Just as his fingers played with the garter snap of my stocking, he spoke.
“Nakita, are you okay?”
I opened my eyes and saw him as if in a dream.
“Yes, yes,” I answered.
“You’re sure you want to do this?”
“Yes.” I felt like I was melting. My tongue felt thick but I knew what I wanted. “Make me a woman.”
“Okay,” he agreed.
He rested the palm of his hand on my mound and I tried to hold still, to let him do it. I felt like we were walking through a forest, and he knew the way.
Lightly he brushed his fingertips along the top edge of my panties. The wetness in my crotch increased — it was thick and hot. I helped him lift my skirt, so he could see me.
“You’re beautiful, Nakita.”
His hushed words, and the look on his face, made me feel queen of the world. He stroked his hands all over my groin and thighs, making me squirm. I sighed in delight as his lips fell to my bare tummy. Though he was so gentle and sweet with me, something inside me was clanging as if I were running beyond my stamina.
Then — oh then — he kissed my crotch. I startled. He looked at me again to see if I was okay, and I nodded and smiled. But when he lifted my leg and moved it so I straddled the bench, I struggled up. My limbs were wide apart.
“What if somebody comes?”
“No one will bother us. I promise.”
“You’re sure?”
“I have made it so.”
“Okay,” and I leaned back and let him touch me some more. The feeling of magic surged back. His tongue darted against my panties, like it was making a tattoo. I moaned at the luxurious pleasure. I was so slick now, I could feel my parts rubbing against each other, and when he inserted a finger, I burst open like a flower.
He probed my secret place, feeling the warm liquid gold that my body made, and then put in two fingers. If this is what sex was like, I never wanted it to stop, and was only sorry I had not done it sooner.
Inside and out, he felt me all over. Sometimes I put my hands on the back of his head, especially when he was kissing me in places where no one had kissed me before; sometimes I rested my hands on his shoulders. I really wasn’t quite sure where to put my arms, but it seemed like Mark knew what to do. So I laid back and let him do it.
Then he fondled the little button of pleasure, moving around it in circles at first, around and around like a whirlpool, building a tension in me, almost like I had to sneeze. Then he touched it hard, and a wave of pleasure crested through me. I cried out. The noise I made echoed off the walls.
Even as I squirmed and rolled, breathless, Mark was above me like a reassuring presence. I gasped and panted.
“Are you ready?”
I didn’t see how this could get much better, but I told him I was. He unzipped his pants and pulled his thing out. It looked scary.
He saw my fear and offered to let me touch it.
It was strange. The skin of it was soft as anything, yet it was so firm and upright. It sounded so stupid to my own ears, but I had to ask:
“Will it hurt?”
“It might. You tell me if it hurts too much, and we’ll stop, okay?”
I watched him very carefully, and he looked like he was telling the truth. I leaned back and told him I was ready.
He rolled on his protection, lay on top of me, and fit the tip of his arrow between my legs. It was big — bigger than his fingers were.
“Does that hurt?”
“It feels so big, but I think I’m okay.”
He pushed in a little more. It started to hurt a little, but in the strangest way, the pain felt good. My hair stood on end.
He sort of murmured to me, like one of my coaches. He said things like, You’re doing great, and he said my name, and I don’t remember what else. Mostly I was just so aware that the most incredible thing was happening to me, and as he started moving back and forth, I knew I had only ever seen the world in black and white, and now it was in full color. It was marvelous. How anybody could ever live without this, I have no idea.
Faster and harder he thrust, and the tension that had built in me before seemed to be building in him. My breath caught in my throat and I shivered. Little needles of pleasure spiked through me, and then inside me he felt stiffer than ever, and he groaned: “God, ” as if he were dying.
His body pulsed inside mine, and we held each other tight. A last little shudder of pleasure sprinted through me. His weight felt good on me. We panted, our breathing slowing, slowing, and his hardness went soft. Everything was sticky and wet down there.
I hardly remember getting dressed, or even the midnight ride home. What I will never forget is that last, final glimpse of my stud. After he gently kissed me good night, on my cheek — as if he really were my Uncle Teddy — he climbed into the limo — and the last thing I saw was the pale blur of his face.
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