by Artemis Hunt
His warm hands are touching my arm, my shoulders, buoying me up. His touch on my skin is electric. I feel flushed all of a sudden, and I definitely feel faint.
I rise shakily to my feet, his arms holding mine. Up close, his face is breathtaking. His skin is incredibly clear and soft, and my lungs are completely depleted of air. The air between us is as thick as molasses.
We are facing one another – very close. His beautiful face swims in my vision, and his warmth seeps into me. Those wonderful lips curl in a knowing smile, and before I can tell what is happening – they close in onto mine.
Oh my God.
I think I’ve just spontaneously combusted.
Air is stoppered in my throat as his lips meld against mine. His lips are pliant and oh-so-nuanced. I can’t even believe this kiss is happening (and why oh why would he be kissing me?) and for a stretched moment, I’m too terrified to kiss back. Not that I remember how to kiss in this petrified moment. My brain is so hollow and numb that I can only be but a receptacle.
The pressure of his lips intensifies, and I can feel his hands going round to my back, and he’s oh-so-warm, and he’s groping for something on my back.
(it’s my uniform’s zipper.)
(Oh my G – )
Without missing a beat, he unzips my maid’s uniform – a plain black dress with white trimmings. And all this while, he doesn’t stop kissing me. And he’s parting his lips and his tongue is darting out, and they are parting mine, and I’m letting him roam inside my mouth – that lovely warm wet sweetness of his mouth – and he smells like mints and aftershave and expensive everything. And oh, oh, he’s removing his mouth from my lips and placing little wet kisses on my chin, and neck, and down my neck . . . and throat . . . and his hands are parting the two halves of my dress at the back –
And he’s pushing me into the stall I just cleaned
(why is he doing this? What can he possibly want with me?)
But now I’m fully engaged. My hormones are running berserk and I’m really into this now. I’m lusting as I’ve never lusted before, and by all accounts, so is he. He’s rougher now with my clothes, and he tears my dress off, and it catches on my hips, but he rips it down anyway.
Before I can step out of it, he’s on my brassiere – the cheap one I got from Target – and he rips that off easily too. He’s shrugging out of his jacket, dropping that expensive woolen thing on the floor (clean, thank God!), and I’m reaching for his shirt buttons, and undoing them one by one while he kisses my mouth, throat, everything –
And he’s clawing at my underwear – from JC Penney’s, and I’m clawing at his shirt and ripping it off his shoulders and arms. Oh – his naked skin – how glorious that tight body is under his clothes. (I was right.) His skin is a rich golden cream under the yellow light, and it’s so silky, and his muscles are so smooth and sculptured under that silken skin that I can roam upon forever.
I’m suddenly naked, and so he’s unbuckling his belt and kissing me and shrugging off his pants. I can’t even tell if he’s dropped his underwear (which is sure not to be from Target’s, I’ll bet), but he’s so heated up now that he presses me against the wall – that cold tiled wall with the cerise borders – and he grips both my thighs so that my feet are off the floor. My shoes have come off without me knowing it. His flesh is all around me – hard and soft and sweet and smooth – and he’s leveraging me against the wall, and I can feel his hardness poking me down there . . .
And finding me . . .
“I’ve never done this before,” I want to say, but I don’t because I’m too caught up with his sweet, swollen kisses.
And oh!
A sharp pain expands me, and pricks me, and there’s the rush of his warm cock into my pulsing and very ready sex, and his lips have not left my mouth.
We lock mouths and tongues – twisting and entwining – as he moves inside me. His cock gushes in and out of my soft and very wet virgin passage. Because that’s what I wanted to warn him about. Through high school and half of college, I’ve remained a virgin. (No time to have a boyfriend and have sex.) And I’ve never caught on to what the hoopla is about, and so I have always been a little afraid of this –
This all-consuming, wonderfully warm and invasive penetration.
This sharing and melding of bodies, this grinding of hips against hips, this marvelous sweet melty sticky merging of flesh and fluids. And he’s pounding so hard into me that I don’t feel any pain at all, merely the sweeping of a rushing vortex, and bliss, and the glorious moist velvet expansion of his flesh within mine. And it’s a cocoon that I want to dwell in forever, and oh –
Oh
Oh!!!
Ohhhhhhhhh!
I cry against his lips, and he holds me even tighter as my body shudders and contorts into a helpless mess, and I can hear him cry out against my neck as well – an explosion of sound within his chest – and the vibration of his chest wall against my breasts. His molten liquid semen geysers suddenly into me, and it’s –
Oh no
Neither of us has used any protection.
But my mind is running too much of a marathon to care, and I’m still riding on the crest of some infinitesimal heavenly wave, and I’m imploding, and exploding, and fusing, and defusing . . . and I’m collapsing against him, and he’s allowing me to collapse against him, and he’s holding me so tightly as he pumps out the last of his hot semen into me.
We are both panting and descending as he withdraws his cock from me. And I look down at his organ for the first time – that wonderful rod that has been inside me – and see that it’s large and red and dripping with white cum. And there’s a streak of my dark blood amid all that goo, and my heart quails and simultaneously swells at the sight of it.
His underwear and pants are not even off. They drape around his ankles, and he’s letting me down on the floor now. At least, my feet are touching it. But he still holds my waist to support me, as if he’s not sure he can let me go yet.
A funny look comes over his blue-green eyes as he looks at me, and he’s suddenly embarrassed. Like he’s looking into the eyes of a stranger.
Which I essentially am.
As he is to me.
“I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely, bending down to pull up his pants. “I don’t know what came over me.”
I can only pant in reply. I’m still not grounded, I think. I’m still floating in that eyrie of consciousness between orgasm and its slow aftermath.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. There’s a hint of regret (oh no) in his eyes as he zips up his pants and gathers his clothes from the floor. “I should have used a condom.”
I can only watch all this in a vague haze. I get the impression that this is a man not used to regrets, or helplessness, or anything he would consider ‘weak’. Indeed, even as I gaze upon his features, they rearrange and recompose themselves.
He puts his shirt and jacket back on and he’s a mask again. His shoulders are straightened, and now fully clothed, he’s a portrait of Adonis. Virile. Studly. In control.
“I should get going now,” he says. That hint of uncertainty that he has only momentarily revealed to me is gone. “Thank you . . . it was nice.”
He doesn’t look at me. Without another word, he hurries out of the stall.
I can only stare helplessly at the open door as his footsteps pad away. The handle of the main restroom door wrenches open and the door shuts with a firm thud.
That’s the last I will ever see of him.
I lost my virginity to a gorgeous stranger.
Was it worth it?
Hell, yes.
The strength drains out of me in torrents, and I slowly sink to the floor on my naked haunches, shivering.
What have I just done?
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