My First Time Sucking Someone Off (fm:first time, 7488 words)

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He didn't immediately answer. Instead, his gaze, which had been calm, flickered down to my trembling hands, then back up to my face. A strange, unreadable expression crossed his features—not anger, not disgust, but something... observant. Something that made my heart flutter in a way that wasn't entirely from fear. I shifted my weight, acutely aware of how disheveled I must look, and how much my body was probably betraying my panic.

"Beatrice," he repeated, his voice still gentle, but with a new, low resonance that sent a shiver down my spine. "Come inside. You're shaking."

My eyes darted to his, wide with disbelief. Inside? My parents were just across the lawn. This whole situation was already a catastrophe, and going inside his house felt like escalating it tenfold. But his tone was firm, a quiet command I instinctively wanted to obey. I hesitated for only a second, my desire for secrecy overriding my ingrained sense of propriety.

"Please, Hudson," I managed, my voice still a pathetic plea, "just delete it. Right now. I... I can't breathe until it's gone."

He stepped aside, holding the door open wider. His gaze was steady, unwavering, and it seemed to hold a silent promise, or perhaps a challenge. "I will," he said, his voice quiet, "but let's talk about it inside. You're upset, and standing out here isn't helping."

The warmth of his house enveloped me as I stepped inside, the sudden comfort a stark contrast to the icy terror still gripping my chest. It was just as I remembered—clean, masculine, with the faint scent of his cologne. He led me to the living room, a space I'd only ever seen from the doorway when coming to pick up my dad. The furniture was sleek and modern, everything in its place. He gestured to the plush sofa, and I sank onto it, my legs feeling suddenly weak. He sat on the armchair opposite me, placing his phone down on the coffee table between us, face down.

My eyes were glued to his phone, imagining the horrifying image still on its screen. "Did... did you... see it?" I finally managed, my voice barely a whisper, my cheeks burning anew.

He leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on his knees. His expression was calm, almost reassuring. "Yes, Beatrice, I saw it," he said, his voice low and even. He didn't sound shocked or disgusted, just... matter-of-fact. "It was... quite a picture."

My heart jumped into my throat. "Oh God," I whimpered, burying my face in my hands. The shame was suffocating. "I'm so, so sorry, Hudson. I swear, it was a complete accident. I've been taking those... for myself. To track my progress. I never meant for anyone else to see them. Especially not you." My voice cracked on the last words, and a hot tear escaped, tracing a path down my cheek.

I felt, rather than saw, him shift. He didn't reach for me, but his presence felt closer, more focused. "I understand it was an accident, Beatrice," he said, his voice losing some of its initial detachment, becoming softer, more genuine. "You don't need to apologize to me for taking pictures for yourself. It's your body. And you've been working hard."

His words, so unexpected, made me slowly lower my hands, peering at him through tear-blurred eyes. He wasn't angry. He wasn't disgusted. He was... understanding? And he had just complimented my body. Me. The pudgy girl. The compliment, even in this horrifying situation, registered somewhere deep inside, a tiny, almost imperceptible warmth in the pit of my stomach.

"But... but you'll delete it, right?" I pressed, my voice still shaky, but a sliver of hope creeping in. "You won't tell anyone? My parents... they would be so upset. My dad would never look at me the same way." The thought of their disappointment, their judgment, was still paramount.

Hudson reached for his phone on the table. My breath hitched again, watching his every move. He picked it up, unlocked it, and navigated to his messages. My eyes were fixed on the screen in his hand, a silent, desperate plea.

"I'm deleting it now, Beatrice," he said, his thumb hovering over the screen. He looked up at me, his gaze locking with mine. There was a pause, a moment where the world seemed to hold its breath. "But before I do... there's something I need to tell you."

My breath caught in my throat. What could he possibly want to tell me? My mind raced through every terrifying possibility. Was he going to tell my dad? Was he going to make some kind of moralistic speech? My blood ran cold, and the small warmth from his compliment vanished, replaced by a fresh wave of dread.

"What?" I managed to croak, my voice barely above a whisper. My blue eyes, still glistening with unshed tears, were wide and fixed on his face, searching for any clue, any sign of what was coming. I saw his dark eyes, the ones that had always seemed so kind, now held an intensity I hadn't noticed before.

He leaned back slightly in the armchair, his gaze never leaving mine. "Beatrice," he began, his voice a low, steady rumble that somehow vibrated through my very core. "I've seen you working out. I've seen how dedicated you are. And I've seen you change, not just your body, but your confidence. You're truly beautiful, Bea. More than you realize."

His words, so sincere, so unexpected in this moment of crisis, hit me with the force of a physical blow. My cheeks, already flushed with shame, deepened to an even more intense crimson. Me? Beautiful? The pudgy girl? I looked down at my hands, clasped tightly in my lap, unable to meet his intense gaze. The compliment felt overwhelming, too intimate for the situation, yet a part of me, the insecure part that desperately craved male attention, drank it in like water.

"I... I don't..." I stammered, completely at a loss for words. My heart was pounding again, not from panic now, but from a strange, unsettling mixture of embarrassment and a nascent, thrilling awareness. I could feel the subtle pressure of my breasts against my blouse, a sudden sensitivity in my nipples, even through the fabric and my conservative bra. I remembered the feeling of them, naked and exposed in the photo he had just seen.

He continued, his voice still soft, but now with an edge of something... something predatory, yet still impossibly gentle. "And that picture, Bea," he said, his voice dropping almost to a whisper, "it confirmed everything I've suspected. You have an incredible body. Absolutely stunning. And I can't pretend I didn't see it, or that I'm not affected by it."

My head snapped up, my eyes wide and startled. Affected? He was affected? My mind, innocent and naive in these matters, struggled to comprehend. My breath hitched again. He wasn't just being nice; he was admitting... something else. The heat in my face intensified, spreading through my chest and down to my very core. The panic about my parents momentarily receded, replaced by a new, confusing tremor.

He didn't move, but his presence seemed to fill the room, drawing all the air to him. I noticed the faint scent of his cologne again, stronger now, wrapping around me. I suddenly felt very small on the large sofa, acutely aware of my 5'4" frame, my 38-26-38 measurements, and how little my conservative clothing was doing to hide them from his now-knowing gaze. My short, honey-blonde hair, usually neat, probably looked like a tangled mess from my frantic dash across the lawn.

"I... I really need you to delete it, Hudson," I managed to say, clinging to the original purpose of my visit, but my voice was weak, lacking its earlier desperation. The urgency was still there, but now it was tinged with something else, a strange curiosity mixed with a deep, unsettling embarrassment.

He didn't move his thumb from the 'delete' button. He just held my gaze. "I will," he repeated, "but what if... what if it's not the only way to ensure your secret? What if... there's something else you could do? Something to make sure I never share it, never even think about it in a way that could compromise you?" His voice was a seductive murmur, a challenge that felt both terrifying and, to my innocent mind, strangely compelling. I stared at him, my heart pounding, utterly bewildered and terrified, yet a part of me, a very small, forbidden part, was listening.

He smiled then, a slow, knowing curve of his lips that sent another jolt through me. It wasn't a malicious smile, but one of deep, confident understanding. "Beatrice," he said, his voice dropping even lower, becoming a rich, persuasive tone that seemed to bypass my ears and go straight to that newly awakened core of my being. "You want to protect your image, your family's peace of mind. And I respect that. Entirely. My only interest here is in helping you feel secure. Completely secure. Forever."

My gaze flickered to his phone, still held poised over the 'delete' button. The ultimate control was in his hands. My secret, my reputation, my entire future... all hinged on that single action. He wasn't demanding, not overtly. There was no threat in his voice, only this potent, velvet suggestion. He was offering a solution, a better way, to guarantee what I so desperately wanted.

"What... what do you mean?" I whispered, the words barely audible. My mind was racing, trying to put together the pieces, but my innocence left me adrift in this new, intoxicating current. My eyes were still wide, fixed on his, searching for the answer, for the unspoken request that hovered between us like a tangible thing. His dark eyes seemed to pierce through me, seeing not just my fear, but also, perhaps, the burgeoning curiosity that was fighting its way to the surface.

He shifted slightly in his chair, leaning back, the picture of relaxed control. "You've worked so hard on your body, Bea," he said, his voice a soft caress of my name. "You've transformed yourself. It's truly remarkable. And that picture... It shows the full extent of your incredible work. It shows a side of you that no one else sees, a side that is absolutely captivating." His gaze drifted down, leisurely tracing the outline of my figure beneath the conservative blouse and skirt, lingering on the gentle swell of my chest, the subtle curve of my hips, almost as if he could still see the image on his phone through the fabric.

My breath hitched. His eyes, the way they moved, felt like a touch. A warm, unsettling flush spread across my skin, a tingling sensation that was both alarming and strangely pleasurable. My breasts, especially, felt heavy and sensitive, as if they were responding to his silent admiration. The idea that he found my body captivating, especially my new, fuller figure, sent a shiver of heat through me.

"And that's why," he continued, his voice barely above a murmur, "I think we could make this... arrangement... truly foolproof. You see, Beatrice, a secret shared is a burden. But a secret experienced... that's something different entirely. Something that binds two people. Creates an understanding that goes beyond words, beyond accidental texts. Something that ensures absolute discretion, because it becomes our shared, intimate space."

My heart hammered. Shared... intimate space? What was he implying? My virgin mind, unversed in the nuances of such conversations, struggled to grasp the full meaning. Yet, the warmth in my chest was intensifying, mingling with the lingering shame. He wasn't being crude, not exactly, but the implication was clear, heavy in the air. He was talking about something sexual. With me. Hudson. My dad's friend. It was scandalous, forbidden, and utterly terrifying. Yet, the way he spoke, so calmly, so assuredly, made it seem... almost reasonable. For my secret, for my parents' peace of mind.

"I... I don't understand," I stammered, though a part of me, the part that had yearned for any male attention, knew exactly what he meant. My voice was a fragile thing, caught between fear and a burgeoning, unsettling curiosity. My eyes darted around the room, anywhere but his face, trying to find an escape, a reason, a way out of this impossible conversation.

He leaned forward again, his voice dropping to a whisper that felt like a secret shared only between us. "Think of it, Bea. You want absolute reassurance that this picture, this moment, never, ever sees the light of day. And I want to give you that. To give you the comfort of knowing you are completely safe with me. We could make a... connection. Something so profound, so deeply personal, that the thought of betraying it would be unthinkable. For both of us. It would make this whole incident... vanish, not just from my phone, but from any worry you might have. Replaced by something... entirely different."

My cheeks were aflame. He wasn't just offering to delete the picture. He was offering a pact, a bond forged in a forbidden fire. My innocence screamed at the implications, the sheer audacity of it. But then, another thought, insidious and compelling, whispered in my mind: he was the only man who had ever truly seen my body, the way I wanted it to be seen, and had called it beautiful. He was the one who could make my greatest fear disappear. And he was so calm, so confident, so... appealing in this moment of vulnerability. My lips parted slightly, but no words came out. The air in the room felt thick, charged, and I could feel my body, responsive to his words, subtly trembling with a mixture of fear and something dangerously akin to anticipation.

My mind reeled, grappling with his proposition. An "intimate space." A "connection." It was clear what he meant. And terrifying. And utterly, utterly wrong. He was my dad's friend. My mentor. This was beyond inappropriate. But the thought of that picture, that shameful, naked image of me, existing anywhere outside my own phone, sent a fresh wave of ice through my veins. And he was still holding the power, his thumb hovering.

A part of me, a small, hidden part I rarely acknowledged, had always been drawn to older men. Not the boys my age, with their fumbling attempts at flirting and their immature jokes. I'd always fantasized about my first time being with someone mature, someone who knew what they were doing, someone confident and experienced. Someone like... Hudson. The thought shocked me, a sudden, searing blush spreading from my neck up to my hairline. I couldn't imagine someone my age being my first. They were too unsure, too clumsy, too much like me.

He must have seen the turmoil in my eyes, the hesitation that warred with my desperate need for secrecy. His gaze softened, losing none of its intensity. "It's entirely your choice, Bea," he said, his voice a balm. "I would never pressure you. But I offer it as a way to truly put your mind at ease. A guarantee that this moment, this beautiful secret you've shared, becomes ours, and ours alone." He paused, then added, almost as an afterthought, "And if you truly believe I'm someone you can trust, then you'd know I'd never misuse that trust. This would simply... deepen it."

That word - trust. It resonated deeply. I did trust him. More than almost anyone outside my family. That trust was why I'd even sent him the clothed progress photos in the first place. He was kind, reliable, and always made me feel safe. And now he was offering to extend that safety, to make this horrifying mistake truly vanish, in a way no one else could. The very idea of it, the illicit thrill of it, sent another tremor through me, this one less of fear and more of a strange, burgeoning desire.

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. My voice was barely a whisper. "What... what would I have to do?" I asked, my eyes finally meeting his, searching for something, anything, that would tell me this was a terrible idea, but finding only that calm, knowing gaze. My heart pounded, the rhythm a mixture of fear and a strange, breathless anticipation. I felt my cheeks flush again, a deep, hot wave that spread down my neck.

He smiled, a slow, patient smile that seemed to draw me in. He still hadn't deleted the photo. "Nothing you don't want to do, Bea," he said, his voice a soothing balm that contradicted the rising tension in the air. "Just... let me see you. Really see you. Not through a photograph, but here. With me." His gaze, which had been on my eyes, slowly drifted downwards, lingering on the gentle swell of my breasts beneath my blouse, then slowly, deliberately, lower, to the curve of my waist, the slight hint of my thighs beneath the fabric of my skirt. It wasn't crude, not exactly, but it was profoundly sensual, and my body responded, a tingling awareness spreading through my skin.

My breath hitched. He wanted me to undress. Here. For him. The thought sent a jolt of alarm through my virgin body, yet it was intertwined with a strange, compelling curiosity. No one had ever asked me to do something like this. No one had ever looked at me with such open, admiring desire. My insecurity about my body, about being pudgy and unnoticed, was warring fiercely with this new, intoxicating attention. He wasn't demanding, just... suggesting. Offering me a way to validate all the hard work I'd put into my body, a way to make this secret truly, utterly disappear between us.

"I... I can't," I whispered, the words automatic, ingrained from years of conservative upbringing. But even as I said them, my mind was betraying me. The image of the nude photo he had seen flashed in my mind, a stark reminder of the vulnerability I was already in.

He didn't move, just held my gaze, his expression understanding, yet unwavering. "Think about it, Bea," he murmured, his voice persuasive. "This is a chance for you to truly own your transformation. To shed that old self-consciousness. And in doing so, to solidify our shared trust, our shared secret. No one ever has to know. Not your parents, not your friends. Just us. And then, that picture... it's gone. Forever." He slowly, deliberately, lifted his phone again, his thumb still hovering over the 'delete' button, a silent, powerful reminder of the choice before me.

My gaze fixed on his thumb. Forever. That was the key. The thought of that picture out there, a constant threat to my carefully constructed life, was unbearable. And he was offering me absolute, undeniable, physical security. My body, which had been rigid with fear, began to soften, a strange warmth uncoiling low in my belly. My cheeks were burning, but it was a different kind of heat now, a delicious, unsettling heat that had nothing to do with shame.

I looked back at him, into his deep, dark eyes. He was older, mature, safe in a way no boy my age could ever be. He was the kind of man I'd secretly dreamed of, the one who would understand, who would take control gently but firmly. The one who could guide me through this. The unspoken tension in the room was almost unbearable, a thick current flowing between us. My heart throbbed, a wild, erratic beat.

"Okay," I breathed, the word barely a whisper, a surrender I hadn't known I was capable of. My voice was fragile, trembling, but resolute. "Okay, Hudson. I... I'll do it. For my peace of mind." My hands, still clasped in my lap, were now shaking with something other than just fear.

A genuine, soft smile spread across his face, and he finally lowered his phone, setting it back on the table, still face down. My eyes stayed glued to it, but a fragile sense of relief began to spread through me. The threat of exposure was receding, replaced by a new, exhilarating apprehension. He slowly leaned forward, his dark eyes fixed on mine, and my entire body tensed, awaiting his next instruction.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice a low, approving rumble that sent another shiver through me, a shiver that was definitely not from cold. "Now, Bea... let's start with that blouse. Slowly, for me. Every single button."

My fingers, still trembling, instinctively went to the top button of my crisp white blouse. It felt impossibly tight, suddenly suffocating against my skin, especially my full breasts. My heart pounded a furious rhythm, my chest rising and falling rapidly. My gaze flickered to his, then down to my own hands, then back to his face. There was no going back now. My journey into the unknown had truly begun.

With a deep, shaky breath, I began to unfasten the small, pearl-like buttons. Each one seemed to resist, a tiny obstacle against the storm of emotions raging inside me. My fingers fumbled, clumsy with nerves, but I pushed through. The first button, the second, the third. As the fabric loosened, a cool breath of air caressed my skin, sending goosebumps dancing across my chest. I kept my gaze mostly on my hands, unable to meet his eyes, yet acutely aware that his gaze was fixed on me, hot and lingering. The sound of the buttons clicking open, one by one, seemed deafening in the quiet room.

Finally, the blouse parted, revealing the smooth, pale skin of my upper chest, and the soft lace of my bra beneath. It was a simple, white cotton bra, a practical, full-coverage style I wore every day, but under his intense gaze, it suddenly felt incredibly delicate and revealing. My large, heavy breasts swelled above the lace, pulling slightly at the straps. My breath hitched again, my body feeling strangely exposed despite still being partially clothed.

"That's it, Bea," Hudson murmured, his voice a low, encouraging growl. "Keep going. Take your time."

His words, a gentle command, spurred me on. I slipped the blouse off my shoulders, letting it fall silently to the sofa beside me. My skirt quickly followed. Now, only my white cotton bra and sensible matching briefs remained. My body, once hidden and dismissed, now stood before him, the curve of my bust, the tight tapering to my waist, and the full swell of my hips and firm, round ass clearly outlined beneath the thin cotton. My toned thighs, the result of months of effort, were visible, still covered by the pleated skirt, but the shape was undeniable. The flush on my cheeks intensified, reaching my neck and spreading down across my chest, highlighting the faint blue veins beneath my fair skin. I wrapped my arms around myself, a subconscious attempt to cover my burgeoning curves, but it felt futile.

"Beautiful," he breathed, a raw, appreciative sound that made my nipples tingle and harden beneath the soft cotton of my bra. "God, Bea, your tits are just... perfect. So full, so round, spilling out of that little bra. And your waist, so tiny, it just makes the rest of you look even more incredible. You truly have a body made for pleasure, sweetheart. Every curve, every inch."

His crude, yet deeply flattering, words sent a shockwave through my virgin body. My mind, innocent as it was, processed the raw desire in his voice. He wasn't just looking at my progress; he was looking at me, at my nakedness, with pure, unadulterated hunger. It was terrifying, and exhilarating. My belly fluttered with a strange mix of fear and a nascent heat. My insecurities about being pudgy melted away under the intensity of his admiration.

He slowly stood up, his movements fluid and deliberate. My eyes, wide with a mixture of apprehension and morbid fascination, tracked him. He moved towards me, not rushing, just approaching. My breath caught in my throat, my heart hammering against my ribs. He stopped in front of me, close enough that I could feel the faint warmth radiating from his body, and smell the intoxicating scent of his cologne. His dark eyes, now even more intense, devoured my form, lingering on my breasts, then my waist, then the gentle swell of my hips beneath my skirt.

Without breaking eye contact, he reached for the button of his jeans. My eyes widened, fixed on his hands. My mind screamed in a silent panic, yet a thrilling current of forbidden curiosity coursed through me. He unfastened the button, then slowly, deliberately, lowered the zipper. My gaze dropped, drawn by an irresistible force. And then I saw it.

His cock. It sprang forth from his jeans, thick and long, already impressive and rigid. A wave of heat washed over me, hotter than anything I'd felt before. I had only ever seen one in movies. But this... this was real. A deep, heavy column of flesh, dark against his inner thigh, pulsing slightly. It was enormous, bigger than anything I could have imagined. My cheeks burned with an inferno of shame and a terrifying, electrifying fascination. My mouth went dry.

He didn't touch me. He simply held his impressive cock in one large hand, his thumb stroking its thick shaft. His eyes remained on mine, a knowing, possessive look that made my entire body hum with a new, strange energy. He began to stroke himself, slowly, deliberately, his movements rhythmic and mesmerizing. The sound of his palm sliding against his skin was surprisingly loud in the quiet room.

"This, Bea," he murmured, his voice rougher now, thick with arousal, "this is for you. This is what your body does to me. This is how much I want to feel all of your soft, firm curves around me. Your pussy, I bet it's tight and wet for me, isn't it? Just thinking about those big tits bouncing while I drive into you makes me ache. You have no idea how long I've wanted to see you like this, how much I've fantasized about grabbing your gorgeous ass."

His words, crude and explicit, were like a foreign language, yet my body understood. The heat in my belly intensified, spreading downwards, making my core clench with a strange, unfamiliar tension. My nipples, already hard, pressed painfully against the lace of my bra. My thighs trembled, and I felt a sudden, heavy dampness between my legs. His words, his actions, were awakening something deep inside me, something I'd never known was there. The terror of the situation was fading, replaced by a consuming rush of raw, carnal curiosity.

He continued to stroke himself, his eyes never leaving mine, watching my reaction. His cock, already thick, seemed to grow even larger with each slow, deliberate movement. The sight was intoxicating, horrifying, and incredibly arousing. I couldn't tear my eyes away. This was it. This was the forbidden path I had chosen to ensure my secret. And now that it was here, tangible, pulsing before me, I felt an overwhelming urge.

"Hudson," I breathed, my voice a desperate whisper, almost unrecognizable. My gaze flickered from his eyes to his hard, pulsing cock. "Can... Can I touch it?" The words were out before I could stop them, a primal urge pushing past all my inhibitions. My virgin curiosity, coupled with his intoxicating praise, had overwhelmed me.

A slow, triumphant smile spread across his face, his dark eyes gleaming. He held his cock out slightly, invitingly. "Come here, Bea," he murmured, his voice a low command that I instantly obeyed. I slid off the sofa, my legs still trembling, and took a hesitant step towards him. My hand, still shaking, reached out, hovering for a moment, then slowly, tentatively, my fingers wrapped around the smooth, hot head of his enormous cock. It was even harder, even hotter, than I could have imagined. A gasp escaped my lips, a shiver running through my entire body.

His eyes darkened, watching my reaction intently. "Now, show me, Bea," he whispered, his voice hoarse with desire. "Show me what you can do." He leaned back slightly, giving me more access. My fingers, guided by instinct, began to slide down the shaft, my thumb circling the broad head. It was thick, filling my hand completely. The sensation was overwhelming, alien, and intensely stimulating. I began to stroke him, slowly at first, then with more confidence as I felt the power and heat of him in my hand.

My hips swayed almost imperceptibly, a strange, new rhythm emerging from deep within me. My gaze lifted to his face, his eyes half-closed, his jaw tight. The sight of his pleasure fueled my own burgeoning excitement. My mouth felt strangely dry, yet my body was flooded with an intoxicating warmth. Without thinking, I leaned in, my lips parting. My eyes met his, a silent question passing between us. He nodded almost imperceptibly, his gaze burning into mine.

I lowered my head, my blonde hair falling forward, obscuring my face. My breath hitched as the tip of his enormous cock brushed against my lips. The taste, the scent, the raw, masculine power of him, was overwhelming. My tongue darted out, a hesitant flick against the smooth, sensitive head. A low moan rumbled in his chest, and he grasped my head gently, guiding me.

I opened my mouth, slowly, carefully, taking him in. The sheer size of him was daunting, but my desire, a burgeoning, urgent need I hadn't known I possessed, pushed me forward. My lips wrapped around him, my cheeks hollowing as I tried to take more, and more. My tongue swirled, tasting him, exploring the incredible warmth and firmness. My hands, still on his shaft, began to stroke in sync with my mouth, slowly at first, then with more confidence, more hunger. This was it. This was the binding experience. And I was completely, utterly lost in it.

I continued to suck him, my cheeks aching with the effort, but a strange, powerful satisfaction filling me. The taste of him, warm and salty, was surprisingly intoxicating. My tongue lashed around the head, then dragged slowly down the shaft, trying to take more of him into my mouth, pushing my limits. His groans grew deeper, more frequent. My hands tightened around his base, stroking him faster, a rhythmic push and pull that made him thrust gently against my face. I was doing a good job. I knew it. He was reacting so strongly, and a wave of triumph, mixed with the sheer audacity of what I was doing, surged through me.

"That's it, Bea," he gasped, his fingers tangling in my hair, pulling gently. His voice was thick, almost unrecognizable. "You're doing so good, sweetheart. Fucking amazing for a good girl like you. Who knew my friend's daughter would be such a dirty little slut?" The crude words, intended to shock, instead sent a fresh jolt of forbidden thrill through me. Dirty little slut. The phrase was so wrong, so scandalous, and yet... it felt right, in this moment, a secret acknowledgment of the wildness he was coaxing out of me.

He let go of my head briefly, his eyes burning into mine. "Now, Bea," he panted, his breath hot against my cheek, "I want to see those beautiful tits without that damn bra. Take it off for me while you keep sucking."

My eyes widened, a flicker of panic. Take off my bra? While I was... doing this? But his command, firm yet gentle, resonated with that obedient part of me that desperately wanted to please him, to keep my secret safe. My hands, still stroking his hardening cock, hesitated for only a second. I fumbled for the clasp at my back, my fingers clumsy. It took a moment, and I almost broke my rhythm, but then the cotton gave way. With a sigh of relief, I peeled the straps off my shoulders, letting the plain white bra fall away. My enormous, heavy breasts, no longer confined, spilled freely, swaying gently with my movements as I continued to draw him deeper into my mouth.

His gaze devoured my exposed chest. "God, yes!" he groaned, a raw sound of pleasure. "Look at them, Bea. Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Those big, round jugs are just begging to be worshipped. And that little pussy down there," he added, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper, making me acutely aware of the throbbing dampness between my legs, "I bet it's so tight and wet for my cock, isn't it? Such a good, innocent girl, doing something so naughty for her dad's friend."

His crude praise, his direct acknowledgment of my body, was like a powerful drug. It shattered the last vestiges of my embarrassment, replacing it with an overwhelming, almost primal urge. My left hand instinctively dropped from his cock, sliding down my pleated skirt to the soft cotton of my briefs. I began to rub my aching mound through the fabric, a desperate, frantic motion. My other hand, still stroking him, slipped up to my right breast, my fingers circling my now painfully hard nipple, tugging at it, twisting it gently. The double stimulation was exquisite, overwhelming.

My hips began to undulate, a slow, unconscious grind against the sofa, as if trying to push my tight panties harder against my sensitive clitoris. The pleasure building in my mouth, combined with the desperate friction against my wet core and the teasing of my nipples, was pushing me to the brink. My vision blurred. A low, continuous moan escaped my throat, vibrating against his hot skin. I sucked harder, faster, my throat working to take more of him, desperate to please him, desperate to find release for myself.

Hudson groaned, a guttural sound that signaled his impending climax. His hips began to thrust into my mouth, harder, faster. I could feel the powerful pulsations building inside him. My own body was convulsing, every nerve ending screaming for release. The pressure between my legs was unbearable, my nipples aching. I kept sucking, milking him, wanting to taste every drop of him.

And then, a searing, white-hot wave crashed over me. My body arched, my muscles tensing violently. My legs locked, and a muffled cry escaped my throat as my virgin orgasm exploded through me. It was raw, intense, shattering. My hips bucked, my hand pressed harder against my panties, and my fingers gripped my nipple almost painfully as wave after wave of intense pleasure washed over me.

At the very peak of my climax, I felt Hudson tense. His breath hitched, and with a guttural roar, he pulled his enormous cock from my mouth. My eyes, still unfocused from my own climax, snapped open just in time to see him aim. A thick, hot stream of cum erupted from him, a forceful ejaculation that splattered across my chin, then dripped down onto my exposed breasts. It was warm, sticky, and completely overwhelming. Some of it slid down my neck, coating my pale skin, glistening on the full curve of my DD breasts. My nipples, still hard from my orgasm, were now glistening with his hot, thick cum. I gasped, a mixture of shock and lingering pleasure, staring at the white rivulets covering my chest, utterly speechless.

Hudson leaned down, his eyes blazing with satisfaction as he looked at me, covered in his seed. "That's it, Bea," he murmured, his voice hoarse but triumphant. He reached out a hand, his thumb gently smearing some of the cum from my chin down my neck. "You did so good for me, sweetheart. Absolutely perfect. And you look so beautiful like this, covered in my cum. It really suits you." His words, possessive and explicit, made my core clench again with a strange mix of lingering pleasure and raw, animalistic response. My entire body felt heavy, satiated, yet intensely sensitive, still humming with the echoes of my first orgasm.

He gave a low chuckle, a rich, satisfied sound. "Next time, Bea," he promised, his voice dropping to a deep, resonant rumble that sent shivers through my still-aroused body, "next time, that cum is going exactly where it belongs. Deep inside your tight little pussy." The idea of his thick cock filling me, of his hot cum spilling inside my virgin body, was both terrifying and unbelievably exciting. My cheeks flushed, and a fresh wave of heat surged through me. My mind, usually so prim and proper, was already imagining it, yearning for it.

Then, just as quickly as the intensity had risen, it seemed to dissipate. Hudson straightened up, a subtle shift in his demeanor, pulling himself back from the edge of raw desire. He glanced towards a nearby clock. "You should get dressed now, Bea," he said, his voice returning to a more measured tone, though still laced with a knowing intimacy. "My wife will be home soon. We wouldn't want her to catch you." The mention of his wife, of the real world, hit me like a splash of cold water, though it didn't extinguish the fire entirely. The illicit nature of what had just happened, and the immediate need for secrecy, became painfully real.

My eyes widened, a flicker of panic returning. His wife. Of course. How could I have forgotten? The forbidden thrill mingled with a sharp pang of something that felt like guilt. I scrambled to gather my blouse from the sofa, my hands still unsteady. My movements were clumsy as I tried to put my bra back on, then button my blouse. My fingers slipped on the small buttons, still sticky from his cum, making me acutely aware of the drying warmth on my skin beneath the fabric. I pulled my pleated skirt back into place, smoothing it down, trying to regain some semblance of my usual composure.

He watched me, a faint, satisfied smile playing on his lips, but he didn't help. He simply observed, his dark eyes knowing. Once I was dressed, looking outwardly the same "good girl" who had rushed to his door, I felt a strange disassociation. My hair was probably still a mess, my cheeks still flushed, but my clothes were back in place, forming a polite, impenetrable barrier to the world.

"Thank you, Hudson," I managed to say, my voice still a little breathless, but striving for normalcy. It was a thank you for the experience, for the words, for the strange, confusing, electrifying journey he had just taken me on. "For... for everything. You'll... you'll delete the picture, then?" I couldn't help but ask, the last shred of my original panic returning for just a moment.

He gave a slow nod, his gaze reassuring. "It's gone, Bea. Our secret. Just ours." He picked up his phone, and with a final, lingering look at me, he made the motion to delete, then set it down. The digital ghost of my shame was gone. Replaced by a far more real, physical memory.

I walked towards the door, my legs still a little shaky. My body felt heavier, warmer, altered. I knew I should feel a crushing wave of guilt, of regret, for what I had just done. With an older, married man. My dad's friend. It was everything my conservative upbringing had taught me was wrong, dirty, shameful. But as I stepped back out into the cool evening air, and walked across the short lawn to my own home, looking prim and proper to the world, I could still feel the drying cum on my tits beneath my blouse, a tangible reminder of the forbidden intimacy. And a strange, defiant emotion swelled in my chest. It wasn't guilt. It was pride.

I was no longer a lonely virgin. I was no longer the pudgy girl men didn't notice. Hudson had noticed. And he had wanted me. And I had given myself to him, freely, in that terrifying, exhilarating moment. I knew, with a certainty that both thrilled and shocked me, that despite any lingering guilt or regret, I would be back for more. This was just the beginning.

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Turkey Butt writes Sun 29 Jun 2025 18:10:

Well written - very boner-inducing. Beatrice, you're a fine porno writer. Check out my stories - you may well be a girl that I boned in the past...

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