My First Time Going All The Way (fm:first time, 7976 words)

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Yet, even with the guilt and the fear, an undeniable, potent curiosity burned. What would "next time" be like? Would he really put his cum inside me? Would it be as overwhelming, as electrifying, as the shattering climax I'd just experienced? And mixed with that curiosity was a strange, powerful yearning. A yearning not just for physical sensation, but for the intense, singular attention he had given me, the way he had seen me, truly seen me, in that forbidden space between us. A space where my secret, my body, and my burgeoning desires were laid bare, and not found wanting. A place where I felt, for the first time, truly alive. I knew, with a certainty that both thrilled and shocked me, that despite any lingering guilt or regret, I was already craving more.

A few days later, Hudson sent me a text. It simply asked if I could stop by after church on Sunday, saying he wanted to check in on my fitness journey and give me some more pointers. He added, almost as a postscript, that his wife would be out. My heart gave a violent thump against my ribs. My parents, of course, were completely unsuspicious. They knew Hudson had been helping me with my workouts, and they were delighted with my newfound dedication and growing confidence. They completely trusted their old family friend, and of course, their pious daughter.

Sunday arrived, draped in a sunny, innocent calm. After church, my mind a whirl of conflicting thoughts, I dressed carefully. A modest floral print dress, knee-length with a high neckline, chosen specifically to convey my usual demure image. But as I pulled it on, I couldn't help but notice how the fabric, despite its loose flow, still subtly clung to my ample curves, hinting at the fullness of my DD breasts and my hourglass figure.

I walked across the lawn to Hudson's house, my steps feeling strangely heavy, yet drawn by an invisible current. My hands, clasped in front of me, were trembling slightly. I rang his doorbell, and he answered almost immediately, looking perfectly at ease, ruggedly handsome with his graying beard and upswept hair. His dark eyes met mine, and there was a flicker of something in them - a knowing glint that acknowledged our shared secret, yet remained perfectly composed for the outside world.

"Beatrice. Come in," he said, his voice warm, a familiar sound. He ushered me into the cool, quiet interior of his living room. The same room where... I quickly pushed the thought away, my cheeks heating. He walked over to the sofa, a casual grace in his movements, and took a seat, leaning back comfortably. I remained standing, awkward and unsure. My hands fidgeted at my sides. What was happening? Was this really just about fitness? My heart pounded, a frantic rhythm against the lace of my bra.

His gaze, which had been casually observing my stiff posture, slowly intensified. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes taking me in from head to toe, lingering on the ample swell of my chest beneath the floral fabric, then moving lower, to my waist and hips. It was the same intense, appreciative gaze he'd given me before making my skin prickle with an uncomfortable, yet undeniably pleasurable, awareness. My body, despite my nervousness, was already responding, a familiar warmth uncoiling low in my belly.

"You know, Bea," he said, his voice a low, gravelly murmur, "you've made amazing progress. Really incredible. But to truly assess it, to give you the best pointers, I need to see the full extent of your transformation. Not just through clothes. I want to see your progress, Beatrice." His gaze locked onto mine, unwavering. "I want you to take off that dress. Slowly, for me."

My breath hitched. My entire body froze, then burned. Shame washed over me, hot and stinging, but it was immediately tangled with a thrilling jolt of arousal. Take off my dress? The audacity of it, the sheer forbidden nature of the request, sent a dizzying rush through me. My modesty screamed in protest, but that deeper, more primal part of me, the one that remembered his praise, his cum on my skin, his promise of "next time," felt a strange, undeniable pull. My fingers, almost independently, floated to the tiny buttons at the front of my dress. They felt impossibly small, daunting. My hands were trembling, but I couldn't look away from his eyes. There was no going back.

Slowly, agonizingly, I began to unbutton my modest dress. Each button was a tiny commitment, a step further into the illicit. My fingers fumbled, clumsy with a mixture of shame and anticipation. The top button, then the next, then the next. As the fabric loosened, a cool breath of air touched my skin, sending a ripple of goosebumps down my arms. My fair skin, already flushed, deepened to an even fiercer crimson.

He watched, unashamed, his dark eyes fixed on my every move. His gaze devoured me as the dress parted, revealing my undergarments: a perfectly plain, full-coverage cotton bra. Below, my matching cotton briefs, stretched taut across my flat tummy, hinted at the firm ass and toned thighs beneath. My physique, meticulously sculpted by my workouts, was now undeniably on display. My slender waist seemed to cinch even tighter in contrast to the generous swell of my bust and hips.

"God, Bea," he breathed, a guttural sound of raw pleasure, his voice thick with desire. His eyes, dark and heavy-lidded, swept over my exposed form, lingering on my breasts, then sliding down my flat stomach, tracing the curve of my briefs over my mound. "Absolutely magnificent. Every inch of you. Those tits are just begging to be handled, aren't they? So big, so full. And your pussy down there, wrapped in that cotton, I know it's hot and wet for me. You're so incredibly sexy, Beatrice. You're making me so fucking hard just standing there, watching you."

My breath hitched, a faint whimper escaping my lips. His words, so graphic, so crude, yet delivered with such raw honesty and admiration, were electrifying. My entire body hummed with a mixture of profound shame and an overwhelming surge of arousal. My clitoris throbbed, a relentless pulse between my legs, already dampening my panties. My nipples, painfully hard, ached for touch. The visual of his upswept hair, his graying beard, the rugged handsomeness of his face now consumed with blatant lust for me, was intoxicating.

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees, his dark eyes boring into mine. His voice dropped to a low, persuasive rumble, filled with an undeniable command. "Now, Bea, my good girl. Do you want to suck my cock again? Do you want to feel me get even harder for you, just like before? Tell me, sweetheart. Tell me you want to be a good girl for me again."

A strange, conflicting wave of emotions washed over me: deep embarrassment from his blatant praise, yet a powerful flattery that made my skin tingle. My cheeks, already flushed, burned hotter. He was staring at me, unashamed, and instead of feeling degraded, a part of me swelled with a forbidden pride. I nervously clasped my hands in front of me, trying to appear demure, but my body felt alive, humming with the arousal his words had stoked.

"I do, Hudson," I managed to stammer, my voice barely above a whisper, acknowledging his question. "I want to be a good girl again." The words felt both incredibly shameful and incredibly right, a testament to the primal urge that now coursed through me. My legs felt weak, and I moved tentatively, taking a single, hesitant step forward before slowly, gracefully, lowering myself to my knees on the plush rug in front of him. My gaze dropped to his lap, where the undeniable bulge beneath his jeans was a throbbing testament to his arousal, and to my effect on him.

A wave of relief, soft and fleeting, washed over me. He hadn't immediately demanded I strip further. He hadn't pushed for that other promise. Part of me, the still-innocent, terrified part, was grateful. I wanted to try giving head again. I yearned for the taste of him, the feel of him in my mouth, the shocking power of bringing a man to climax. But immediately, a flicker of disappointment followed. Was that all he wanted? Had his promise of "next time" been just a tease?

My gaze, still lingering on the undeniable evidence of his arousal, slowly lifted back to his face. "I... I thought you said," I began, my voice barely a whisper, imbued with a hesitant curiosity that surprised even myself, "I thought you said next time... you were going to put your cum inside my pussy." The words, so explicit, felt alien on my tongue, yet they were out there, hanging in the quiet room.*

A slow, wicked smile spread across Hudson's face, a glint in his dark eyes that sent a shiver down my spine, hot and thrilling. "Aha," he purred, his voice a low, knowing rumble. "You remember that, do you, Bea? My, my. What a naughty little memory you have. And you really want it, don't you, sweetheart? You really want my cum deep inside your pussy?" He watched me intently, his thumb slowly stroking the formidable bulge in his jeans, a deliberate, sensual taunt.

He leaned back, a subtle shift that made him seem even more in command. "I don't know, Bea," he mused, his voice laced with a teasing skepticism that both frustrated and excited me. "Are you sure you're ready for that? For something so serious? It's quite a step for an innocent girl like you, isn't it? Perhaps we should just stick to what you know. Keep you safe. Is that what a good girl wants?" His tone was almost paternal, yet beneath it, a predatory gleam in his eyes dared me to defy him. He was questioning my readiness, implying I might not be capable, and it stirred a fierce, rebellious spark in my virgin soul.

My cheeks flushed with a fresh wave of heat, a mixture of embarrassment and a growing defiance. He was toying with me, and a part of me, the part that hated being underestimated, resented it fiercely. My breasts, still straining against the thin cotton of my bra, felt heavy and full, aching for his touch. He was still waiting for me to take off my bra, I realized, and his eyes dropped pointedly to my chest.

"Come on, Bea," he murmured, his voice softer, yet still carrying that undertone of command. "Let's see those big titties fully. I want to see how magnificent they are when they're truly free. Show me, sweetheart."

My fingers, still trembling, went to the straps of my bra. With a nervous gulp, I slipped them off my shoulders, letting the plain white cotton fall away. My enormous DD breasts spilled forth, heavy and round, no longer restricted. My pink nipples, already hard, seemed to strain towards him, aching for contact. I felt completely exposed, vulnerable, yet a powerful thrill shot through me as his eyes devoured my bare chest, a low groan rumbling in his throat.

"God," he breathed, his voice rough with pure lust, "they're spectacular So full, so round, just begging for my mouth, aren't they, Bea? You're such a sexy little thing, aren't you?" He paused, his gaze sweeping over my bare chest, then down to the outline of my briefs, then back to my face. "Still, this other matter, Bea. Putting it inside you. Are you truly certain? It's a big deal. For a naive girl like you... I'm not sure you could handle it." His words, cloaked in concern, were a direct challenge. He was questioning my maturity, like a stern parent. He was calling me naive. And I hated it.

My embarrassment melted away, replaced by a surge of pure, defiant frustration. My eyes, still wide and blue, snapped up to meet his. My voice, no longer a timid whisper, hardened with a new, fierce resolve, a raw demand that surprised even myself.

"I want it," I said, my voice clear and emphatic, each word laced with a desperate, undeniable hunger. "Yes! I want it, Hudson. I want you to take my virginity!"

Hudson's smile widened, becoming truly wicked. "Well, now, that's what I like to hear, Bea. A good girl who knows what she wants." He pushed himself up from the sofa, his movements deliberate, his gaze never leaving mine. "If you truly want it, then stand up. And take off those panties, sweetheart. Let's see just how much you want it."

My heart hammered against my ribs, a furious drumbeat. My legs felt like jelly as I pushed myself to stand. My hands, still shaking, went to the elastic waistband of my cotton briefs. With a deep, shaky breath, I slowly peeled them down my hips, over my toned thighs, and let them fall to the floor, joining my discarded dress and bra.

I stood before him, completely naked in the middle of his living room, in the middle of the afternoon. My fair skin, already flushed, burned even hotter. The ginger pubic hair, a soft, natural bush that I had never given a second thought to, was now fully exposed. The idea of shaving had never even crossed my mind. Now, under his unwavering gaze, I felt a fresh wave of mortification.

His eyes dropped, and I watched his gaze linger on my exposed mound. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, a sound that held both amusement and something deeply appreciative. "Well, well, Bea," he murmured, his voice laced with a knowing satisfaction. "A natural woman. Don't often see a beautiful bush like that these days, do you? It's... charming. Very charming." He stepped closer, his eyes still fixed on my pubic hair. "And I bet," he continued, his voice softer, more intimate now, "I bet you've got a pretty little pussy hidden under there, haven't you, sweetheart? A tight, pink little flower just begging to be opened."

His unexpected praise for my bush surprised me. The embarrassment was still there, a hot flush, but it was now strangely mixed with a feeling of being seen, truly appreciated, even for this most private part of me. His words, especially the way he called my pussy "pretty" and a "tight, pink little flower," were unexpectedly reassuring. My initial shame began to recede, replaced by a nascent, powerful sense of sexiness. I actually felt... beautiful. Exposed, yes, but beautiful and desirable.

He extended a hand, his touch light as he took my hand, his fingers warm around mine. He dropped the gruff, teasing tone entirely, his voice now a low, gentle murmur that seemed to wrap around me, pulling me into a deeper intimacy. "Come with me, Bea."

He led me from the living room, leaving my clothes discarded on the floor. Walking through his house completely nude, while he remained fully dressed, felt incredibly exposing. Every step was a conscious act of vulnerability, each creak of the floorboards amplifying the thumping of my heart. But his hand in mine was a steady anchor, a promise of gentle guidance.

He led me to what looked like a guest bedroom, a quiet space that seemed rarely used, the bed neatly made. He stopped at the edge of the bed, turning to me. "Sit down for me, Bea," he instructed, his voice soft, almost tender, yet still firm. "And spread those sexy thighs wide open. Let me see you."

My legs felt unsteady as I sat on the edge of the mattress. Nerves fluttered in my stomach, a knot of insecurity and apprehension. But his gaze, still so kind, so appreciative, reassured me. I swallowed hard and slowly, tentatively, spread my thighs, revealing my private parts fully to his gaze. My blonde bush, still soft and untouched, framed the delicate folds of my pussy, which was already glistening with anticipation. My heart pounded, exposed and vulnerable.

He dropped to his knees on the floor in front of me, his gaze fixed on my opened cunt. His eyes devoured me, and a slow, approving smile spread across his face. "Oh, Bea," he breathed, a raw, appreciative sound. "God, you have the prettiest little pussy I've ever seen. So pink, so perfect. Just like a delicate flower. And so wet, aren't you, sweetheart? Already dripping for me. My gorgeous, pretty pussy." He repeated the praise, murmuring "pretty pussy," "good little pussy," over and over, his voice a soothing, seductive chant that began to chip away at my remaining embarrassment.

At first, I flushed furiously, a deep crimson spreading from my core. But his consistent, gentle praise, his utter lack of shame, slowly, powerfully, began to transform my feelings. I started to believe him. I started to feel sexy. Truly sexy. The insecurity that had clung to me for so long began to dissolve under the heat of his unwavering admiration. My clitoris, already throbbing, pulsed with even greater urgency, aching for his touch.

He leaned forward, closer still, and my breath hitched. His warm breath ghosted over my wet cunt, and then, his tongue. A soft, wet flick against my clitoris. A jolt, pure and electrifying, shot through my entire body. My hips instinctively bucked against the mattress. His tongue was skilled, teasing, circling my clitoris with agonizing slowness, then flicking, then circling again. He began to suck, gently at first, pulling my aching clit into his mouth, drawing on it with rhythmic, building pressure. My moans, initially soft, hesitant whimpers, began to grow louder, more insistent, escaping my throat as my hips began to rock uncontrollably.

He teased me, alternating between slow, deliberate licks and sharp, rapid flicks that drove me wild. His fingers joined in, spreading my labia, dipping into my wetness, rubbing the sensitive folds surrounding my clitoris. I gasped, my head falling back against the headboard, lost in the sensations. My hands, almost unconsciously, went to my tits, my fingers grasping my hard nipples, tugging and twisting, desperate for more. The combined pleasure was overwhelming, building rapidly, a relentless wave pulling me towards the edge of sanity.

My moans were no longer contained, becoming deep, guttural cries that filled the quiet room. My breath came in ragged gasps, my body arching, trembling uncontrollably. I could feel the familiar, exquisite tension building, the precursor to climax, tightening every muscle in my core. I was on the brink, just seconds away.

"That's it, Bea," Hudson's voice, muffled by my pussy, was a raw, encouraging growl. "Cum for me, sweetheart. Let it all go. Let your good girl pussy explode."

And then, just as I felt the first tremor of release, a searing, white-hot wave about to break, he plunged a finger, strong and firm, deep inside my wet cunt. The sudden, unexpected penetration, the first I had ever experienced, combined with the intense stimulation of his mouth on my clitoris, was too much. A raw, guttural cry tore from my throat. My body convulsed violently, my hips bucking wildly off the bed, my legs locking around his head. Wave after wave of pure, shattering pleasure erupted through me, a climax so intense it felt like my entire world was imploding. I moaned, screamed, sobbed, crying out loudly as I came, my body writhing, completely consumed by the overwhelming orgasm that left me gasping and shaking, completely spent.

He pulled back, his face flushed, eyes still blazing with satisfaction. "How do you feel, Bea? Did you like that, sweetheart?" he asked, his voice rough, but tinged with a deep, knowing amusement.

Still breathless, my body thrumming with aftershocks, I could only nod, wildly, ecstatically. "Amazing," I gasped, the word escaping on a shaky exhale. "It was amazing." My vision was still slightly blurred, the world softened by the blissful haze of my climax.

He gave a low chuckle, then reached out, gently taking my hand and pulling me closer. He leaned in, his lips finding mine. It was my very first kiss. A sudden, jarring realization. My first kiss, and it was happening after I'd given a blowjob and let a man go down on me. It wasn't supposed to be like this. My religious upbringing, the quiet dreams of a romantic, chaste courtship, a first kiss under different circumstances - it all flooded my mind. A sharp pang of guilt, a fleeting moment of stark conflict, warred with the lingering euphoria. This wasn't the fairytale first time I'd always imagined.

Sensing my momentary withdrawal, his lips pulled back just slightly. "Are you alright, Bea?" he murmured, his thumb gently caressing my cheek. His eyes were kind, searching, as if he could read the sudden conflict in my expression.

I took a shaky breath, gathering my scattered emotions. "Yes," I said, meeting his gaze, a newfound determination hardening my voice. "Yes, I am. Things are different than I ever planned, but I have no regrets." I leaned in, pressing my lips to his again, a firm, deliberate kiss this time, a conscious choice to embrace this wild, forbidden path.

His lips parted beneath mine, and his tongue, still warm and tasting faintly of my own pussy juice, hesitantly probed my mouth. My breath hitched again, a gasp of pure sensation. The taste was shocking, intimate, and incredibly arousing. I parted my lips further, inviting him in, and our tongues met, twining, exploring, as the kissing grew deeper, more intense, his rough beard scratching my chin deliciously.

He pulled back, just enough to look into my eyes, his gaze steady and kind, but with an underlying question. He was giving me every chance to back out, even now. "Bea," he whispered, his voice incredibly patient, his eyes serious. "Are you still sure you want to go all the way? We can stop. Right here. Right now. You just have to say the word."

I bit my lip, my mind a whirl of conflicting desires. Hesitation, brief and fleeting, passed through me. This was it. The real decision. My first. But then, the memory of his words, his praise, the intoxicating feeling of his tongue and finger inside me, flooded my senses. My cheeks burned with a mix of nerves and fierce longing. I nodded, slowly at first, then more firmly. "Yes," I said, my voice clearer, more resolute. "Yes, Hudson. I do."

A slow, satisfied smile spread across his face, and he finally stood up from the bed. He reached for the buttons of his shirt, unfastening them with a calm, deliberate motion, then shrugged the shirt off, tossing it casually onto a nearby armchair. My eyes widened, devouring the sight of his torso. Not a bodybuilder, not ripped, but a man's body. A "dad bod," as some might call it, but solid, powerful. His chest was broad, dusted with a surprising amount of graying hair that thickened alluringly, leading down to his belly. His biceps, visible as he moved, were defined and strong, a testament to his fitness. He was all man, not like the college boys I knew.

Next, he unzipped his jeans, the sound a soft rasp in the quiet room. He pushed them down, and they pooled around his ankles. He was now clad only in a pair of dark boxer briefs, and through the fabric, his big, impressive cock was already straining, thick and rigid, a formidable presence.

He looked at me, his gaze dropping to my eyes, then to my naked body on the bed. "Bea," he asked, his voice unexpectedly casual, "do you use birth control?"

My face instantly flamed a deep, mortified crimson. Birth control? The thought had never even crossed my mind. My life had been so structured, so chaste, that contraception was an entirely alien concept. "Oh!" I gasped, my voice a strangled squeak. "Of course not! I... I haven't ever needed to." My voice trailed off, consumed by a sudden, hot fear that I had disappointed him. Would he stop now? Would he judge me?

He chuckled, a soft, reassuring sound that immediately brushed away my concerns. "Hey, hey. It's no big deal, sweetheart. Not at all. But we have to be safe, don't we? I won't cum inside you like I promised." He walked to the bedside table, pulling open a small drawer. As he rummaged, I found my eyes tracing the lines of his body, admiring the solid strength of his thighs, the heavy, promising weight of his straining cock against the dark fabric of his underwear. For a brief minute, a fleeting thought crossed my mind. Why were there condoms in the drawer of his guest room? A sudden, cold pang of suspicion, a tiny flicker of wonder if I was not the first woman to be brought into this secluded room while his wife was away. But I quickly brushed the thought aside. It didn't matter. Not now. He was here, looking at me. He wanted me. And I was the one he was going to be with, now. That was all that truly mattered.

He pulled out a single condom packet, tearing it open with a practiced ease, his movements economical. He then joined me on the bed, sitting beside me, his warmth radiating against my thigh. He leaned down, his lips finding mine again, a slow, deep kiss that melted any lingering worry. His hands moved, one cupping my bare breast, gently kneading it while his thumb teased my nipple, the other descending to my wet pussy, his fingers deftly parting my labia, tracing the sensitive folds, priming me for what was to come.

He pulled back from my lips, his gaze locking with mine, his eyes serious and searching. "Bea," he murmured, his voice soft, earnest, "are you absolutely sure? This is it. You want me to be your first?"

My lip trembled slightly as I bit it, my mind racing through the enormity of the moment. My virginity. With Hudson. A married man. My dad's friend. It was terrifying. But the way he looked at me, with such intense desire mixed with such deep admiration and patience, was something no one else had ever offered. No one had ever made me feel so utterly desired, so cherished in my nakedness. I took a deep breath, and then, a slow, determined nod. "I'm certain," I breathed, my voice barely audible but firm. "I want you. I want you to be my first. Nobody has ever looked at me the way you do."

A knowing, satisfied smile graced his lips. He shifted, mounting me gently, his weight settling over me, warm and heavy. He was in the missionary position, his gaze locked with mine, his eyes full of a powerful, tender lust. With one hand, he guided the thick, blunt tip of his cock to the entrance of my pussy, pressing softly.

"Just the tip, Bea," he murmured, his voice a low, encouraging rumble. He pushed gently, and I felt a soft, stretching pressure. My entire body tensed, a gasp escaping my lips, but the pain was more anticipation than discomfort. Just the very head of him, warm and hard, nested against my sensitive opening. It felt enormous, filling me completely even with just a hint. "You okay, sweetheart?" he asked, his eyes scanning my face, attentive to my slightest reaction.

I nodded, my breath catching in my throat. It was tight, so incredibly tight. A pressure, foreign yet thrilling. He pushed a little more, slowly, easing his thick shaft into my virgin cunt. I felt a sharp, stretching sensation, a brief sting that made me clench my teeth. "Okay?" he asked again, his voice soft, pausing, allowing me to adjust.

I whimpered, a nervous sound, but nodded again, pushing my hips up slightly, a subconscious invitation for him to continue. The initial pain subsided, replaced by an overwhelming fullness, a deep, penetrating warmth that spread rapidly through my core. He moved, inch by agonizing inch, his movements agonizingly slow, incredibly deliberate. I could feel every millimetre of his cock as it gradually stretched me, claiming me. The sensation was intense, a glorious agony that quickly transformed into pure, unadulterated pleasure.

"So good, Bea," he praised, his voice a low, encouraging whisper. "You feel so incredibly good around me, sweetheart. So tight. So wet. God, I love the feel of your pussy wrapped around my cock." His words, combined with the slow, relentless invasion, sent shivers of ecstasy through me. I squeezed my eyes shut, my head falling back, completely lost in the moment. He pushed a little more, and a soft groan escaped my throat as my cunt stretched further, accommodating him.

He continued this slow, deliberate rhythm, pressing, pausing, waiting for my body to yield, for me to signal my readiness. His chest hair brushed against my bare breasts, and I instinctively arched my back, pressing my sensitive nipples into his warm flesh. My hands found his shoulders, gripping them tightly as he pushed deeper, deeper. The fullness became almost unbearable, a delicious ache that pulsed with his every inch of entry.

Finally, with a soft, triumphant grunt, he was fully buried inside me. His thick cock filled me completely, stretching me to my very limits, a profound, overwhelming sensation of utter fullness and connection. He paused, motionless for a long moment, his weight heavy and comforting.

"You okay, Bea?" he asked, his voice a little strained now, but still tender, his eyes fixed on mine, searching. He let me simply feel it. The incredible, raw sensation of him, completely inside me. So full. So hot. So utterly, unbelievably real. My breath came in ragged gasps, my eyes wide, taking in the sight of his face, so close to mine.

He leaned down, his lips finding mine in a slow, sensual kiss. His tongue gently parted my lips, tasting me, affirming the connection. "You're so beautiful, Bea," he whispered against my mouth, his voice thick with emotion, "so incredibly sexy. My little good girl. You're not a virgin anymore."

For a moment, a profound pang of panic and guilt shot through me, sharper than any pleasure. My romantic fantasies of a chaste, charming first kiss, a loving husband, a perfect wedding night - they were utterly gone, shattered by the raw reality of this moment. My strict religious upbringing, the vows of purity ingrained since childhood, screamed in my mind, ignored. I had given myself to another man. I was no longer innocent.

Sensing my sudden unease, his lips pulled back just an inch, his gaze searching mine with immediate concern. He kissed me softly, gently, a reassuring press of his mouth that spoke volumes. Then, he deepened the kiss, his tongue probing, gently, tenderly, as I still adjusted to the overwhelming sensation of having his giant cock completely buried inside me. It was a kiss designed to comfort, to reconnect, to soothe the sudden storm in my soul. I could taste him, the faint, metallic hint of his masculine essence, mingled with the sweet, musky tang of my own arousal.

He finally pulled back, just far enough to look me in the eyes, his expression serious, his breathing still a little heavy. "Are you ready, Bea?" he asked, his voice a low, husky rumble, full of patient inquiry. "Ready for me to fuck you?"

I bit my lip, my eyes wide and nervous, but a fierce desire still pulsed beneath the lingering shock. I nodded my head, cautiously at first, then more definitively. "Yes," I whispered, the word barely audible.

Instinctively, my right arm reached up, wrapping around his neck. My fingers found the taut muscles in his back, feeling them flex and shift beneath my touch. With my arm around him, he began to move, slowly at first, a deliberate, agonizingly sensual slide in and out. It was a paradox of sensation: a sharp, stretching pain that quickly morphed into an exquisite, penetrating pleasure. A soft moan escaped my lips, a fragile sound of release and burgeoning ecstasy.

He listened, attuned to my every subtle reaction. He began to skillfully increase the pace, building a slow, steady rhythm that was utterly intoxicating. On some primal level, I realized he was holding back, taking his time, his movements controlled. He wasn't focused on his own impending climax; he was entirely concerned with my pleasure, with my body's response, with guiding me. He checked in frequently, his breath warm against my ear. "Does that feel good, sweetheart?" he'd murmur, or "God, Bea, your pussy feels so good wrapped around me." His praise was constant, a steady stream of validation that fueled my burgeoning confidence.

The pace gradually increased, becoming deeper, more consuming. I held him tighter, my fingers digging into the strong muscles of his back as he expertly pistoned in and out, each stroke a deliberate claim. My moans began to grow louder, becoming less whispers and more raw, hungry sounds. His own breathing started to grow heavy, ragged with effort. He grunted, low, guttural sounds of mounting arousal, responding to my body, getting deeper and deeper into it.

Together, we began to move as one, a seamless, ancient rhythm. My hips instinctively lifted, tilting, grinding against him, meeting his thrusts in perfect sync. It came naturally, a primal dance I hadn't known I possessed. We were both panting now, our breaths ragged, mingling in the quiet room. His broad shoulders and chest were covered with a light sheen of sweat that glistened in the afternoon light. His strokes were deep and sensual, never frantic, never harsh. He wasn't pounding my pussy; he was pleasuring me, worshiping me with every powerful, controlled thrust.

He leaned down, kissing my lips, then my neck, then moving to my breasts, his mouth brushing my nipples as he continued his slow, delicious pace. "You're a natural, Bea," he murmured against my skin, his voice rough with lust. "You feel so incredibly good. So unbelievably good around me. I want you to feel good, sweetheart. I'm gonna make you cum again. I want you to cum with me inside you." He began to encourage me, his voice a low, insistent chant. "Cum with me, Bea. Let's cum together, baby. Let's lose ourselves."

The tempo increased, steadily, inexorably. My moans became louder, more desperate, pushing towards a fever pitch. His grunts and groans intensified, becoming more guttural, more raw, and the sound made me feel hot, powerful, and utterly flattered that I was capable of making this experienced, older man moan with such uninhibited pleasure. I could feel my orgasm approaching again, a familiar, exquisite tightening deep within my core. I closed my eyes, giving in completely to the overwhelming sensations, allowing the pleasure to consume me.

He sensed it. He increased his pace, pushing harder, faster, his hips driving into me with controlled ferocity. "Cum with me, Bea! Let's cum together, baby! Let it go!" he urged, his voice thick with raw command, repeating the words over and over, his rhythm matching the rising tide of my pleasure.

And then, just as my body began to convulse with the first tremors of climax, he grunted loudly, a powerful, guttural sound of release, and his body tensed above mine. At the exact same moment, a searing, white-hot wave of pleasure exploded through me. My body arched violently against his, my muscles tensing, my legs instinctively locking around his hips as a raw, guttural cry tore from my throat. Our bodies shuddered together, synchronized in a shattering, overwhelming climax that left us both gasping.

We collapsed in an exhausted, sweaty heap, his heavy weight still pinning me to the bed, both of us panting, our skin slick with sweat. His dick, though spent, remained deeply, blissfully inside me.

We laid there wordlessly in the same position until our hearts stopped racing, the scent of our mingled desire filling the air, a scandalous perfume. I had no idea if mere minutes had passed or if we'd been there for an eternity; time had dissolved into a hazy, blissful afterglow. At first, there was only the lingering warmth, the thrum of my body slowly returning to earth after such a shattering ascent. But then, insidious and cold, the guilt set in. I was no longer a virgin, the carefully guarded innocence of my twenty years irrevocably lost. I was a college freshman, naked beneath a man old enough to be my father, a man who was married, a close friend of my actual father. The stark reality of my situation hit me with a sickening lurch: I was lying on top of the untouched bedspread in the guest room, in the very home he shared with his wife. We hadn't even had the decency to turn down the sheets, as if our illicit act was something to be hastily concluded.

He was still lost in the pleasurable haze of his own release, less attuned now to the sudden storm of insecurities raging within me. But when he shifted slightly, his body still heavy and comforting, he kissed my temple, then my cheek, softly, his voice a low, tender murmur. "That was incredible, Bea. You were perfect." His words, even whispered in the post-coital calm, sent a fresh wave of warmth through me, momentarily pushing back the encroaching shadows of shame. He then, with a practiced, efficient movement, rose from the bed. I watched him remove the filled condom, its pearly white surface a stark reminder of what had just transpired. He disappeared into the adjoining restroom, and I heard the soft flush of the toilet, along with the rustle of the wrapper, ensuring all evidence of our transgression was swiftly and thoroughly gone.

When he returned, the air felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted. He didn't speak of the moment he'd just cleared away. Instead, he simply climbed back onto the bed, pulling me gently into his arms. He held me close, cradling me against his damp chest, his touch tender, almost possessive. He praised me softly again, running his fingers through my hair, a soothing gesture that felt unexpectedly intimate. His attentiveness, so calming and consistent, began to ease the frantic edge of my insecurity, spreading a soft, comforting warmth through my entire being. For a few fleeting minutes, wrapped in his embrace, I even allowed myself to believe it was more than just raw, forbidden sex. A desperate, hopeful part of me dared to imagine that maybe he cared for me, truly cared, and not just in the detached, paternal way he always had, as a close friend of my family.

Eventually, the quiet afternoon pressed in, reminding us of the world beyond this clandestine bedroom. We had to get up, to get dressed, to return to our separate, public lives. As I slowly pulled on my clothes, he spoke again, his voice earnest. "That was really special, Bea. Truly special." His tone was softer, more tender than he'd been even on the day he'd first coaxed me into that shocking blowjob. He seemed to genuinely understand my fragile state, the enormity of the step I had just taken. He kissed me several times - on my forehead, my cheek, my lips - each touch a gentle reassurance. He even held my hand for a long while as we walked from the bedroom, a silent acknowledgment of the bond we had just forged.

When he finally walked me to the front door, the sunlight outside seemed blindingly bright, a stark contrast to the shadowy intimacy we had just shared. He thanked me again, his voice warm with genuine pleasure. "Thank you for a wonderful afternoon, Bea," he said, his gaze lingering on mine. Then, his voice dropped slightly, a husky undertone. "I really hope this isn't a one-time thing." My heart gave a frantic flutter, a dizzying mix of thrill and apprehension. I knew it was wrong, so utterly wrong. He had a wife. Our relationship, born of secrecy and transgression, could never be anything serious, nothing real. But in that moment, under his intense gaze, I still felt like he genuinely cared, that his words were more than just a passing desire. He leaned in, giving me a long, deep kiss at the door, a final, lingering taste of him. "Goodbye, beautiful," he murmured against my lips, and then, he sent me home.

Walking back across the familiar lawn, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows, I could still feel the phantom ache in my loins from my first fuck, a tender soreness that pulsed with every step. My nipples, still exquisitely sensitive, were sore from the desperate twisting and tugging I'd inflicted upon them as he ate me out, their tips chafed and painfully erect. My body, despite the shower I desperately craved, felt covered in a dry sheen of sweat, a residue of our shared passion. I imagined myself walking into my own house, a scarlet letter emblazoned across my forehead, everyone somehow knowing I was a sinner, that I was no longer the innocent, pious daughter they believed me to be. But I was greeted by my mom as I came in, her usual cheerful self, and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. The normalcy was almost jarring in its contrast to the hurricane within me. I mumbled a quick excuse about being tired from my workout and fled to my room, locking the door behind me. I stripped off my clothes, shedding the last remnants of my innocent disguise, and stepped into the shower, letting the hot water wash away the physical evidence, but not the lingering scent of him, or the memory of what we'd done. As I dried myself, I looked in the mirror, my reflection a stranger with flushed skin and eyes that held a new, knowing light. I changed into fresh clothes, knowing with a profound certainty that nobody suspected a thing, and a dizzying mix of fear and excitement swirled within me, wondering what would happen next.

For a moment, a wave of despair threatened to drown me. I started to panic, the crushing weight of what I'd done settling heavy on my chest. I felt used, cheap, the lingering high replaced by a sickening hollowness. It was wrong to have feelings for him, to crave his touch, to let him shatter my carefully constructed world. I had given him everything, my virginity, and now I had nothing left to offer. The thought was paralyzing. But then, as if summoned by my sudden despair, my phone vibrated. A text. It was from him. My heart gave a violent leap as I read his words: "Can't wait to see you again." He proposed I drop by on Tuesday afternoon, when he'd be working from home. A lifeline. A forbidden promise of more.

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Turkey Butt writes Sun 29 Jun 2025 17:48:

Thanks for the woodie... well written story, gave me the feels. Took me back to a few incidents in my younger days...

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