The big question was whether he was going to try to have sex with me or was he just going to touch me up a bit. I can tell you this; I wasn’t going to take any bets on him just wanting to touch me up. I was going to have to have all my wits around me if I wanted to get out with my virginity intact. There was the crux of the problem. IF I wanted to.
I’d sort of made up my mind that this weekend was going to be the weekend to do it. Now my partner to be wasn’t there, but Brian was. I’ve always liked and respected Brian and I know he’s experienced and would know what to do. I decided to just wait and see what happens. A girl can always say no.
We sat and had our coffee, just talking about things generally, damned if I can remember what about. I was at least sitting down but that still left my breasts on display and I knew he was looking at them. Brian wasn’t blatantly ogling them but I just knew he could see them and liked them. That knowledge did nothing to help my nipples go back down, I assure you.
It was all so, so, . . I don’t know what it was like, but it was very intense I can tell you. The swine knew just what he was doing leaving me to walk around naked, even if I was only sitting. I could sit for only so long, after all, and then I’d be on full display again.
I picked up the empty cups and turned to put them on the sink. I couldn’t help wondering. If I spun around real fast, would I catch Brian checking out my bottom? I was quite sure I would, but I’d look a fool if he wasn’t. Which meant I couldn’t turn around, and he knew it, and he’d be checking out my bottom, damn it. So maybe I swished it a bit when I crossed to the sink. Sue me.
I turned away from the sink and Brian was standing there. He took my arm and tugged me towards him while he moved back towards the table. He sat down, pulling me down onto his lap, and he kissed me. It was not the first time that Brian had kissed me. He’d kissed me hullo and kissed me farewell (kissed me goodbye doesn’t sound right) but he’d only ever kissed my forehead or cheek. This time he kissed me properly and there was quite a difference.
I kissed him back, quite enthusiastically. I mean, I didn’t really think he’d try to take me to bed, so a little bit of kissing and maybe some petting wouldn’t go amiss. Relieve my frustrations a little, at least.
So he was kissing me and I was kissing him and he was running his hands up and down my back, stroking me, and we were kissing, and he was running his hands over my breasts and, oh, my, god! I broke the kiss looking down at his hands. They neatly covered my breasts and he was rubbing them and teasing the nipples.
Apparently I should have gone on kissing him. With his mouth now free he promptly put it to use, bending down and kissing my breasts. Kissing? He was biting, and sucking, and kissing, and nibbling on my nipples, and biting some more, and sucking on my nipples, and generally driving me crazy. I’d had my breasts touched before, but never more than a hand stroking them and an occasional kiss on the upper slopes of them, while retaining my bra.
I was already feeling a little aroused and excited and this brazen assault on my breasts just amplified what I was feeling. If I’d had access to a fan I’d be waving it in front of my face to cool me down. I always thought fans were an affectation, used by Elizabethan style ladies as being modish. Now I realised that those demure young ladies were really aroused and horny and trying to cool down.
I tried to protest and tell him to stop but it’s pretty hard to raise a coherent argument when your breasts are saying, “Hey. We like this. Don’t stop.” Any rational argument I might have mustered came out something like, “Ah, oh, you shouldn’t,” and that was about it. Just push him away, you say? Why would I do that? He might have stopped.
I was so concentrating on what he was doing that I was taken by surprise when he suddenly stood up and carried me out of the kitchen. He returned to the front room and I could see my clothes on the floor by the couch. I suspected that he was now going to let me get dressed and I’m not sure if I was relieved or disappointed. Not that it matters. That wasn’t his intention. He sat me on the couch.
Alright, maybe he didn’t exactly sit me on the couch, but that was where I now was, lying on my back, with Brian kneeling beside me. The reason I was lying on the couch immediately became obvious. Accessibility. He started kissing me again while his hands went exploring. Suddenly I found a hand on my bare skin where no-one had actually touched me before. Well, I guess I should say that no-one had touched my bare skin there. I’d been fending off Mike (and the occasional other) for a while now, and I’d been groped through my panties before this. I’d just never been groped while the panties were elsewhere.
I squirmed and wriggled under his touch but I didn’t try to stop him. This was a first for me and I was savouring it. It was delicious, his fingers stroking me and raising the oddest feelings within me. I won’t say I hadn’t had similar feelings in the past, but never so intense, with the knowledge that I was naked helping to build on that arousal.
I was wondering if he was going to keep petting me until I had an orgasm. I was really, really, hoping he would. That would be fantastic, to be petted by a man until I came.
When he stood up and started taking off his clothes I wasn’t really surprised. I mean, it was obvious that he was going to want me to touch him a bit. I had a fair idea of what he would want. I just lay there watching him. He was big and solid. Not fat at all, just large. Very large, I thought, looking at his groin, and wincing slightly.
He settled back down on the couch next to me, kissing me and touching me some more. I’d naturally started touching him, hands on his hairy chest, and then trailing downwards. I was feeling very adult and feminine when my hand closed over his erection. It was hot and hard, and I could swear I could feel his heart beating through it.
I stroked him and he was continuing to stroke me. Stroke me, hell. He was touching me up in all sorts of ways, driving me mental. I was feeling really hot and just knew I’d climax if he kept this up. I didn’t even notice that he was moving my legs further apart and if I had I wouldn’t have cared.
He pulled his cock out of my grasp and moved onto the couch between my legs. Just like that he was looming over me and his cock was pointing at me. All I had to do was say no, remember? Well, please tell me how you say no when no-one is asking? If I just said no right out of thin air and he said he wasn’t going to, I’d look a fool. If I didn’t say no and he was going to I’d be an ex-virgin before I could get around to saying no.
I dithered and by the time I was ready to say a definite no he was pushing past my lips and into me. Or maybe I just wasn’t ready to say a definite no. I don’t know. I do know that I just watched as he moved my lips apart, inserted the head of his cock there and pushed.
I gave a little squeak when he first started in. There was this sudden pang of pain inside me and I knew what that meant. He simply ignored it, just steadily pushing into me. What I was worried about was not the fact that Brian was screwing me (without asking) but whether that thing would fit inside me. He seemed to have no qualms. He just kept pushing, and I could feel myself being stretched and made to take him. Just how far was he going to stretch me?
Just far enough to fit himself into me it turned out. I found myself lying on the couch with his cock all the way inside me, feeling most strange, while he lay on top of me, looking pleased.
“Um, you didn’t ask,” I said, knowing just how lame that must sound.
“Oh, didn’t I?” he asked, sounding all sympathetic. “May I?”
I glared at him. As if I was in a position to say no, with his cock already stuck inside me. Any more inside me and his testicles would be there as well. More to the point, what happens now? It was fine for him. He knew what he was doing. I just knew the theory and theory was already falling flat as far as I was concerned.
He knew what to do alright. He pulled back out of me and I could feel his cock sliding against me, and it was the most incredible feeling. Then he came back in, a damn sight faster than when he first entered me. I guess his cock now knew the way and didn’t have to stop and ask for direction. It came sliding straight back home and I just squeaked with shock.
He laughed, the brute, and did it again, with me biting my tongue so as not to squeak. He was into his third stroke before I caught on and realised that I was supposed to move with him, pushing up to meet him, according to theory. So I pushed up to meet him as he came in and, wow, everything was as before, but much more intense.
He smiled at me, nodding his satisfaction and I was practically glowing with pride. He also got down to taking me in earnest. Oh, wow, how do you describe something like that? His cock would come rushing in, lifting my excitement, stirring up my arousal. Even his slow retreat felt good, continuing to build on what had gone before. Then he would be charging back, and I was making these funny little sounds as I bucked under him, and bucked with great enthusiasm.
His hands were back on my breasts, teasing them, adding to my excitement, and things just kept building up inside me. I wanted to scream my approval of what was happening but I didn’t have the breath to spare. I just did my best to stay with him, silently cheering him on. God, I hope it was silently. It didn’t bear believing that I really shouted, “Yes, yes, yes. Fuck me harder, you great brute.” Thinking it was one thing. Actually saying it. . .
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