The Last To Know - What I Did Before We Dated

by Bridy McAvoy

  Any minute he would be reaching, and breaching, my hymen. I knew that would hurt, I knew that would hurt a lot. So, when I felt his cock nudge against the obstruction I sobbed out a choked No. In truth, though, I was ready for him to do it. Deep down I knew this had been what he planned all along—everything else had been simply a method of breaking down my inhibitions. His form of drawn out voyeuristic foreplay had lasted several months!

  He paused and I looked down at myself, seeing how much of him was inside of me—not a lot, of course. I looked into his eyes, seeing the mixture of triumph and raw lust there as he gazed at me, gauging when I was ready. I whimpered in fear, at the same time not trying to pull away. Although his hands held my waist, I could easily have scooted back across the desk, keeping my hymen, my innocence, intact. But I didn’t, I lay there, my upper body supported on my elbows and awaited my fate—surrendered to it, even.

  I guess he realized when that moment of surrender had happened because all of a sudden he jerked forward, and my hymen ripped. I squealed, but there wasn’t really that much pain as he slid past the tattered remains of my virginity. Not as much pain as I’d expected—enough to make me squeal, but I think that was in shock more than from hurt.

  As you can imagine, he was very excited to get this far, to breach the final barrier. He didn’t last long, not that time. A couple of minutes later it was all over. That was all it took, from the moment he tore me open to the moment I felt hot cum paint the inside of my vagina for the first time. I’m kinda ashamed to say I orgasmed at that point too—not a big shattering one, but a cum nonetheless.

  He reeled back from me, then gestured for me to sit up and close my legs. He was all business for a minute or so, getting me to sit up, then stand, whereupon he stripped off my panties and sent me through to the washroom to clean up.

  The instructions he gave me were rather gross, about using my fingers to scoop out our mixed juices from inside me, and to wash off the blood. Actually, there wasn’t a lot of blood, just as there hadn’t been that much pain. I guess I had weakened my hymen with the enthusiastic masturbation sessions at home, but not enough to tear it.

  Still it was gone, and I wasn’t entirely sure how I felt about it.

  When I returned to the office, my panties were nowhere to be seen. He saw me looking for them and laughed. I felt like covering up—after all, I was only wearing my see-through bra, my garter belt and my stockings and heels.

  “My souvenir, Samantha, from when I broke you in.”

  I glanced at the clock, my mouth set in a frown. It was just about ten o’clock—only an hour had passed but I’d transitioned into a woman in that time. He was keeping my panties, and I was going to be there for another six hours without them.

  * * * *

  I was somewhat sore, but I still let him fuck me twice more. I didn’t cum either time, but after the second one I’d had enough. In between he used his fingers on me to bring me off a couple of times, but he didn’t go down on me again, nor did he ask me to suck him. I guess we’d moved the relationship from oral to something heavier.

  He could tell I’d had enough too, and he was gentleman enough to do something about it. He let me get dressed, then about three o’clock he let me go home early. When I got home I cried, then took a long hot bath. By the time I ordered a pizza, I was cried out, emotionally and physically shattered. I pulled my housecoat around myself to answer the door to the pizza guy—I don’t think I flashed him, but he probably saw more than I’d have been comfortable with. I didn’t care. In my mind I was now damaged goods, despite the fact it had been only a small step from what we’d been doing to what we’d just done.

  I went to bed early, slept in the nude, and, although I didn’t think I’d sleep well, I actually slept like a log. Friday morning I didn’t really feel like getting up, let alone going in to work, but I did. Mr. Bryant was a perfect gentleman, and totally discreet. I didn’t catch him smirking at me or anything—you know what I mean, none of those I’ve been there, had that, looks. I’d seen several of the guys give those looks at friends of mine in high school so I’d have recognized it if I’d seen it. Monday evening he said goodnight and asked me to lock up. He said he’d got a doctor’s appointment, but he went the wrong way down the street for that.

  Wednesday came along and I waited for instructions on dressing sexy again. But he said nothing. Thursday morning I wasn’t sure what to wear, so in the end I put on my more conservative white underwear, a fairly opaque blouse and a knee-length skirt over taupe stockings.

  Again nothing was said, or implied by glance, until just after we closed at two o’clock. He called me into his office and ushered me to a seat. The visitor’s chair with arms was back in place and he sat down the other side of the desk and studied me carefully for a couple of minutes. His gaze never dipped—he was looking at my face, not my body.

  “You’ve been a bit subdued all week, Samantha. Do you want to talk about it?”

  I just shrugged.

  “Ah, like that is it?”

  I knew I couldn’t let him think I’d gone sullen on him. If nothing else I’d got an exam coming up and I needed his help getting my revision organized. Besides, I had recovered physically and, for the most part, emotionally too. After all I couldn’t get it back, could I? I’d enjoyed a lot of it too. What girl doesn’t enjoy cumming over and over again?

  “Honestly, I’m fine.”

  “Are you sure? You can talk to me, Samantha. I won’t bite.”

  I realized at that moment that he’d eaten me probably a dozen or more times, I’d blown him twice as many times as that, and he’d fucked me three times a week earlier, but in all that sexual contact he’d never, ever, kissed me. We had been totally intimate with each other, but we’d never kissed. I shuddered, almost sobbed, but recovered it well. I thought I’d hidden my reaction but he’d seen it, rose to his feet and walked around to lean against the front of his desk. Automatically I glanced down at the front of his trousers. That move usually meant he wanted me to suck his cock, but his flies were done up and there was no bulge.

  “I’m fine, there’s nothing to worry about.”

  “So, if I was to tell you to stand up, strip and bend over my desk because I wanted to fuck that sweet cunt of yours, you’d do it?”

  I looked at him in shock—he’d gone crude on me again, using the ‘c’ word. I bit my lip for a second then slowly nodded. He just smiled.

  “Stand up, baby. Let me look at you.”

  This was it, then. Within the next few minutes I was going to be fucked again. I grabbed the handles of the chair and pushed myself to my feet on legs that felt weak and wobbly. Inside my bra my nipples were hardening in anticipation of their imminent exposure, and down below things were warming up too.

  My hands went to the neck of my blouse. This one buttoned all the way up to under my chin and I wrestled the first button undone. The second one was undone before he raised his hand to stop me.

  “Sammie, baby, you are eager, aren’t you? I asked you to stand up, not strip.”

  “Oh.”

  “Not that I’m objecting, but today you only take that blouse off if you want to.”

  There it was, out in the open. I had a choice. It was my choice whether or not I got fucked that afternoon. If I stopped unbuttoning my blouse he’d take that as a no. No seduction, no overpowering of my psyche by the force of his personality. No abuse of his position of power over me in terms of my job. Or, by my own free will, I could submit to him, finish undoing my blouse, remove it, and then my ugly skirt, exposing my underwear before removing it and presenting him with my naked body.

  He leaned against the edge of his desk, watching me. He face seemed blank, as if he wanted me to make my own decision rather than him influence it by smiling or nodding, or shaking his head or anything.

  “Would…” I stopped, cleared my throat. “…Would you mind if I had a minute? Used the washroom?” Actually I didn’t need the washroom, I just couldn’t handle
him looking at me.

  This time he smiled and nodded toward the door. “Go ahead, you know where it is.”

  “Thank you.” I didn’t look back, I didn’t try to put anything sexy into my walk, just left his office, crossed the hallway and pushed the washroom door to behind me. I didn’t lock it.

  To be honest, I think I’d already made my decision. I just didn’t want to let him know too soon. I wasn’t playing hard to get, the previous week had shown how easy I really was.

  I spent a minute looking at myself in the mirror—just as I’d done at home every day for a week—seeing if I could see any changes in my face, anything that gave away I’d been had, and was no longer a virgin. Of course, I couldn’t see any changes.

  I looked down at the front of my blouse and made the simplest of all decisions, then walked back into his office. As I crossed the threshold I undid the third button. Another step, another button. I watched his face, his eyes widening as he realized I was demonstrating my decision to him. Each step another button until there were no more to undo, the center of the front of my body exposed from neck to waist, except for the short strip across the middle where the two bra cups were joined.

  The next step I undid the button on my left cuff, another the right cuff, another I pulled my blouse out of my skirt. Then as I stood in front of him, I shrugged my shoulders and let the blouse whisper down my arms to land on the floor behind me. It hadn’t stopped falling before my hands were in the small of my back undoing the skirt as a slow smile of appreciation spread over his face. A few seconds later my skirt hit the floor and I stepped out of it, kicking it behind me. I stood there letting him look at me for a minute, neither of us speaking. Looking down I could see the bulge in his trousers now. It hadn’t been there before.

  As gracefully as I could manage, I dropped to my knees, opened his flies and fished out his hard cock. I didn’t so much as put my mouth around it—I inhaled it straight into my throat. It took him about three minutes to shoot down my throat. Three minutes after that he’d stripped me of my panties and my bra and had me laid out on his desk, legs akimbo, while he ate me to one orgasm after another. Then, hard again, he fucked me. This time I did cum as he painted my insides with his second load of the afternoon.

  After that he didn’t think he’d get hard again, but I surprised him. I actually sucked him clean, and then sucked him hard before letting him bend me across his desk and take me from behind. Tasting myself on his cock was a new experience, but I didn’t gag at it, and being fucked from behind was another new one. I liked that position. I came twice while he did it, and it was ten past four by the time we finished and had to scramble around and leave.

  I actually drove home with his cum leaking out into my panties, our mingled sweat sticking my blouse to my back. I hadn’t had time to clean up properly.

  * * * *

  From then, late September, all the way through till Christmas, that set the pattern. I’d strip, suck him to completion and then he’d eat me and fuck me. I’d suck him hard, and then he’d fuck me a second time. We did it all over the library—on his desk, on mine, bent over one of the chairs, on his office floor, on the library floor. He introduced me to sex standing up, with me braced against one of the stacks. Once he even made me read out the titles of the books in front of my face as he fucked me from behind. He fucked me against the ladder we used to access the top stacks, and even in the restrooms, sandwiched around the toilets. That was a bit gross, but we did it everywhere in that library. Toward the end of November he started turning up with little gifts for me. Clothing—lingerie mostly, see-through teddies, silk camisoles, baby doll nighties with matching panties. The week before Christmas it was a red see-through baby doll with white fur trim, and split crotch matching panties. All topped off with red hold-ups and a pixie hat. I thought I looked stupid but he fucked me harder than ever. I’d become his personal slut, not that he ever attempted to share me with anyone. But every Thursday afternoon I dressed up for him, then undressed, and spread my legs for him, opened my mouth, and my pussy, and took everything he could give me. Believe me, for a man of his age, it was a lot. He started getting blow jobs on the other nights too, just quickies, and I couldn’t get off those nights—there wasn’t time, but I went home every night with a load either in my mouth or my pussy, or both, every day for almost three months.

  * * * *

  Sammie stopped and looked at me for a few moments, watching as I sat there watching her.

  “Honey, I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry I deceived you, but I had my reasons. They seemed to be the right thing to do at the time. I don’t know how to make it up to you, but you tell me how and I’ll try to.” She choked back a sob, swallowing hard. “I love you.”

  Her voice trailed away, and I rose to my feet, my brain awash with facts I hadn’t wanted.

  “Go to bed, Sammie. I have to go to work in the morning.” I looked at the clock. “Later, this morning. Remember, I want you to stay in the house tomorrow. No going out, and no answering the door. Understood? We will deal with this.”

  She had no idea what I meant, and was clearly confused but she just nodded then asked, meek as anything, “Are you coming to bed?”

  I shook my head. “No, I’m going to use the spare room tonight.”

  “But, honey…”

  “No. Go to bed, Sammie. I’ll see you when I get home from work.” I headed for the stairs, turning my back on her. Once upstairs I grabbed the toiletries I needed, a clean shirt and underwear, then my suit and tie and turned to leave the master bedroom.

  Sammie was standing in the doorway, watching me, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Please…”

  I shook my head. “No, Sammie, not tonight. If we talk now, I’ll explode. I don’t want that. Okay? Leave it for tonight.” She stood to the side, and I brushed past her then looked back. “I will say one thing.”

  “What, honey, what?”

  “Notice, I’ve only taken my stuff for tonight. You may not get off so lightly tomorrow. Good night.”

  “Good night, honey.”

  As I turned away I could hear her sobbing, and amidst the sobs a strangled I love you, I really love you. The door shut and I headed for the spare room.

  Chapter Seven – The Next Day

  I didn’t sleep that much and, as a result, I was up, showered and dressed for work with plenty of time—and, I suppose, earlier than Samantha guessed I would be. I tiptoed down the hallway and listened at her door. I could hear her shower running so I knew where she was. Downstairs I grabbed my car keys and headed for the garage.

  I guess Sammie heard the garage door opening and, when I reached the foot of the drive, I turned left, stopped and looked back at the house. She’d appeared at the window, dripping wet, a towel wrapped around her. She saw me looking and stretched her arms out toward me, imploring me to return. As luck would have it she hadn’t tied the towel properly and it dropped away from her, exposing her breasts to me and anyone else passing. She didn’t care, she motioned for me to go back to her but I shook my head and pulled away.

  I knew she’d be sobbing again before I was half a block away.

  I hit the office, balancing a bacon sandwich and a cup of coffee on top of my briefcase. Not the best breakfast, nutritionally speaking, but I needed the energy. I had a lot to do. Samantha might have upset me last night, and I still didn’t know how I felt or if our marriage could survive her admissions, but she was still my wife, and I was going out to bat for her, bottom of the ninth, two down, the plates loaded.

  Frist stop: my desk, e-mails checked, breakfast consumed, then it was up to the next floor. Alison, my boss’s secretary, started at eight-thirty.

  “Good morning, Alison.”

  “Hi, Simon, you’re in early.”

  “Yeah, got a problem. How’s Bruce’s schedule for this morning?”

  “Not bad, why?”

  “Can you clear it, discreetly? Five minutes with me, he’ll need it clear.”

 
“Of course I can. What’s the matter?”

  “Let’s keep it on a need to know basis, Alison. No offence.”

  I wasn’t going to tell the secretarial pool my wife’s troubles, but I needed help from my boss, the marketing director.

  “None taken.” She pouted, then grinned. “As long as you get it sorted and don’t get your ass fired.” Suddenly her face straightened. “You’re not resigning, are you?”

  “Not intending to, no. But that depends on Bruce.”

  “Good, this place needs hunks like you around, even if you are married.”

  I winked at her. She wasn’t bad looking but she was married herself, with two teenage kids to boot. Her life and mine were settled—up until yesterday, that was, in my case.

  “Well, he’s not on the phone, so go right in.”

  I winked at her again and she gave me what I could only describe as a sympathetic smile and started doing as I’d asked—clearing his schedule. As the number two in the department, I had enough authority to ask her to do it, even if I didn’t have enough pull to tell her to. I knew she’d hold all but his important calls.

  I’d left a note for my own secretary to field and block all calls until lunchtime when I’d get back to her, but left it at that.

  I knocked and opened the door to Bruce’s office. We didn’t run too high on formality, but he still looked up in surprise. Bruce Hooston was a big man, especially for an advertising guy. Six-three, built like a line-backer, although he’d never played it beyond high school.

  He smiled. “Simon, good morning. Good to see you. What can I do for you?”

  We had a saying in the department, just a line from a movie, but one based on real life. It was only used if the situation warranted it, never in jest.