact, a selfish offer. She thought she'd been a
little bit into his life for the break. She'd like to be further into his
life. The conversation had been both intimate and complimentary. And, now,
they'd go back to discussing what people saw as they
wandered around the shop. Mr. Fisher arranged the items so that every turn
revealed some new surprise. Well, her last turn to the
lemonade had revealed a real surprise. She wanted to see more. He was on the
first step down, down to the work-a-day world.
"Mr. Fisher?"
"Yes?" He turned to face her.
She kissed him. He might refuse her; he might fire her; he might even laugh
at her. But she wasn't going to go another winter wishing
she'd acted in the summer. She had given up wishing that he would act.
Dan was so surprised by the kiss, he almost fell backward. He held onto her
to keep his balance. Then he couldn't bring himself
either to let go or to end the kiss. He only moved back to catch his breath.
"Janet," he said. He was still holding her waist.
"Yes." and it was indeed 'yes.' The kiss had been surprisingly sweet. She
could feel her nipples burning in her bra. They were
pressed against his chest; maybe he could feel the heat. His hands were on
her waist, warming her there.
"You don't like octopi. I'm about to turn into one." Her sweet butt, a butt
he'd watched climb the stairs ahead of him for much of the
morning, was inches from his hands. She took  his right hand in both of
hers. Well, he'd learned to take a refusal; he should have
known that this desirable girl knew how to give a refusal. And he should
have known that she -- whatever compliments she paid her
boss -- had no interest in a fossil like him.
Jan took his hand and placed it where she wanted it, and where -- however
little he'd meant the compliment -- he'd said he wanted
to put it.  Her breast burned from the contact. Her face burned from her
shame.
"Oh, Janet." The breast was as soft, even through the bra, as he'd imagined
it. He kissed her again, his kiss -- not hers . Her lips
were sweet and warm. She opened her mouth when he licked them. When her
tongue met his, it was as if a spark flew. His left
hand dropped to her butt and cupped it. It was firm and sweet. His thumb
found her nipple through the blouse and bra. It
responded to him.
Jan was discovering that being caressed felt different from -- the opposite
of -- being grappled. She hugged Mr. Fisher's shoulders
to keep those feelings coming.
Dan abandoned Janet's mouth to kiss her jaw line in a path to her ear. He
tasted salt every time he kissed a new spot. He dropped
one foot down another step as he kissed down her throat. He tore his hand
from the glory of holding her breast to start unbuttoning
her blouse.
Jan grabbed Mr. Fisher's head as he moved away from her. Then, as kissed
down her neck, she only held it to the place he was
kissing. The path of kisses ran down her neck, across her chest, and into
the cleavage where the bra didn't cover her. Finally, she
felt the thrill of his kissing her nipple through the bra. Her only worry
was that it was an old, ratty, bra. She had much sexier ones
she would rather him see. She felt him pull the blouse out of her jeans and
his hands stroke up her back. Then the bra was
unsnapped. She pressed her lips against his hair, She breathed in his
masculine odor.
Dan caressed her sides on the way to her bare breasts. Then his mouth sucked
her nipple while his hands went back to her
adorable derriere. He tore his mouth away from the glory of her breast to
speak.
"Oh, Janet."
"Mr. Fisher." She was clutching his hair with both hands. What could she do
to give him the soaring pleasure he was giving her?
"Dan." He had talked enough. There was an entire breast he hadn't kissed at
all. He started in the cleavage and kissed a path
towards the nipple. Under the fresh sweat, he smelled the sweetness of a
young woman. His hands, almost without aid of his brain,
found first her belt buckle and then the side clasp and zipper of her jeans.
"Dan. Oh, yes, Dan!" If he would only keep kissing her, she would call him
anything he asked.
Dan tasted the nipple as he unzipped Janet's jeans. He sucked it while
stroking the jeans down, and then stroking his hands up her
naked thighs. They were so smooth, so warm. When his fingers reached her
panties, the crotch was moist. She was really
responding to him.
Jan could only hold his head against her as the feelings shot through her.
She wished that she could pull the delightful hands closer,
too; but that much effort was beyond her.
Dan cupped one cool, panties-clad, butt cheek with his left hand, while a
finger of his right hand stroked inside her panties. He
reached her moist warmth. So soft! He stroked the moisture up one lip until
it slid over the bump of her clit.
"Oh," Jan breathed. His touch was much softer than hers had ever been in
that place, and a thousand times as exciting. She grasped
his head tighter and let the sensations spiral through her.
Dan nursed on the sweet, young, breast as though he were her baby. All his
concentration was on the index finger of his right hand
as it stroked her towards completion. As long as she pulled him towards her
instead of pushing him away, he was a lover not a
rapist. The salt was gone from her skin; all he tasted was the blandness of
his own spit. He was beginning, however, to savor the
odor of her arousal. He stooped there unable to adjust his trousers around
his erection.
Jan soared with every twitch of his finger. The higher she went, the tighter
she felt. Pleasure, exquisite pleasure, gave way to fear.
Before she could state that fear, her body spasmed.
Dan felt her climax. He held her up by her clutching butt and continued
stroking. He heard her gasp for breath.
Jan had never come like this. It went on and on; she soared higher and
higher. She felt his continual sucking on her breast and his
continual tickling of her clit. Wave after wave crashed though her. She
couldn't stand it. It would have to stop Then, it did stop; She
collapsed . She dropped from a great height, but landed in Mr. Fisher's
arms.
When Janet collapsed against him, Dan almost fell down the stairs. Instead,
he lifted her on his shoulder, climbed the two last steps,
and carried her into the bedroom. Every step of the way, his terror grew.
Had that been rape? Sexual assault, certainly. He had
some defense in that she'd kissed him first, but even an acquittal would
ruin him. When he sat her on the bed, she dropped down
flat. He took off her shoes and socks before pulling her jeans over her
feet. While he had the opportunity, he took off his own shoes
and socks. He also stripped off shirt and t-shirt before he lay down beside
her.
The first thing Jan felt was her tennies being pulled off. She was lying in
a bed. Her jeans followed her tennies, but her panties didn't.
She also had blouse and bra tangled at the top. She managed to extract her
left arm from them. Mr Fisher lay down next to her --
and on the bra.
"Janet, lovely Janet," he said.
"Mr. Fisher, you were. . . "
"Dan."
"Dan, you were wonderful. You are wonderful, I mean, but you were wonderful
then."
"You enjoyed yourself?"
"Oh, yes." She would have said more, but he was kissing her. That was much
more important. When her tongue met his, she felt
something stir in her lower belly. Like an engine which turned over on its
last drop of gasoline, the feeling died back.
Dan was feeling much happier. Janet didn't sound like a despoiled minor. He
loved her, and apparently the feeling was at least
partially reciprocated. When he kissed her, she participated. And she was a
quite delightful armful. He stroked her warm, smooth,
breast while he kissed her some more. Then he turned her so that her breasts
were touching the skin of his chest.
Jan was recovering from the exhaustion of a minute ago. Now, she was
starting to feel aroused again. She began to complain when
he stopped the kiss. He was only moving to kiss down her neck, though, and
she knew where that path led. Her nipples hardened
in anticipation  She began to stroke his arm and shoulder.
Dan pushed her onto her back again as his kisses traveled down to her
breasts. He stroked ahead of his mouth, feeling all the
youth, smoothness, softness of her body. After loving both breasts, he
continued onward. Her only reaction was to draw in her
breath. His mouth reached her quivering belly as his hand reached the
elastic of her panties.
"May I?" he asked with both hands on the top of her panties.
"Oh, yes. . . yes Dan." She'd said his name, They were intimates. And he was
her chosen man. It was right for him to be the first to
see her naked.
"Help me." As she lifted her butt, he drew down the last veil over her
beauty. A heady sample of her aroma wafted up as the
waistband was freed. It left him dizzy as he pulled the panties down her
legs and over her feet. He came back up the bed between
her legs and stopped to kiss her thighs. He struggled with his own clothes
as he kissed towards that beckoning aroma.
Jan was spiraling upward again. She'd never experienced being kissed on the
thighs before. Boys had grabbed her there, but never
really caressed her there, much less kissed her there. As his kisses neared
her snatch, she blushed. He couldn't. He shouldn't. But
the kisses she was getting now were too lovely to stop. She reached down to
touch his head just as he reached her lips. After that
kiss, she dropped back down in the bed.
Dan reached up to spread her labia with his fingers. Then he went back to
undressing while he licked slowly upward between her
labia. The fourth stroke reached her clitoris. Under his mouth, she jerked.
'Yes," Jan sighed. She'd never felt like this. Even the exquisite sensations
which had led her to -- and through -- an orgasm minutes
ago had not felt like this. She wallowed in bliss.
Dan gave most of his attention to her young, flowing, pussy. With what
attention remained, he struggled out of  his trousers and
shorts. Then he stretched to open the drawer in the night table -- the
drawer which contained his Trojans. He scrabbled within for
what seemed like a century. He didn't want to abandon her beauty for the
necessary chore. If she came back to earth, would she
deny him? Finally, he found the box and opened it.
Just as he was extracting the ribbon of packets, Janet climaxed again. She
bucked under his mouth. He rested his right hand on her
mound. When he could return his mouth to her clitoris, he sucked it.
Jan was experiencing the second prolonged orgasm of her life, and the second
of this hour. The stimuli were new, the sensations
were unbearable. She was going out of her mind, but it was a wonderful way
to go. She couldn't control her motion; she just
flopped on the bed as the spasms ran through her. She moaned.
Dan finally tore one packet off the ribbon and threw the rest somewhere. He
was just rolling the Trojan down his throbbing cock
when he heard her moan. He moved up the bed to stare in her face as his
fingers spread her labia.
"Look at me." She opened her eyes. He seated the tip of his cock at her
entryway. "Is this what you want?"
Jan saw him above her as she felt him against her. She wanted him. She
nodded her head, too involved in her body to speak.
Dan pressed forward, felt her entryway clutch around him as she climaxed yet
again. As she relaxed, he thrust forward. There was
a brief resistance, then he was sliding inside the warm smoothness of her
delightful, young, tight, cunt. She may have winced, her
face was scowling all the time from her orgasmic state.
"At you all right?" he asked, holding himself fully within her clutching
warmth.  She nodded.
In truth, Jan was not all right. She was in agony, but she never wanted the
agony to end. The spasm felt different, complete, right,
with Dan filling her where she was contracting. Then he was moving in and
out, providing her with one more new sensation.
Dan had exhausted all his patience keeping still the moment it took her to
answer his question. He drew back and thrust into her
tightness once again. He tried to move slowly, but even that was beyond him.
He only stopped when she clamped her warm cunt
around him. And those sensations were exquisite. Soon, all too soon, he
drove into her harder than ever. He stayed there and
pulsed his seed, his very self, into her. After that, he collapsed onto her
softness.
Jan soared; she flew. One climax followed another without any relief. When
they ended, she felt Dan lying in her arms. He was so
heavy she struggled to breathe, but it was a dear weight. Only minutes
afterwards did she remember his prick throbbing within her
throbs.
"Am I too heavy?" Dan moved off her, knowing the answer. His cock, much
softer now, pulled out of the Trojan as he shifted.
"Stay near."
"Gladly." He reached down to extract the rest of the Trojan from her. He
tossed it over the side of the bed away from her. Then he
took her in his arms. "You look wonderful when I see you," he said, "but
it's much better to hold you."
"I like to be held." That didn't sound right.
"I'm glad."
"I like to be held by you."
"You are a delight!"
"It's not me. It's you. I've never felt like that when I do mys..." She had
admitted it! She buried her face in his neck to hide her
blush.
"Dear girl! You are so responsive. Did you expect me to believe that you had
never responded before?"
"Not like that!"
"But you have had practice. And I'm delighted that you have. . . . Because
that practice made you the responsive girl that you are.
And that responsiveness was not only your pleasure. It added to mine."
"How can anyone know as much as you do? About feelings, about the things you
sell, about pleasing  women?"
"I don't know so very much. I keep learning, as does almost every sensible
adult. They tell you that you're going to high school to
learn, implying that when you graduate you'll know all you need to. Then
they break it to you about college. Guess what? You
won't know everything when you graduate from college, either. Some things
you learn in classes; some things you learn from books;
some things people tell you; lots you learn from experience. My first
experience with a woman, not -- I'm afraid -- much of
an experience of pleasing a woman, was when I was younger than you. You're
eighteen?"
"Not yet."
"And I was half way through my sixteenth year. But you don't want to hear
about ancient history."
"I have no right to ask, but I want to learn about you." She could feel his
prick stir against her leg. It was still soft, but it felt like a
living thing. Would he do it again? She was sure she was too tired to try,
but the thought was also attractive. She blushed again.
"That's a dangerous thing to tell a man. We all like to talk about
ourselves. As I said, I was sixteen, and -- as you noticed in your
classmates back then, that means I was randy as hell. . . ."


And this is the story he told:


"Mrs. Fisher? This is Martha Jennings, Lance's mother. I'm about to invite
Danny over for supper. I wanted   you to know that it
was my invitation;  he isn't cadging a meal." Mrs. Fisher acknowledged the
issue. "Well,  I haven't made the invitation yet. Could
you put Danny on?"
Danny accepted. Two hours later, he showed up. She had dressed in a blouse
and skirt, a teaching suit without the jacket. She
wore no jewelry, not even earrings -- only  the wedding ring she'd worn
continually for more than seventeen years.
"Hello, Mrs. Jennings. Where's Lance?" It was a reasonable question. Mrs.
Jennings had always been nice to him, but she was nice
to all  of her son's friends.
"He's rehearsing that play. I know you didn't audition."
Katy had sneered at the play. Now, he knew that this was because Nancy was
certain to get the leading role. He hadn't had much
chance, anyway. "Mark and Audrey are gone, too." If her kids were gone, why
was he invited to dinner? "I heard about Katy."
"That's all right." What wasn't all right was that she'd heard about it. All
the kids were talking about her rejection of him. Half of
them knew that it was because he'd tried to get her into bed. The parents
couldn't know that, but he didn't want them talking about
him, too.
"Rejection is never all right. It always hurts. Come here." She opened out
her arms. Would he come to her or would he run away?
She'd started the pills again, which would be a terrible waste if he ran
away. Hell! She would be terribly wasted if he ran away. Her
planning was partly charity, but partly desire. She missed Larry.
Danny came, reluctantly into her arms. She folded them around him. her hug
pressed her breasts against his chest. She was an old
woman, Lance's mother for God's sake; but he still got a hardon. He twisted
so it wouldn't be pressing into her leg.
"It's all right," she said. "That's a natural reaction. I don't reject you
because you have an erection."
His ears burned. He tried to twist away, but she was stronger than an old
woman had the right to be. Twisting rubbed his cock
against her, and it grew stiffer.
"I'm. . . ." He couldn't finish the thought.
"You're a nice boy. A teenage boy who acts and reacts like a teenage boy.
Why be ashamed of that? Do you want to sit down?"
He nodded. they sat at opposite ends of the long sofa facing each other.
Danny crossed his legs, trying to hide his hardon. He
couldn't think of a thing to say. He'd never said much to Mrs. Jennings --
let alone talked to her while trying to hide a hardon. She
didn't seem to have trouble finding words, although he couldn't see what she
was getting at when she began.
"When two people have a disagreement, we naturally think that one of them
right and the other wrong. That's often a mistake.
Sometimes both are wrong; sometimes, which is harder to see, both are
right."
"I guess." He was too polite to tell an adult lady that she was crazy. Both
right? Then why were they arguing?
"I think your argument with Katy was one in which you both were right. I was
a girl once, and see her side. But, I sympathize with
yours, too."
Danny didn't want to talk about Katy, He definitely didn't want to talk
about Katy with an adult. But he didn't know how to escape.
"You are a yong man," she went on. "For several years, you've had the
physical ability to deal with a woman, and the emotional
drive to do so. You figured that it was about time. And it was time, and
more than time, for you. Katy is a young lady. A young
lady's first time, her first several times in fact, should be about her. She
resented, rightly so, your wanting her to satisfy your needs."
This had been so clear when she had planned it, but from Danny's face it
didn't seem  to be clear -- or even sensible -- to him now.
Danny was blushing scarlet and looking at the floor. He wished he could
crawl into it. This talk made his hardon worse, but that
was the only part of his body with any firmness in it.
"So, you were right about what you needed, and she was right about what she
needed. If she's not going to get the experience with
you, you can only get it with somebody else."
"So you say!" Danny saw that sullen silence wasn't going to end this
conversation. With his own parents, he would have stormed
out of the room. He couldn't storm to Lance's room. If he stormed outside,
where would he go? To go home meant explanations he
couldn't bear making. "So, I should look elsewhere. Katy has been my girl
for three years, and you say that since she's a girl she
shouldn't. No other girl should either. I'm fucked!" Lance wouldn't like his
talking to his mother that way, although Danny had heard
him use the same word to her. But this conversation was beyond politeness.
"Actually, you aren't. That's the whole point. The question is whether you
want to fuck." Teens did have a different language from
people, but -- Martha had noticed --  the words they thought were theirs
alone never were.
"That's not the question. Who? That's the question."
"Whom?" She could never persuade Lance, maybe his best friend could be a
good example. "I'll answer your question if you
promise to never tell Lance -- never tell anyone."
"I swear!" However silly her suggestion, it would at least end this
conversation.
"Me. I'm not a girl who deserves to have the experience about her. I have
the bed and the other requirements. Back seats and
blankets on the ground are possible, but comfort is better. And, I have the
experience. You think you know all about it, but you
don't. One partner should."
"Are you serious?" She was insane, but he couldn't leave with his cock
sticking out like a flagpole. Anyway, he wouldn't turn any
offer down. He'd been tempted by a stray dog.
"Perfectly serious. Are you interested?" Doing this was dangerous enough.
Offering and being refused  would be both disastrous
and humiliating. She stood up. "Come here if you are."
When he walked into her hug again, she added a kiss. The pressure of her
breasts was gentler this time, but it aroused him even
more. He put one hand on her breast.
"Fine. Do you want to come upstairs?" When she started upstairs, he followed
her. She didn't turn until they were in her room, her
and Larry's room. But Larry wouldn't begrudge her this. ". . . As long as ye
both shall live." She closed and locked the door before
opening her arms again. Danny looked dazed as he came into them. His kiss,
though, grew more insistent. Finally, he put his hand
on her ass. She clenched it then relaxed it. That always had turned Larry
on.
When he didn't think of her as a mother, she was an attractive woman.
Walking behind her up the stairs, Danny saw her butt flex
like the butts on the girls he liked to watch. And, really, there was more
butt there. When he kissed her, he felt it  It wasn't all fat,
either; it tightened under his hand. His hardon was poking her, but she
didn't seem to mind.
Martha began unbuttoning his shirt.
"I can do that."
"So you can, and I can do my clothes. Don't you think it's nicer to undress
the other?" Danny, she told herself, wasn't stupid. Naive
maybe, inexperienced clearly, but not stupid. He began on her blouse,
fumbling the buttons with shaking fingers. Good! Shaking
hands were a better sign of desire in a sixteen-year-old boy than an
erection. She'd had to chide Audrey about commenting on
Lance's, and the poor boy tried to hide them from his sister. She didn't
need this event to be as special as Katy would, but she
deserved to have Danny regard her as a woman -- rather than as an old lady.
She finished Danny's shirt and helped him with the
last two buttons on her blouse. He'd backed off the kiss to see what he was
doing.
"Now take this and hang it on a chair." She turned her back. "Can you get
the bra?" That fumble was more than shaking fingers.
Had he propositioned Katy before he'd ever undressed the girl? She turned
slowly, conscious that she sagged.
Danny was seeing breasts, nipples! They weren't Playboy breasts, but he
already knew that. They were real live breasts. He looked
his fill before reaching out towards them. They were warm and, somehow,
heavy in his hands.
It was nice to feel appreciated again. Martha was less certain that she was
doing this for Danny, but more certain she wanted to
continue. Warm hands, wanting hands, on her breasts after more than two
years! She took a deep breath and moved her shoulders
back slowly. It hadn't the effect it had had fifteen years ago, but Danny
still looked impressed. She finally spoke.
"You should take off your own shirt, now. Kisses feel nicer when people are
skin to skin."
Danny complied, dropping his shirt on the seat of the chair on whose back
he'd put her blouse and bra. He dropped his undershirt
on top of the shirt. When he turned back those nipples were still there,
still available. She'd mentioned a kiss. He went for it.
Now, Martha thought, Danny's kiss was starting to be enthusiastic. She
turned a little to the side and brought his hand back to her
breast. She didn't have to ask twice. He began stroking his fingers along
the surface of the breast to the nipple.
"Do you like that? I enjoy it when my nipple is stroked gently."
Danny hadn't needed the direction, he'd needed permission. He rubbed the
nipple as softly as possible. When it stiffened in his
hand, the other hand went to her butt without his planning it at all. He was
surprised to feel his hand squeezing her there, but she
didn't express any surprise at all,
"I think we'd better take our own shoes off. Then, if you'd like, you may
kiss my breasts."
He'd like! The idea took Danny's breath away. He fumbled with his shoes,
scared to sit on the clothes-covered chair or sit on the
bed beside her. When he stood up, she was shorter -- the top of her head
level with his mouth, not his eyes. Inspired by the
thought, he kissed her on the forehead, the face, the neck, He continued
down until he was kissing her nipple.
Martha was aroused as a woman; she was pleased as a teacher. The last series
of kisses had been Danny's own idea.  She held his
head against her until his suction turned painful.
"Not that hard," she said. "Come, let's get the last stuff off." She guided
his hand to the snap on her skirt. He managed that, if not
easily. She had almost as much trouble with his belt, then left him to step
out of his jeans by himself. He was wearing jockeys,
dramatically tented. "Let's lie down." The rest of the removal would be
easier like that, and she wanted more petting. She needed it,
and he had to learn to give his girls precoital stimulation.
Danny knew that lying down was necessary, but he expected to be lying on top
of her. Even so, he was much more comfortable
sucking her breasts like this. When she led his hand to her thighs, his
exploration was delightful. When he pulled her panties down,
she co-operated. He discarded his own underwear and stretched above her.
He'd been hard forever. If they were ever going to
fuck, it had to be now.
"But," she started to say. She wasn't ready yet. For that matter, there were
things about getting a woman ready he had to learn.
"Please. I need you."
She parted her legs. He knelt between them and pressed his cock into her
crotch. She reached down to put him in. He took two
strokes and gasped. He drove into her shooting his whole being out his cock.
It felt glorious. He thought that he'd finally done it.
Then he thought that he'd come too soon.  He blushed as he turned away from
her.
"There, now," Martha said. She hugged him pressing her breasts against his
back. "Don't think that you've done badly when you
aren't done yet." She was far from satisfied, but there was no reason for
his lesson to be one of failure. She just had to teach him
things she hadn't previously considered.
"I'm not?" She could have no idea how drained he was.
"No. And you should be happy now that Katy said 'no.' If you'd shot into an
inexperienced girl before bringing her pleasure, she
would have thought the event not only over, but a failure. Aren't you glad
that you're with me?" The more time she gave him, the
easier would be his recovery. Besides, a teenager might be turned off by the
mess he'd left. She got up to douche. "You stay here."
She took a robe with her, but didn't put it on before she had shut the
bedroom door.
Danny paused in feeling miserable to watch her leave. That butt looked good
without panties, and he wasn't quite as drained as he'd
thought. After all, she had said that they weren't finished. She might know
what she was talking about. And, he had been in her, if
too briefly. He tried to recall the sensations, both of the fucking and of
the prelude. He was still thinking when she came back,
dressed in a robe.
"Why don't you wash yourself off? Don't use soap on your penis, just cold
water." If he was going to have a clean playing field, why
shouldn't she? She didn't offer him a robe. When he came back, he held his
hand in  front of his genitals. Modesty appears at the
strangest times.
She had stripped the bed to the sheets and was lying between them. He joined
her. She took his hands in  hers and guided one to
her breasts and one to her mound. The touch on her breasts was a caress. The
one on her mound was more an exploration. That
was all right; it was still exciting, and she had things to teach him.
Danny was in bed with a real, live, woman -- a woman who welcomed his
exploring hands. He was finding it easier and easier to
forget that this was Lance's mother. She had the necessary parts, and that
was enough for him. some of the parts were quite good,
too. The breasts might not stick out like a Playboy model's, but the nipple
stuck out. She didn't lie there with a staple in her belly,
but encouraged him.
"Like those breasts? Like the nipples? What they like is for you to stroke
them very gently. . . . See? And, down there, you can fit a
finger between those lips. Can you tell that there are other lips within?
Those like to be sroked gently, too. And, between those,
right at the top, there is a little button you can just feel. That's my
clitoris. When you stroke the inner lips, every once in a while,
stroke across that, too. Yes! You did that very well.
"Women get excited, too. Not as fast as men under twenty, and not as often.
But the man who can excite a woman well enough is a
skilled lover. He'll be popular with women for his entire life."
Even Danny's exploration had been exciting. His strokes, if less expert than
Larry's had been, were more exciting than her own.
Her excitement produced her juices, which Danny spread over her lips and
clit, which added to her excitement. She was already
begun on her journey when Danny sucked her nipple again.
"Oh, yes. Oh, you do that so well." She reached over to hold his head
against her breast.
Danny had stolen kisses. Sometimes, Katy had allowed him kisses, even -- on
her good days -- open- mouthed kisses. He'd never
been permitted to kiss a nipple, much less praised for how well he did it..
He was hard as a post, by now; but he wasn't going to
make his earlier mistake.
"What more do you want?" he asked.
"Just what you are doing. Don't do it harder. Remain gentle, just give me
more." At that point, Martha suspected that she was
beginning to drivel. She shut up and enjoyed Danny's hands and mouth. Later,
when she felt she was ready, she touched his closed
thighs above the knee. "Open your legs."
Danny opened them eagerly. He was rewarded as fingernails barely scraped up
the insides of his left thigh. When her hand cupped
his balls, he gasped. She toyed with his sack very gently. Finally, her hand
stroked upward to touch the base of his cock. He
thought he might explode then and there.
"Do you want to come in me?" Martha asked. Now that she knew he was hard
again, she needed him in her. She rolled over on
her back  That took his hand away from her clit, but she spread her lips
with her left hand while guiding him into her with her right.
She enjoyed the feeling of being filled, the first time -- not counting the
recent hit-and-run -- in nearly three years.
Danny felt her soft breasts beneath him, her firm thighs around his hips,
her mound against his. He felt her warm, moist, smooth cunt
sliding over his cock. It was heaven.
"Rest your elbows on the bed beside me, and your hips between my legs,"
Martha directed. "You should be supporting all your
weight but the part that needs to join me." When he complied, she added:
"Now move as slowly as possible." He did, and the
feeling it gave her was exquisite.
Everything came together, and she  went away. She forgot all the parts of
him that weren't in her. Her feelings peaked.
Danny fought to keep his climax back. The feelings around his cock were too
wonderful to allow them to end. Suddenly, he felt
the smooth warmth around his cock tighten and loosen in rhythm. He couldn't
hold back any more. He thrust forward hard and
pulsed and pulsed. His guts were gushing out of his cock.
Martha came back to the bed to find her hands on Danny's seat. His weight
was on her, and she enjoyed it. Then he was too heavy.
"Can you get off?" she asked.
"I'll try." He succeeded, but the trip to the other side of the bed was
harder than the half-mile walk here had been. He felt like he'd
been worked for a week and then bled dry. Also, he felt better than he'd
ever felt before.
"You were wonderful," Martha said. She meant it. "Was it good for you, too?"
"Good? It was great."
"Did you enjoy yourself? Do you think you'll do better with girls than you
would have without my hints?"
"It was great. It was the best thing that has ever happened to me. Like all
the Christmases in my whole life."
"Then," Martha's mind had recovered, if her breath hadn't quite, "it would
be terribly ungrateful to do something which would hurt
me, wouldn't it?"
"I'll do anything you want. Forever."
"Then you have to keep this secret, forever. It's too good a story for any
of your friends to keep. It would get to Lance, and hurt
him terribly. Tell one person and you'd be telling the whole school,
ultimately the whole town. Lance would learn, as I said, The
friends of the friends of your friends would let their parents know. Once
that happened, my friends would know. They wouldn't be
my friends any more."
"I'll never tell anyone."
"On the other hand, if nobody learns about this, then occasionally -- not
very often -- we can get together again. You still have
some things to learn. For example, nice men not only satisfy their women,
but they hug them aferwards."
Danny hugged her and found that he enjoyed it, too. She kissed his arm.
"You understand that this could never have happened if Lance's father were
still alive. I took an oath 'to cleave only unto him as
long as you both'  -- Lance's father and me -- 'shall live.' And I kept that
oath. He did, too.  But he was always careful that I enjoyed
sex. He wouldn't have wanted me to stop enjoying it when my oath didn't bind
me any more. He was a fine man.
"Dinner later. I'm not forgetting that I invited you. But rest here a little
bit and I'll tell you about my Larry."


And this is the story she told:


"Mr. and Mrs. Lawrence Jennings." Larry passed the newly inked marriage
license to the desk clerk, He barely glanced at it.
"Hardly need to see this." He  gave them their key. "Welcome to San
Francisco."
They had more than six years of separation to talk about, but neither could
find anything to say in front of the elevator operator.
Being in the room with only Larry tied Martha's tongue even more. It was an
ordinary hotel room with an ordinary bed, but the bed
absolutely dominated the room. She wanted to share her life with Larry. She
could hardly remember a time when she hadn't looked
forward to being married to Larry. That didn't mean that she wasn't afraid
of sharing a bed with Larry. Finally, he broke the silence.
"Why don't I go down and smoke a cigarette while you get ready?"
"That's good." She wouldn't have to undress in front of him or in the
bathroom knowing that he was listening to her sounds..
Martha stripped out of her traveling clothes and showered. She would have
preferred to soak in the tub to remove all the grime of
hours of traveling with the windows open to the engine's smoke. She didn't
know, however, how long Larry's cigarette would last.
She put on her nightgown, real silk and terribly expensive but worth it. She
put away her clothes in the closet and looked at herself
in the dresser mirror. She no longer looked like the stern Miss Weaver,
scourge of the fourth grade. She looked as vulnerable as
the girl Larry had left -- she looked both vulnerable and available. She
could see the shape of her breasts through the silk and the
shadow of her pubic hair. Larry would see that, too. She hurried into bed
and covered herself with the sheet. Then she lay there
waiting and waiting. Did he have second thoughts? If he left her, how would
she get back to Grand Junction?  She told herself that
she was being silly. He was just giving her time to get settled. Instead,
she was getting unsettled.
Larry  wanted Martha, but he wanted to protect her, too. In one sense, he'd
been protecting her all his time in Europe and Africa.
He'd thought he wanted her when he was a boy before Pearl Harbor. But that
was a boy's ignorant wanting, He knew what it
meant, now; he was certain she didn't. After tonight, he wanted her to want
him. And his experience with women didn't include
experience with love or with a virgin. He went past the desk on his way to
smoke in the lobby.
"Told you," said the clerk.
"Pardon?"
"I didn't need to see the license."
"They told me to bring it."
"Rules. Easier to say 'let's see your marriage license' than to say 'you
don't look married.' But lovers would be upstairs tearing off
each others' clothes. The groom came downstairs to smoke while the bride
dolls herself up. Lucky?" Larry took the proffered
cigarette.
"We look like husband and wife."
"She looked like a bride. Wives look a little different. You'll look
different in another month, too, but not like a civilian yet.
Division?"
"Fourth. You?"
"Big Red One."
"So how did you get back before I did?"
"Long before. I was in a stateside hospital on VE day. Recurring pneumonia."
"Sorry to hear that."
"No problem if I sleep inside and don't march for hours in soaked clothes.
Somehow, those are easy rules for a desk clerk to
follow. You'll like civvy life."
"Yeah. And the best part starts tonight." His cigarette was nearly finished.
When he'd taken the last drag, the desk clerk passed him
an ashtray. They stood in companionable silence for another minute, then he
waved and went back to the elevator. When he got to
the room, Larry turned on the bathroom light, went back to get his shaving
kit and turn off the overhead light. He didn't want to
remove pajamas while lying beside Martha, easier to skip them. But he didn't
want to parade naked before her innocence.  Back in
the bathroom, he stripped and took a quick shower. He'd done not a bit of
work since his morning shower,  though he'd sweated
bullets before the service. He shaved, wanting a really smooth cheek
tonight. When he opened the bathroom door, Martha had the
bedside light on. He hadn't even brought his new pajamas into the bathroom.
There being no choice, he went out naked.
When she was left in the dark, Martha turned on the lamp on the nightstand
next to her. She'd paid an arm and a leg for the silk
nightgown. Larry was damn-well going to see it. The shower was awfully
brief, then there were other noises from the bathroom, but
no husband. When he came out, he was naked. Trim, muscular, she'd already
known that. He was sticking out in front. She knew
what a phallus looked like; she was an educated woman. This, however, looked
awfully large; and those of statues projected less..
When he got under the sheet, it was closer, but not so frightening because
it was hidden.
"Hello," she said.
He grinned. "Hello." He leaned over and kissed her. "Martha."
"Oh, Larry." This wouldn't be so bad. It was what she'd wanted for years.
She hugged him. He smoothed his hand down over the
nightgown in back. She lay back and pulled the sheet down to her waist. "Do
you like it?"
"The nightie? Yes. The contents? Very much. I love you."
"And I love you." At least, he'd looked at the nightgown. And she certainly
couldn't complain that he said he liked her more. When
he kissed her again, his hand went to her breast. She started to feel more
excited than scared. She reached up to his hand and held
it where it was.
"Oh, Martha." The breast was so soft, so firm, so warm, so alive! He could
feel her nipple under his thumb.  After a moment, it
pushed out more firmly. It was so arousing through the cloth, he had to feel
it directly. He reached down for the hem of the nightie.
"Let me."
Well, thought Martha, he'd seen the nightgown. And she didn't want it to get
mussed. She helped him take it off. Briefly, she
regretted the light. She blushed when he looked at her naked breasts.
"Oh Martha!" He'd guessed their shape, but now he was seeing how beautiful
they were. As he stared, her nipples firmed slightly.
He reached out to cup one breast. It was warm and cuddled into his hand. It
moved  as she breathed. He bent to kiss the nipple of
the other one. She held the back of his head, permitting, even encouraging,
this pillaging of her beauty.
Even as she was blushing, Martha saw that Larry's approach was reverent.
Seeing herself in his face revealed a beauty her mirror
didn't show. She was, after all, his. If he looked at her like that, let him
look. When his hand left her right breast to caress her belly,
she kept herself from grabbing it. This, too, was his. All she did was pull
the top sheet higher when his wrist threatened to bare her
mound.
Larry stroked Martha's mound, her smooth thighs -- why were women so smooth
and men so hairy? -- and, finally, the lips between
her thighs. He was having trouble holding himself back.
Whatever she thought about Larry's matrimonial rights, Martha clenched her
legs together when he touched her there. He didn't
argue or use those impressive muscles. He just rubbed where he could. Soon
enough, the sensations were more pleasant than
scary. Her legs relaxed and the rubbing went further.
When she finally gave him space to do so, Larry grasped Martha's mound with
his full hand. He abandoned  the sweet breast to
kiss her mouth again, This time, his tongue entered and met her tongue .The
thrill was electric. When he broke that contact, he
insinuated one finger between her outer lips. He felt moisture. She was
responding to him!
Martha felt somehow that the hand cupping her center held her in entirety.
The taste of his tongue thrilled her. The feel of his finger
entering her increased her arousal as it increased her nervousness. Larry
was sucking on her right nipple as his finger found her
clitoris. She gasped. That was it! Larry had reached the center of her
feeling. He rubbed it gently, dipped his finger down further
between her inner lips to retrieve more lubrication, and rubbed it once
more.
Larry sucked her far nipple again, then returned to the near one. He tried
to suck at the same time his finger passed over her clit. All
the while, his desire grew and his control eroded. Finally, he came to the
end of his tether.
"Darling," he said. He moved his head back from her and started to rise in
the bed.
"Yes?" When he pushed her, she rolled onto her back.
"I must. . . ." He spread her legs and clambered between them.
"Yes!" She felt him between her thighs as he brought himself into position.
Larry placed the tip of his cock between her lower lips. He dropped his
right hand to the bed to hold his  torso straight. He pressed
inward. When he felt resistance around the head of his cock, he thrust!
Martha felt his phallus at her entrance. She felt him go in a little. Then,
she felt pain. Really, she had expected it. When it eased, she
felt that he was filling her deep down below.
"Are you all right?" he asked. She hadn't looked all right when she winced.
Larry wanted to move, but he was holding  himself fully
imbedded in her.
"Yes."
"May I move?"
"Please." His motions within her weren't particularly pleasant, but they
weren't like the first sharp nip, either. His face showed
concern for her, then pleasure, then what might have been worry. He
grimaced, thrust as hard as he had the first time, and pulsed
inside her. As he collapsed, he turned so they were lying on their sides.
Larry moved cautiously back until only his head was within her. The
sensations were exquisite, better than he'd felt in the most
skilled women in his past. He tried to move slowly, but a look at her face
taught him that this wasn't doing anything for her. His
arousal sped him up, and his speed moving in the tight cunt of his new wife
fed his arousal. It peaked when he had withdrawn to her
entrance. He drove into her as his seed spurted out of him. He held his left
arm stiff one second longer than he thought possible. He
fell to his right side, turning her with him.
"Darling," he said some indefinite time afterwards. She was a darling. She
was his own darling. It had never felt like this; maybe he
had never felt love along with desire. He managed to disentangle them; then,
he hugged her.
Martha returned the hug with her top arm. Then he was kissing all over her
face. Finally, she abandoned her part of the hug to put
her hand on his face to bring his mouth to hers. The kiss was sweet and
long. When he licked her lips open, their tongues met. Her
pleasure, if less intense than from the first tongue kiss, warmed her. The
arousal which had  fled when his entrance brought the nip,
built again. His hand was on her breast, and she welcomed it. She was a
little disappointed when he pressed her shoulder. Was he
going to do it again? Well, he'd been away a long time. He certainly
wouldn't do it several times every night. Besides, her
mother had told her that the pain came only once.
"I'm yours," she said. She turned onto her back.
"Good," Larry said. He bent to kiss her stomach. "If you're mine, I can kiss
any part I want to." He had had his pleasure, not that
these kisses weren't pleasure of another -- if lesser -- sort. For this to
be a real wedding night, she had to have her own pleasure
before they fell asleep. He kissed up to her breast, kissed up the bottom of
her breast to the nipple. Meanwhile, his hand was
caressing downward. He combed his fingers through the hair on her mound. He
wanted to see that, see all of her beauty. Well if she
learned to desire him, all that would follow. He caressed her thighs as he
kissed up her breast. His hand parted her lips just when he
licked her nipple. She had  more moisture there now. How much of it was what
he'd left? He timed it so that he first sucked her
nipple as he reached her clit.
Martha enjoyed all of Larry's attentions. The mental pleasure of finding how
much her husband wanted her certainly abetted the
purely physical pleasure from his caresses. He had come back to her; her
worries had been silly. She was in his arms, getting
pleasure in his arms. If there was no reason to worry, if he was right here
with her -- as here as one could get, why was she so
tense suddenly?  Telling herself to relax, she grew more tense. Larry's
hands on her body and his tongue on her nipple were not
easing her tension at all. Pleasure, indeed joy, came from his
ministrations, but no relaxation. Her tension soared so high that she
almost cried out. Then it rose again. She did cry out as every muscle in her
body tightened, relaxed only to tighten again, went into
another and yet another spasm. As suddenly as these spasms had hit her, they
flew away. She was utterly limp.
Larry watched as the climax hit his love. She groaned as if in pain, then
stiffened in his arms. He stopped stroking to cup her
mound. He raised his head to watch her face. Grimaces crossed it as the
stiffness crossed her belly. Then, she relaxed everywhere.
Her face looked as if she were asleep aside from the deep breaths that
pushed or pulled her lips. After minutes, her eyes blinked
open.
"I love you," he said. And he did. The relaxed smile she was showing now was
as sexy as her previous climax -- far sexier than
anything on the movie screen.
"I love you, too. . . . Oh, Larry!" How did she tell him about what she had
just experienced? She didn't have words. She couldn't
even describe it to herself. She turned in the bed and hugged him. He hugged
her back and kissed the top of her head before
speaking.
"Let's see." He turned onto his back, pulled one pillow under his head and
placed the other pillow on his shoulder. "Do you think
you could sleep here?"
She could try. After a little experiment, she found it much easier to turn
her back to him. She moved away  to turn off the light and
then snuggled back  He knew so much. He'd gone into the army straight from
high school, while she'd had the years at normal
school. She thought of herself as an educated woman. Yet he knew so much; he
knew more about her than she did.
Larry hugged Martha only briefly. His hold after that would be better called
a cuddle. His right arm extended under Martha's head
and then along her upper arm. His left hand held one breast gently.
"You know so much," Martha said. A brief pause. "How did you learn so much
about women?"
"Can't we say I have a  natural aptitude?"
"Not really. How did you know what to do?" She couldn't answer 'do what?'
Luckily, he didn't ask.
"Maybe I shouldn't tell you. But maybe I should."
"You certainly should. We don't want to start our married lives keeping
secrets."
"I'll tell you. Otherwise, you'll think it is worse than it was. I love you.
I've never loved another woman. I've had sex with other
women, but not loved them."


And this is the story he told:


Larry was alone in the showers bringing himself off when Hank came in. Hank
immediately turned away and watched the wall while
he took his own shower. They left the base with the other trainees on
liberty. Hank caught Larry's arm as the others streamed into
the Red Cross meeting hall.
"Wrong time to beat off. You should save it for afterwards if you don't get
lucky."
"As if I ever will. I'm far from home and far from rich. Nobody here knows
me, and it looks like nobody wants to."
"You're gloomy tonight. There's a girl for you. . . . Tell me. Do you think
you could fake being a virgin?"
"I'm sure." He wasn't about to tell Hank that it would be no fake.
"I'll try to introduce you to Mrs. Powell." He succeeded. The name, which
sounded like a matron chaperoning the dance, turned out
to belong to a woman who danced every dance. She must be in her thirties or
even older, but she was good looking for her age.
She dressed younger and smoked with the men.
"So, soldier," she asked while they were dancing, "where are you from?"
"Grand Junction."
"And where's that?"
"Colorado, western Colorado."
"So, you a cowboy?"
"No ma'am." He was thinking how to explain to her about mountains and men
who worked on the railroad, when she spoke again.
"Bridget. Call me Bridget. You make me feel old."
She was, of course, old -- nearly twice his age. But he had been raised too
polite to say so. And dancing with a woman named
'Bridget' was one hell of a lot better than dancing with one named 'Mrs.
Powell.' He figured he was lucky to get one dance; there
were more than twice as many men there as women. When the music ended,
however, she spoke.
"Want the next dance, too?" This cowboy interested Bridget. He was socially
awkward, but she was looking for that. He could
dance, which suggested that he was well-enough coordinated to perform other
tasks well. She might correct his 'ma'am,' but she
wanted someone polite and deferential.
"Miss Bridget, may I have the pleasure of the next dance?"
"You may."
The acceptance jarred Larry. A girl back home would have thanked him. But,
he remembered, he wasn't back home. For that
matter, this wasn't a girl. He had a woman in his arms. And, when he
tightened his arms, she flowed up against him in the dance.
Bridget didn't press as tightly against him as Martha did in their private
kisses, but she danced closer than Martha did in public. His
cock began to stir at the feeling of those soft breasts pressed into his
ribs.
Bridget hid her face in the cowboy's shoulder. She'd felt the beginnings of
his erection and knew that he would be mortified if he
knew that she had noticed. She appreciated the tribute, but didn't want to
embarrass him by letting him know. She was fairly certain
that this was the one for tonight, but parted after this dance. She danced
with two other trainees to keep herself conscious of the
possibilities.
Larry couldn't get a dance with another girl. This late in the evening,
couples were beginning to pair up. When Bridget asked him to
get her a glass of punch after dancing with another man, he brought it back.
They sat and talked. She finished her punch just as a
dance was ending. He gathered up his courage to ask her again.
Bridget had decided that the cowboy was definitely tonight's choice. Having
managed to get him to ask her for another dance, she
danced close to him and enjoyed his reaction. She waited until a drop of
sweat fell from his chin.
"Isn't it hot in here?"
"Yes, ma. . . . Yes, Bridget." They finished the dance in silence.
"Shall we see if it's any cooler outside?" she asked.
Larry agreed. He was sure now that he was going to be able to kiss her,
maybe to put his hands on those breasts that had been
pressed against his ribs. Instead of stopping as soon as they were out of
the light from the doorway, though, she kept walking.
"Let's go this way."
Larry was confused. It was not only cooler outside, it was nearly chilly.
And she was wearing much less than his uniform. Still, she
walked away from the Red Cross center. Suddenly, she turned towards a house.
"I have some rooms upstairs here." Even this cowboy couldn't be naive enough
to miss that invitation.
Larry followed her up the stairs. By hanging back a little, his eyes were on
a level with her swaying hips. It strained his control to
keep his hands off them, and -- he promised himself -- that control would
disappear when they were in her private rooms. When
she led him through the door, he closed it behind him and took her in his
arms. She came willingly enough. As he kissed her, he slid
his hands down her back to cup those provocative hips.
The cowboy had certainly taken the invitation. Bridget reveled in the kiss,
enjoyed his hands on her bottom. When he pulled her
against him, she could feel that his erection was more than a beginning. She
took his face in her hands and pulled him into a firmer
kiss. Things were going well. When the cowboy kept his tongue in his own
mouth too long, she pressed hers forward to find it.
Soon, they were in a real kiss. Finally, she broke it.
"Not out here," she said. She led him into her bedroom.
Larry had never been in a lady's bedroom -- his parents' but that was his
dad's room more than his mom's, his sisters' but that was
a kids' room as much as the one he shared with his brother. This was full of
dainty furniture, several pieces held mirrors. The bed
wasn't dainty, though i's cover was. The bed was a large, solid, piece of
furniture; it drew his eyes.
Bridget noticed when the cowboy's attention went from her to the
surroundings. She saw that he was trying to avoid her seeing him
staring at the bed. Now, he got the idea. She kissed him again holding his
hands in her smaller ones. Then she drew them to her
breasts.
Larry had occasionally managed to touch one of Martha's breasts as the
climax of an evening of kissing. He'd never held one in
each hand. These were larger, softer. And Bridget had brought his hands
there. He stroked them, finally squeezing them.
"Do you want to see them?" she asked. "Do you want to take my clothes off?"
The cowboy didn't answer with words, but his
shaking hands went to her buttons. When he got to her waist, he didn't seem
to know how to go further. She pulled the blouse out
of her skirt, unbuttoned the last two, and turned around as she took the
blouse off.
Larry had never seen a brassiere on a woman before. He'd seen his mother's
in the wash plenty of times. It took him a minute to
figure out how to undo this one. She didn't give him any hints, but she let
him have enough time. As it came loose, she backed
towards him. He found himself holding her in his arms and her breasts in his
hands. They were warm, soft, heavy. They were
wonderful.
"Like those?" Bridget asked. "Do this." She used her hands to teach his how
to play with her nipples. She didn't need to teach him
not to maul them. Cowboy or not, soldier or not, he was gentle when he was
handling a woman. She turned to kiss him. When he
was holding her close, she started unbuttoning his shirt.
Larry removed his blouse and skivvies when she'd opened the buttons. Then he
hugged her warmth with the two pillows pressed
against his chest. He returned to the kiss; this time it was his tongue
exploring her mouth. He felt one of her hands on his cheek
while the other roamed his back. He grasped her hips and pulled her tight
against him. When she pushed him away, though, he let
go.
"The skirt opens on this side. " He took the hint. Under her skirt, she was
wearing a petticoat. Under that was her panties, her
stockings, and an elaborate contraption holding up her stockings. Each time
he removed some piece of her clothing, she took it
from him and laid it down. After giving him one last kiss, she sat on the
bed.
"You have to take off the shoes before the stockings." He did. then he
looked at the top of the stockings. It was hard to
concentrate with all the diversions of smooth thighs with the barely-hidden
sweetness between. He figured out the connectors,
though, and slid the stockings off.
"Careful. It's almost impossible to get more silk stockings." He was
careful. She rolled over with her back up. This showed her hips
covered only by her thin panties. He managed, however, to look at the
contraption which had held up her stockings. When he
undid it, she rolled over on her back, but away from him.
"If you want to lie here," she said patting the bed beside her, "you'll have
to take off your own shoes and stockings." He managed
that more easily than her unfamiliar clothes. He lay facing her. She leaned
forward to give him a kiss.
"Now, you'll learn how to get a lady ready," she said. With only her
panties, ring, and earrings clothing her, he thought she was
nearly ready. And, despite his clothes, he was more than ready. But he was
in her house, he would follow her rules. And they
weren't bad rules to follow.
"Kiss these," she said holding out one breast in each hand. He scooted down
in the bed and over to reach them comfortably. He
could only kiss one at a time, but he loved the feel of the nipple in his
mouth.
"Now," she took his hand. Since he was lying on his left side, his right
hand was available. She moved it down to the leg opening of
her panties. "In there are the folds which make me most a woman. Find them
with your finger, and stroke them gently."
He didn't have to be invited twice. The folds were covered with hair, but
between them was a smooth and slippery paradise. He
stroked there. As he went lower, he felt her widen out into a tube filled
with liquid. When he went higher, he reached a little bump
just before the inner folds joined. She hissed when he reached it.
"Yes," she said. "That's my clit. Stroke it slowly and gently." As he did as
he was told, Bridget sank into her arousal. She only
offered one other direction. "That's too much. You can go back down for more
lubrication." He did, and she felt herself tighten as
her climax neared.
"I need. . . ." Larry said. His relief in the shower seemed years in the
past. His sucking on her breast, somehow even the strokes
under her panties, were filling him with a desperate desire. He couldn't say
it to her; but if she wasn't going to give him what he
wanted, he needed to get to some privacy where he could relieve himself
again.
"Just a little longer," Bridget gasped. "You can take off my panties now."
Larry took them off. Somehow the scent that arose when he did so --
something flowery with something unpleasant underneath --
hardened him yet more. But he went back to stroking, which was easieer wtth
the panties out of the way, and sucking on her other
nipple.
Bridget came to her climax in silence. She stiffened, relaxed, stiffened
again. The cowboy kept sucking and rubbing. Finally, she
couldn't take any more. She knocked his hand away.
"What did I do?" Larry didn't think that was polite. He'd done what she had
asked.
"You did great," Bridget replied. She needed a couple of breaths before she
could speak again. "You want to get your own pants
off?" Could she tell him how to put on a rubber? Did she need to? She
couldn't get pregnant, and this cowboy hadn't been with
whores, or even with women. She decided it was too much effort.
Larry didn't need a second invitation. He stripped down to his skin
"Kneel here." She spread her legs and raised her knees. Larry knelt between
her legs. "Kiss me." As he moved down to do that,
she grasped his dick and guided it into her. She needed that.
When Larry felt his cock surrounded by her warmth, instinct took over. He
thrust forward until he couldn't go any deeper. the
feeling of her smoothness surrounding him was delightful.
"Get up on your elbows," she said. "You're nearly smothering me. You do
that, and you can get your hands back on my breasts."
She waited until he had followed directions to clasp the muscles inside her
around his dick. "Now, ride 'em cowboy!"
Although the internal hug was nowhere near as tight as his fist provided, it
felt much more arousing. Larry held her breasts as he
moved in and out. It was marvelously sensuous.
It was ecstatic.
It was over. He thust deep into her and poured everything he had into her.
Bridget huggedd the cowboy against her breasts. She hadn't come a second
time, but she'd enjoyed the fuck. She wanted to be
pleasured, but she also wanted to be appreciated. The way the cowboy acted
showed how much he appreciated her. Finally, he
got too heavy.
"Off." She pushed until he climbed off. He didn't know how to move around
another person in the bed. Still, when she drew his
hand to her breast, he held it appreciatively.
"Enjoy yourself?" she fnally asked.
"More than I can say."
"You think that I'm a tramp don't you?"
"I never thought that." If she didn't want to be thought a tramp, why did
she behave like one? Now that he had time to think, Hank
must have known something about her.
"You have a girl back home who's as pure as the driven snow, don't you?"
"I have a girl." But he didn't want to talk about Martha here.
"When you were dealing with a woman you think a tramp, you could wait for
her to get her pleasure before you took yours. When
you get your pure-as-pure girlfriend into bed, will you wait for her? Or
will you take her without a thought for anything but your
own lust? I wouldn't advise that. I'll tell you why."



And this is the story she told:



The reception finally over, they fled together under a shower of rice. Jim
handed her into the passenger seat   of the Reo and
climbed into the driver's seat. Fred already had the crank in his hand. At
the third rotation,   the engine caught. Fred threw the
crank into the car behind them as Jim drove away. Mrs. James Powell,
Bridget thought. She was Mrs. James Powell, and would
be for the rest of her life.
Bridget, Jim thought, was finally his. Bridget Ryan had been the prettiest
girl in town, and now she was  Bridget Powell; and she
was the prettiest woman in town and his wife. He'd wanted her for years, and
now  he had her. Jim parked in the street in front of
the house. With Harriet and Mildred still cleaning up the  reception at the
club, he took Bridget's coat himself. He hung it in the hall
closet with his. He led her upstairs.
"My room," he said opening the door. He was glad to see that Mildred had
cleaned it since he'd dressed for  the wedding. "Our
room, now." He struck a match and lit two gas mantles. The light dispersed
the gloom of dusk from the room.
Bridget looked around. It was a very nice room, decorated with Yale pennants
to show Jim's college experience. It was neat and
clean, but she thought the bed was intrusive. It took up much of the floor
space and more of the space in her thoughts.
"Don't you want to get out of your things?" Jim asked. He took off his own
tuxedo jacket and started to untie his tie.
"Where can I? I mean I need help." A wedding dress wasn't the sort of thing
one could put on or take off by oneself, to say nothing
of the corset.
"This is your room, now, dear. Use it. And I'll help if you tell me what to
do. Mildred -- Harriet for that matter -- is still dealing with
the remains of the reception."
Bridget didn't have another choice. Her mother had helped her on with the
wedding dress, but she wasn't here. She wouldn't be
here. Bridget couldn't imagine asking Mrs. Powell for help, even if she had
gotten home yet. It would have to be Jim. She turned
her back and described the string of clasps behind her back. Jim figured out
the laces of the corset himself. She could get the rest
off herself. She wondered where she could go to do that.
Jim unhooked the white dress which was her promise of purity. Then he
unlaced the corset. All that protected her smooth back
from his eyes was her camisole. He kissed the back of her neck. He took one
side of the dress in his hand and walked around her,
pulling it lightly. When he got where he was facing her, he pulled the other
shoulder  of the dress forward. The top of the dress
came off her into his hands. Without the support from the top, the skirt
finally dropped. She stepped out of the gown and he hung it
in the closet.
"This half will be yours," he said. That half of the closet held a half
dozen hangers and a wedding gown.
"Where can I go to change?" Bridget asked. For that matter, where was her
trousseau with the fancy nightgown she had bought?
"Change here. This is your room now." This was hers, but -- more important
-- she was his. And he wanted her to be his in all
ways. Jim wanted that so much that his dick ached. He returned to her front
and pulled gently on the shoulders of the corset. The
corset was visible to her waist, where there were petticoats around it.
"The petticoats," she said.
"Then take them off."
Bridget didn't have a choice. She removed the petticoats and brought them to
the closet. She draped them over the crossbars of
two hangers. Finally, she removed the corset and draped it over a chair.
She turned to him in her camisole with her face burning.
Jim barely noticed her face. All his attention was on the breasts sticking
out against the camisole. He could nearly make out their
shape through the thin linen. There were two points which had to be her
nipples. He crossed the space between himself and his
bride to kiss her. When his lips met hers, his hands rose to cup her breasts
through the cloth.
"Jim," she said. Why had she agreed to this marriage? Why had she wanted it
so fiercely?
"Yes, my darling." He turned away to remove his cufflinks and studs. Then he
hung his shirt up in what was now his side of the
closet. "Let me help you off with those shoes."
She didn't see any way to refuse. She sat on the bed, and he took off her
shoes. Then he reached up and removed her garters and
stockings. He would get the rest of her clothes off; she knew he would.
She'd known that this was part of marriage -- known even
before her mother had the talk with her two nights ago.  What she'd seen as
one part, even as an exciting part, looked like almost
the entire thing now. And it looked more frightening than exciting.
Jim sat beside her to remove his own shoes and stockings. Then he put his
right arm around her shoulders. He used his other hand
to move her face into kissing position. The kiss began gently, but he
pressed her lips more firmly. When his tongue parted her lips, it
met her teeth. These seemed clamped together. He kept his mouth there and
dropped his hand to her breast.
Bridget was tempted to shove his hand away. But he was her lawful husband.
But he was stronger than she was.  But they were in
his room in his house. She let the hand stay there; she kept her mouth
against his. When his hand dropped to her knee and then
under her camisole, she knew how this evening would end.
"I love you, Bridget," Jim said. He did love her as he felt her smooth
thighs. He'd wanted her for so long,  and now he had her.
Soon, tonight, he would have her in a more personal way. His thoughts were
interrupted  by the sounds of his family returning.
Bridget heard a door slam. Was she going to be rescued?
"It's my parents," said Jim. He found a pair of slippers and went to the
head of the stairs. His father greeted  him from the foot. "Get
a ride back?" Jim asked.
"The Danielsons. They took Mary and Alice to stay tonight. Sam will be
along  later."
"Keep him down there, will you, sir?"
"I'll try. Not finished yet?" Jim gestured to his clothing. "Well get
moving, son. We're all coming up in an hour."
When Jim returned to the room, he stripped off his trousers right after he
closed the door.. Bridget could see his briefs distorted by
the shape of his genitals. He stood in front of her with his hand on her
camisole.
"Let me take this."
"But. . . . "
"We don't have all night. I don't want the family hearing everything. Do
you?" She didn't. Actually, she no longer wanted there to be
anything for them to hear. But Jim by himself was a lesser evil than his
brother,  sisters, and parents participating. She stood to let
him take her camisole off. Now, her breasts were bare to  his gaze and all
that sheltered her most private parts was the inadequate
covering of her drawers. She sat down on the bed again.
Jim sat next to her, He kissed her, and then pressed her back. Soon, he was
kissing those lovely breasts while she lay there. She
didn't look very happy, but he supposed nice girls might not. He felt all
over her breasts while kissing her lips again. Then, he knelt
on the bed while taking her drawers off.
Bridget blushed and closed her eyes. She felt the bed shift from Jim's
movements, but kept her eyes closed.
Jim feasted his eyes on her nakedness, her lovely breasts, the hair-covered
mound. He shifted down the bed so he could see her
sweet pussy between her closed legs. He removed his briefs, being careful to
not hit his stiff dick. Then he moved her leg to make
room for himself. As he knelt there between her knees, he looked his fill at
the small lips of her pussy.
Bridget couldn't keep her legs closed, she screwed her eyes shut and waited
shivering for the intrusion her mother had told her was
necessary.
Jim moved up her body kissing each breast again. When his dick came near her
pussy, he reached down to part those lips. Then,
poised with his dick between the pussy lips of his virgin bride, he
straightened until his face was over hers.
"Look at me, Bridget," he said. "Open your eyes and look at me." When she
did, he drove forward. He felt resistance against his
dick. When the resistance parted, her eyes grew round and she cried out
quite softly.
Jim  moved forward until her pussy clasped the entire length of his dick.
Bridget felt him above her and against the most secret part of her secret
parts. She opened her eyes when Jim told her to. She
focused on his smiling face. Then the face moved upward and she felt a sharp
pain down below. She sobbed, tears dimming her
view of Jim's wide grin. The pain was hardly receding when he started moving
in and out of her. She shut her eyes again.
Jim, having taken the flower of the prettiest girl in town, rested within
her pussy for a moment. Then he had to move. He pulled
back enjoying the rubbing all along his dick. He thrust forward, burying
himself in her pussy again. He moved more and more
rapidly. Soon, he erupted within her. He lay for a moment on her.. Then he
rolled over onto his own side of the bed.
Bridget's  pain, never as bad as the first, never relenting, went on until
Jim groaned above her face. Then he collapsed onto her.
After a long while, he moved aside. After an even longer time, he pulled the
bedspread, blankets, and top sheet from under her and
began to cover them. He stopped, though, to gesture towards his middle.
"That's my dick," he said. "Can you see your blood on it? I can. That means
you belong to me forever."


The end
Antonio
Uther Pendragon
nogardnePrethU@gmail.com

Thanks to Denny for proofreading this.
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