by Gabi Moore
“All the way, everything off,” he said. He was sitting on a bar stool and running his eyes over my body. Did he like my breasts? Was I turning him on at all? Was this just business as usual? It was hard to say.
“You know it’s my first time, right?” I said as I peeled off the bra and panties and laid them down over my clothes, folded neatly on another bar stool.
“Yeah it’s my first time, too. My first time deflowering a bratty little princess like you. And I’m going to enjoy it.”
I was too shocked to say anything. I didn’t know what to think first; that he thought so little of me …or that he seemingly enjoyed thinking it. You know, for a guy who had talked me into this and basically led me astray, you’d think he’d take more responsibility for all of this. I stood still, waiting for my next order, I guess. Could he call the Better Business Bureau if he found out I didn’t have the cash? What do you think $159 worth of “his way” would look like, anyway?
I straightened my shoulders and stood tall, stark naked. Let’s see what everyone makes such a fuss about.
He slid off the bar stool and sidled up to me, then, maintaining an excruciating inch of distance at all times, he moved round my body, top to bottom, the front and the back, as though sizing me up. Each little hair stood on end under his gaze. I had the dumb realization that of all the porn clips I had seen, curiously they missed all these beginning parts. Were we officially started now? Was I, you know, “on the clock”?
“You need to relax,” he said, still surveying me. “You can almost see the tension in your muscles.” He stepped back and delivered his diagnosis: “You need some weed.”
I shook my head. Once was enough, that’s for sure.
“Ah, I thought we were going to do this my way?”
“But …weed makes me cough. And say stupid things.”
“Incorrect. That was a stupid thing to say, and if you smoke now with me, then you’ll start speaking sense.”
“But…”
“You didn’t come here with any money, did you?”
My mind raced. I said nothing.
“No, you didn’t. So it’s on the house. But on my terms. And I say smoke, so you must.”
I could have protested there, could have told him I had indeed brought money, that he had to do what I said, but something made me bite my tongue. I was curious about where this was going. I could stand to listen. At least for a little while, right?
I nodded, and he turned and started to fuss with something inside a little tin he had on the table. It was pretty inconvenient, having to stand there like an idiot while he chopped and rolled, but I bet he kind of enjoyed it, what with me being such a despicable Christian girl. If I’m honest, I also get irritated with how much of a killjoy I could be. Maybe he could beat it out of me. Oh my god where did that come from?
“Oh Jesus will you just relax? You look as though I’m about to bite you,” he said, handing me a faintly glowing joint.
I took the joint. Apparently, it doesn’t take very long to get completely used to being naked. By the time he had turned around again, the whole thing seemed almost boring to me. Maybe all this sex business was actually easy as pie. I took it in my hands and inhaled a long, careful puff.
“Don’t forget to inhale! Here,” he said, tapping his own chest. I liked that had taught me something. That we had this secret between us. But the secrets sure where racking up.
The smoke went in me, again, and this time I knew to relax into the weird, warping sensations it brought to my head, my face, my lips, the tips of my fingers. I started giggling, then I giggled at the fact that I was giggling. I took another drag, just to see if I had the technique down. I did.
He was leaning back on his bar stool again, one hand casually propping up his head, looking at me with an amused expression.
“You know, I had my doubts, but you really are a pretty bad girl after all,” he said.
“Bad? No way, I’m a good girl.”
“Uh huh, that’s why you’re standing here buck naked and smoking a blunt in my house right now.”
He had a point.
I was reminded again how smoking seemed to take the edge off things. How the stakes just didn’t seem that high anymore. And how he looked different somehow. Cute, even. My head fell back, of its own accord, and I relished the sensation of my ponytail brushing the skin on my lower back.
“Loosen your hair,” he said.
And I did. For a brief moment, a little bubble of my shampoo scent puffed into the room against his overwhelming cologne. It died down instantly.
He stood up, grabbed my hand and led me to a low, distressed looking futon. We sat, and I swear I was overcome for a moment by just how comfy, how lovely that futon was. I briefly considered a nap.
“You’re cute when you’re stoned,” he said. I laughed and snorted. I wanted to tell him that I had waited all day for this. That I was so horny I had had to sneak to the bathroom every half hour and touch myself. I had snuck all the way up to the brim of an orgasm and then backed off, saving it for later. For now.
He was up close all of a sudden, and every bit of my body seemed at that point to be made of feelers, of little receptors that prickled when he touched my shoulders, my neck. He leaned in and kissed me, and I melted. It was a quiet, unsure kiss, hesitating on the lips, not quite fully committing. It drove me nuts. I leaned further, trying to kiss him more deeply, but he pulled back, teasing a little.
“Ok, so first, you’ll have to suck me.”
Ok. Fine. I had seen this done. Piece of cake.
Slowly, he took off his shorts, then his white gym shirt. I gasped to see a massive, intricate black tattoo on the side of him, big as a shark’s bite, and made of complicated geometric shapes. “I never knew you had a tattoo!” I said, and momentarily forgot my assignment. He smiled and dutifully showed me all his other tattoos, watching my face as I looked at his hard forearms, his tight hips, and the one on his back.
“Now stop stalling and suck me,” he said again, and brandished a cock that had been rapidly growing while I was distracted with other things. It wasn’t nearly the same creature I had met the first time round. No, this was a mean, dangerous looking thing, more purple than pink, the dimensions of my forearm, only far more obscene somehow. I giggled. There was no way I was going to fit that in my mouth.
He playfully pushed me down on to the futon and I fell easily. Kneeling over me, he placed it right up to my lips, and I clasped two hands round it, thinking about how those girls in the clips seemed to swallow everything so easily. It smelt warm. Underneath his obnoxious cologne smell was a subtler, more powdery scent. The scent, perhaps, of his unadorned skin. I nuzzled his cock against my cheeks for a moment and then closed my lips around the tip, and heard him murmur his approval. There was something warm and delicious growing inside me as well; a diffuse, inner itch. I lowered my lips and tried to find space in my mouth for some of the length. The taste was something entirely new to me, like watermelon flavored gum completely ruined with too much salt. Like something faintly sour. Like accidentally licking iron.
“Don’t be shy, more,” he said, and I obeyed. I worked my lips and tongue up and down the length, which seemed only to get bigger the more I tried to fit it in. Those two small veins were there, bigger now, the same dim, washed out blue of this tattoos. His hand gripped the hair at the back of my head and tugged me forward, bringing all of it deep to the back of my throat, where I reflexively gagged, opening my mouth even more.
“Good. Go that deep,” he said softly.
I pulled back, sucked him in again, learning what made him swell on my tongue, and which angle I needed to tilt my head to accommodate the most of him. He pulled his dick out eventually, and it was wet and red. I felt my body twinge in anticipation of what was coming next.
“It’s always the most uptight ones that turn out to be such sluts…” he said to nobody in particular, absentmindedly stroking himself. I felt my own familiar wetness growing between
my legs.
“Are you absolutely sure you want to do this? After I fuck you, that’s it, you won’t be a virgin anymore.”
“I know.”
“And this is going to hurt a little.”
“I know.”
The inner itch was growing, and, perhaps because of the buzz in my head or because I was tired of having everyone tell me what to do and what not to do, I flopped back onto the futon and splayed my legs, hands clutching under each knee. It was such an outrageous gesture, I couldn’t help but start giggling again. A little drop glistened at the tip of his cock, menacingly. I could feel how excited I was. I could almost smell it. He smiled and leaned in again for a kiss, but didn’t linger this time.
“See? You’re an even bigger slut than I am.”
He kneeled above me again, the expanse of his chest suddenly seeming so huge to me. He lay his cock down onto my little slit, and lifted it up again, pulling a sticky thread of moisture up as he did so.
“Are you ready?” he asked, although the question seemed answered already. He pressed himself up into the wet entrance and pushed just a little, just the tiniest bit, and my body ached and resisted him. He pulled back.
“Does that hurt? I’m sorry.”
I smiled. It did hurt. But I lifted my hips up to invite him to continue.
The swollen head touched me again, and this time the movement was a little more insistent. My poor, unsuspecting body was dousing him furiously with wetness, and he moved into me, a tightness closing instantly around him and holding just his head inside me. It stung, badly.
“Shh… just breathe. Here,” he said and placed a hand on my chest. As we had done in the car, I slowed my breathing and filled my lungs till my chest rose up to meet his palm. It worked. Each breath soothed me, and the searing sensation where our bodies touched mellowed into something far, far more interesting.
With effort, he pulled clean out again, leaving an instant ache for him to be there again. I had waited all day for it, and now I wanted it again. I was a good girl, and I didn’t want to be any more, and this magnificent chunk of flesh was going to be my falling, was going to open new and profane doors for me…
“Cute little slut …you want it again, don’t you?” he said, and before I had time to confirm, the fat head was again inside me, stretching me out completely.
“Stop teasing me!” I giggled.
“Brat! Remember, we’re following my rules here. I’m the expert, you have no idea what you’re doing.”
It was a little comical, I suppose, how we were stuck together like this, his big dick plugged into me. I wondered what Reverend Peters would say if he had to walk in right now and saw exactly what I was doing to my little pussy.
The knotty muscles of his shoulders worked under his skin as he propped himself over my small, badly intoxicated body. We were, after everything was said and done, only a few years apart in age. This body of his was so young, so arrogant. It had none of my doubt and self flagellation. It was unapologetic. I wanted it. And I wanted to be like it.
“Ok, just a bit more. Keep breathing.”
With a careful tilt of his strong hips he slid another inch into me, then paused, the dark geometric shapes on his skin betraying his own breathing. I clasped at both of his forearms and anchored myself against waves of both pain and pleasure. This was not what I was expecting at all. I felt myself pulsing and trembling around his brutal cock, and then, to my utter disbelief, he pulled out again, showing the wet sheen my pussy left behind.
“You’re teasing me again!” I said.
“Of course I am. How else am I going to make you beg for it, huh?” he flashed that irritating, smack-worthy sideways smile at me and raised his eyebrows. I squirmed a little to shift my hungry hips closer to his, but he dodged me and swiftly pinned my arms down and smiled.
“You really are very bad at doing as you’re told” he said, then pecked my cheek. “Don’t worry though, I’ll teach you.”
The ache was unbearable. Slowly, so slowly I could scream, he slid himself back in again, and instead I wanted to scream from the pain as he went well past the old limit and probed me open inside with the full, unrestrained length of his cock. It took my breath away, and as my protests died on my lips, I slammed my eyes closed and tried to remember to breathe. It was glorious, and painful as hell, and it seemed, at the moment, such a bizarre idea that one person’s body should be inside another’s. I was really high, you know.
Wedged into me, filling my little pussy to the brim, he tenderly lowered his body onto mine and planted a few consolation kisses onto my neck and arms, as if to say sorry. “Now, don’t be such a baby anymore, you can take it. When you’re ready, I’m going to fuck you hard, OK? And I won’t hold back. But I won’t do a thing until you tell me.”
He buried his head into the crook of my neck and he breathed there, and I breathed with him, my body becoming accustomed to this new violation. I have to say, with a fat cock locked into me and my head buzzing the way it was, I couldn’t honestly see why people made such a fuss of sex. Surely even Reverend Peters could appreciate how delicious all of this was?
I squeezed and molded my body around him, getting used to the idea that I had lost my virginity now, officially, and seemed to have found instead something else naughty and delicious. He was rocking inside me gently now, with small movements that ground against my clit. We rested like this together for a while, relaxing into each other, and breathing. How hard could he fuck me, really? I wasn’t scared.
‘Ok, I’m ready,” I mumbled and arched my pelvis up to bump my hipbones against his. I could still call some of the shots, here, after all.
He flashed a devil’s grin at me and glanced down at himself submerged inside my little slit, then wrapped crude hands round my waist and pulled a little harder down my body, driving the very last few atoms of his hot dick into me. With one confident movement, he pulled away and slammed back into me, hard.
I screamed. This scream was muffled by another savage pump, then another, then another, my newly opened passage submitting to stroke after vicious stroke. He held me down firmly, the pads of his thumbs pressing down beside my belly button, the full force of his toned body pummeling down into mine with swift, focus slaps of his curling hips.
“Little bitch. You like that, don’t you?” he said angrily, a violent vein throbbing all the way from his jawline into his collarbone. I opened my mouth to protest, but he delivered a string of fierce, unbridled blows into my pussy, now streaming wet and clenching desperately all around him. I could scarcely utter a word. By now he had bumped me right to the edge of the futon, and my head dangled off the edge.
Each time he thrust into me, he lingered at the hilt, grinding his strong hips against mine and rubbing the smooth skin of his belly into my quivering clit. I was no stranger to these new feelings that were swirling inside, but this time, the sensations were more melting, sent deeper into me by his merciless cock, far deeper than I had imagined, even in my darkest thoughts. With each plunge, I nudged closer and closer to an orgasm that seemed to tighten and grow at the base of my spine, at the very deepest places he was touching me.
He was fucking me hard now, sending almost frightening waves into my open hips, but I didn’t care. My head lolled back on the futon and I opened completely to him, too exhausted to contain myself anymore. When it finally hit me, my bucking body slammed hard up against his, and wave after wave of warm convulsions moved through my inexperienced body. I think I must have cried out, or tried to, but the force of my coming pushed hard on his cock out and he slid out, fell back on the futon and watched my face contort with pleasure.
He moved closer again, and I felt the clench of his abdominal muscles as he came too. With a soft growl, he poured spurt after spurt of thick cum onto my still twitching belly. I was so thrilled by this I grabbed him close and held my body to his, the final sputters of his orgasm twitching inside his cock, now sandwiched by both of our bellies. We lay lie this for a moment, tr
ying to find our breath again.
I had been attempting my whole life to be the good girl, to keep correct, and righteous, and chaste, with some dim expectation that this alone would win me the right to enjoy my body, or someone else’s. That sex was only for those who jumped through the right hoops, that it was expensive, and dangerous, and dirty, and something other only people did. And my Pinterest wedding board and porn habits were fighting a battle inside me: sex with all the trimmings, versus sex. Raw sex. Sex that didn’t need a justification, or a white dress, or a guest list of church members. With a blank realization it hit me: this body was always mine. I was always free to use it, to enjoy it. And to give it away entirely…
“Are you sure that was your first time?” he said, gathering himself a little and smiling at me.
“I know. I can’t believe I didn’t do it sooner.”
I felt dreamy, expansive. He didn’t seem quite so smug to me anymore.
With a casual kiss on my forehead he peeled his body away from mine and we both noticed with some shock a large smear of blood. It was pressed between both of us, like a red Rorschach blot, two mirror images of a bloody tree, or a hand with too many fingers.
Panic flashed in his eyes.
“Oh shit. I did hurt you…”
I looked down, freshly deflowered and still ruminating on my new persona as Girl That Fucks, and shrugged. “I don’t think my body has ever been happier,” I said simply, and I meant it.
He flopped onto his back and we both stared at the ceiling for some time, lost in our own thoughts, only the flesh of our arms connecting us.
It was a brave new world, you know. My virginity, for all the fuss I had made of it for years, was nothing but a thin membrane separating me off from a world I had never even imagined before. And now it was gone. I tried to find some shame in my body somewhere, to see if I could return to my old mindset where this boy laying beside me represented the ultimate threat. But there was none. Everything felt right and good.
In fact, what wasn’t fitting was …all the other stuff. Why have a wedding at all? What was the point of covering up the skin, lovely as it was? Why marry one person anyway, when we were all in possession of such beautiful bodies? Bodies that were capable of such wonders? Why didn’t people do this more often? What could be more simple and real than fucking a hot boy on a futon and having a smoke, in other words?
