tagFirst TimeKaty the Virgin

Katy the Virgin

byKarenas©

Author's Note: I want to thank those of you who liked and complimented me on this story. I was originally intending to do a series with Katy. However, so many of the really great comments pointed out some issues with this story. So, I decided that while I will leave this version as is, I am abandoning it as a series. Please come and read the re-worked story, called Paradise Bound. Thank you again, everyone, for encouraging this Literotica virgin!

*

My Dad was in the Army—an ex-drill instructor. He was intimidating as shit, so when I was little none of the neighbor kids wanted to come to our house. And when I was older and living on-post overseas, none of the boys would have anything to do with me once they found out whose kid I was. Wimps! I didn't like boys anyway. What I liked was men.

And men liked me back. Oh, I knew exactly how attractive I was. I had long, strawberry blonde hair and light skin, freckled across my nose and cheeks a bit. I had big blue-green eyes and lush lips. My figure was lean and trim from years of dance. At five foot nothing and not quite a hundred pounds, I was dynamite in a tiny package. I turned heads everywhere I went.

During my Senior year in high school, I started going to my dad's office after school a few times a week. It was on my way, but more importantly, there were a whole bunch of good-looking guys in that office! I was like a kid in a candy store—I wanted to lick them, everyone! I flirted outrageously with all of them. Some would flirt back. Some would give a quick, guilty look towards my Dad's office door.

Sergeant Cutler, though, never said a word to me. I knew he looked at me. I knew he liked what he saw: his nose would flare just the tiniest bit. I wanted a real reaction, though. I wanted him to say something, to touch me. He'd just watch my ass as I walked away from him.

I didn't start out targeting Sgt. Cutler. It took me a while to notice his non-responsiveness. When I did notice, it became a challenge to me. Each day at school, my mind would wander towards appreciating the picture in my mind that Sgt. Cutler made. He was tall, with a massive chest and biceps. I loved to see him in his OD tank shirt, that way I could visualize licking his coffee-with-cream colored skin. Then I would dream of a way to get a reaction from him.

Nothing worked though. If I stepped closer, he would step back. If I touched him, he would walk away. If I asked him questions, he wouldn't answer. If he was sitting, I'd lean over so my shirt would fall away from my breasts—but he'd stand up, or walk away. The more he didn't react, the more I wanted him.

******

Sgt. Cutler was an ex-DI, also. He was very much like my dad, and on the same career path, just about ten years behind my dad, which made him about ten years older than me. He was smart and funny and generous, although the guys under him thought he was a hard-ass and wished he'd lighten up. I knew a lot about him—I knew he was bi-racial, an army brat who didn't fit in during his school days, who'd had more jobs than I can count, and had practically every award the Army gives out.

But all that I knew about the sergeant came from my dad. Dad liked him and truly valued him as his right hand man. I knew the sergeant looked up to my dad as a mentor. So, I figured that the mutual respect they had for each other was behind his non-reaction reaction to me.

One day in my Psychology class, the teacher started talking about so-called "reverse psychology." Since I was actually paying attention that day, I was able to quickly see that this could give me a new, hopefully powerful, strategy for getting to the sergeant.

That afternoon, I walked into Dad's office and did my usual flirting routine with all the guys. All the guys, that is, except Sgt. Cutler. Him, I walked coolly by, trying my hardest not to turn towards in any way. After speaking to my dad briefly, I walked back out, again seeming to pay no attention to the sergeant. As I rounded the corner, I heard the guys start to razz the sergeant, asking him what he'd done to piss me off. It stopped quickly, and I could just picture in my mind that all he'd done was stand up and give them That Look. I shivered as I thought that, and the idea that I'd like him to give me That Look popped into my head. My pussy tingled at the notion.

After the fourth day of Pretend-Cutler's-Not-There, Dad asked me at dinner, "What's up with you and Sgt. Cutler?"

"What do you mean, Dad?" I asked in my best innocent voice.

"Just wondering if he's done something to make you mad at him, or something."

I laughed to myself and replied, "Of course not, Dad." I wondered if Dad had noticed on his own, or if Cutler had asked him to find out what was wrong. I hoped the latter.

The next day, as I made to walk past Cutler's desk towards my Dad's inner office, Cutler whispered out of the side of his mouth, "I know what you're doing."

Inside, I was giddy: I'd gotten a response out of him! Outside, I maintained my cool, but on leaving, I whispered back to him, "Is it working?" Whereupon, he burst out laughing.

******

After that day, he no longer gave me the stone statue treatment, although he still wouldn't let me touch him, nor would he flirt back. After about a month of friendly but brief interactions between the two of us, I screwed up the courage and asked him to go to a movie with me. He said no. I asked him why not? He said, "I don't date little girls."

I was embarrassed. I stomped out, fuming. 'Little girl?' Ugh! I was furious! How dare he call me a little girl! I'll show him! Stomping my way home, I thought of a clever way to show him how much of a little girl I am NOT.

I spent the evening setting up my camera and taking test shots. When I figured I'd gotten the framing right, I stripped out of my clothes and started to put my bikini on, then paused. I reframed the shot, a little tighter and a little lower, then took my bikini back off. I hit the self-timer and stepped in front of the camera. It started clicking and I started to pose for it. I turned to the side a little. Then I thrust my boobs towards the camera a little. Then I realized I was getting wet and tingly and put my hand down to my puss to rub those wonderful tingly spots.

When I looked at the shots later, I knew exactly which one to use.

******

The next week, I set my school books down on Sgt. Cutler's desk as we talked. The photo was face down on the bottom of the pile of books. When I picked up my books and walked away, I left the photo. I was creaming my panties so bad all the way home, imagining Cutler looking at the 8x10 glossy of a lithe, young body, breasts pressed between her arms. One arm down, fingers buried in her pussy. One arm across, fingers teasing an erect nipple. I imagined Cutler's eyes bugging out as he picked the photo up. I ran to my room and threw my books down and tore my pants off. I wondered if Cutler would show the photo to the other guys and immediately, furiously started rubbing my puss to a huge orgasm.

It was several days later before I was able to face the sergeant again. I had no idea what his reaction was going to be. I rehearsed in my mind how it might go—and how I hoped it would go. I was not prepared for his actual reaction. As I walked into the big room, he sat, then lowered his head, cupping it in his hands. I approached his desk, full of apprehension. Quietly, and without looking at me, he asked, "You ARE 18, right?" I said yes. He looked me in the eye then, and said, "One movie." I squee'd and jumped up and down. He groaned.

******

That Saturday, I met the sergeant at a movie theater off-post. I hugged him tightly for several seconds until he picked me up and put me away from his iron-hard body. "We are seeing this movie as friends, Katy," he said. "No boyfriend-girlfriend kind of stuff. I only agreed to see this one movie with you because I was afraid of how you'd escalate your—your campaign. I am too old for you. Besides, your dad would kick my ass."

I knew I had to make the most of this date. I held his hand. Touched his arm or his close-cropped hair. I called him Mike for the first time and whispered into his ear how much I liked older men. I kissed his cheek. I asked him if he thought I was sexy. If he liked my picture. If he masturbated to it.

"Enough!" he whisper-yelled. He dragged me from my seat and back out of the theater to our cars. I repeatedly tried to pull my arm from his grasp. When we reached the cars he let go of my arm. He sounded like he was in pain when he said, "Jesus, Katy! You can't...don't say...I'm...! Jesus!" Silence.

"I'm sorry Mike." He looked out over the parking lot.

"Mike, I'm really sorry I was bad." I pitched my voice a little lower, "I was a bad, bad girl." His eyes went wide. "Maybe you need to punish me so I won't be bad again." Mike groaned and grabbed me by the arms, hauling me up his body, crushing me to him, then crushing his lips to mine. I whimpered in joy and ecstasy.

He pushed me away suddenly. "Katy, did I hurt you? My god, see? This is why we can't...."

"Shhh" I said. I touched my fingers to his lips. "You didn't hurt me. I wanted that. I loved that. I want more of that!" I curled my hand around the back of his neck and brought his lips down to mine. I kissed him softly, then pressed my tongue forward to taste his lips. He parted his lips and we kissed for hours, days, years. His hands ran up and down my sides, pressing me to him, molding our bodies into one. I felt his cock harden against me and realized how wet with want I was.

But the kiss ended and Mike stepped back. I could see he was going to try again to argue that we couldn't see each other, but after that kiss, no way was I going to give him up. I jumped in my car and sped away before he could say anything.

*****

I stayed up most of the rest of the night reliving the entire thing. I realized that he must have at least somewhat gotten past the age difference. Now, his excuse seemed to be Dad's reaction. I didn't really have any idea what Dad's reaction might be to Mike and I dating, but I thought I could probably talk him around to it.

The next day, Sunday, I made Dad his favorite pancakes and bacon and fresh-squeezed orange juice. He thanked me for it and picked up the Sunday paper. About half-way through his pancakes, he put the paper down and looked me square in the eyes. "All right, Katherine, out with it. What is it you want?"

I sighed. Dad really did know me, I guessed. "Mike," I replied. "Mike Cutler is what I want. Can I have him, Daddy?"

"Bat your pretty little eyes at me all you want, Katy, but he's not mine to give." Dad picked up the paper again and turned it to the Sports section.

"Da-a-ad!" I rolled my eyes. "Mike thinks you might have a problem with it if we dated. I want your okay to date him."

"There's a pretty big age difference there, Honey."

"It hasn't been a problem so far. I want a chance to find out if it would matter or not. He won't give us that chance without your okay."

Dad read some more of the paper. I waited quietly. He set down his paper, and, of all things, blushed! "Katy," he said, "there are things about Mike that you don't know, that make me leery of seeing you with him."

"Dad! You respect and admire Mike! How could you say that?"

Dad sighed heavily, the blush remaining on his cheeks. He looked away from me. "Katy, Mike and I—we've—well—seen—t he same girls—a couple of times. That gives me a pretty clear idea of what he wants—in a—girlfriend."

I had a strong notion that Dad was heavily censoring his comments. I also had a strong idea of what he was referring to. After all, these two men were about as dominant as you could get, just in their day to day lives!

Now it was my turn to blush. "Dad—I don't know how to say this, but I'm not—as innocent—as you might like to think." I put my hands up to forestall the explosion I could see coming. Hastily, I added, "I mean that I am, still—a virgin, but that, my girlfriends and I, well, we share information—stories—videos." He was obviously relieved to hear that I was a virgin, but I saw storm clouds again after admitting I'd looked at porn.

I stood up so that I could turn away from my dad. This was such an embarrassing conversation to be having with him! "Dad: I want to become sexually active. I'm ready. I'm on the Pill. I want Mike to be the one. He would never hurt me and you know that. There's no one alive that you could trust more to take care of me. Is there?" I turned back and saw that he wasn't looking towards me. This was hard for him too, I realized.

"And, Dad, I think I have a pretty good idea of what Mike wants—in a girlfriend." There was a long pause until I said quietly, "I want it, too."

Dad sighed, "If I say yes, can we please never talk about your sexuality again?"

******

Dad evidently talked to him, because the next time I saw Mike he was a changed man. He stopped running from me. He called me. He asked me on dates. We hung out. He shared with me who he was, and I shared, too. We had long talks and asked each other everything we could think of. We made out every chance we got. The more comfortable Mike got with me, the more dominant he got. It felt so natural.

He told me when he was going to pick me up, where we were going, even what to wear. He ordered for me when we ate out. When we walked together, his hand was always at the small of my back. That never failed to make me feel cherished, safe, and, just a bit owned. He was constantly touching me, or playing with my hair, or brushing light, teasing kisses over my face.

I really reveled in his treatment of me. It made me feel like he was marking me and making me his. But it also felt like he was teasing me. It felt like the longest foreplay in the history of sex! After several weeks of it, I couldn't stand it any more. I decided I was going to force his hand. It was a Friday night. Dad was out, probably for the night. I was to be ready at 6:00 for Mike, with my hair in loose curls down my back, wearing my short black skirt and tall black heels. Instead, when I opened the door to Mike that evening my hair was in a braid down my back. I was barefooted and wearing on old t-shirt of Daddy's over boy-short style panties.

I affected an insolent look. "Yeah?"

Mike just stared for a moment, then, before I even knew what was happening, the front door was slammed and locked, my braid was in Mike's fist, and I was being dragged down the hallway to my room. Mike pulled my shirt up over my head and back down my arms, but not off. That pulled my arms behind my back and thrust my tits out. Then he ripped my panties down my legs, but not off. I knew my confinement was more suggested than actual, but, God! I was getting so wet. This is it!

Mike sat down on my bed and pulled me over his knees. He raised his hand and brought it down, swiftly, on my bare buttock. I yelped loudly. He did it again. I began trying to twist away. He pulled me tighter onto his lap—I could feel his cock pressed between us. He spanked me again and again, alternating buttocks. After, I think, ten, he stopped. I could see in my mirror that he was looking at the red handprints on my stinging ass. He rubbed them gently. He looked up and met my lust-glazed eyes in the mirror. "This is really okay with you?" he asked.

I nodded my head. "I know about safe words, and everything. Do you want me to call you 'Master'?"

He flashed a smile and said, "No. Sir is fine. So, you know all about it, do you? Well, what do you want your safe word to be, Miss Knows Everything?"

"Red light" I said. "So are you going to fuck me now? God! I can't wait!"

"Ahhh," he said, "so that's what your defiance tonight is about, is it?" I wiggled on his lap in response. He gave me That Look. "We do this my way or no way. Got it Little Girl?"

The look and tone of voice sent a frisson of apprehension down my spine. I nodded quickly and said, "Yes, Sir."

"No, I don't think you do. But you will." He began to spank me again, but this time, I understood immediately that he had been holding way back, the first time. I began to scream in earnest.

Whack! Scream! Whack! Scream!

Suddenly, the door burst open and there was my Dad, gun drawn. He saw that Mike was with me—not some rapist, or something—and re-holstered his weapon and closed the door. In some part of my mind, I thought I'll be mortified that Dad saw me bare-assed like this—later.

Mike finished the ten or twelve real spanks he was giving me, then thrust his thumb into my sopping wet cunt and fucked me with it while using his forefinger to tease and torment my clit. It didn't take long before I was nearing the edge. "Mike! Mike, I'm..." He pulled his fingers away from me at the same time as he lowered his knees, dumping me unceremoniously on the floor.

He unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out. I felt faint—he was hung like a porn star! "Suck me off" he commanded. He pulled me towards him and I opened my mouth. "No teeth" he warned. I opened wider and began to engulf his cock in my mouth. I used my tongue to swipe and swirl as I bobbed my head up and down in his lap. After a few minutes, Mike palmed the back of my head and forced me further and further onto his cock. Soon, I was nose-deep in his pubes and having a hard time breathing. My mouth was filling with saliva. I tried swallowing repeatedly as Mike humped my face, then he held still and cried out, "Ahhh, god!" I felt warmth and tasted saltiness and swallowed, swallowed, swallowed.

I fell to the floor, chest heaving, eyes and pussy streaming. "My god, you're beautiful" Mike said, panting in recovery, as well.

After another few moments, Mike stood up, zipped up, and walked out. "Well, shit!" I exclaimed. Guess I learned my lesson.

******

Saturday, noonish, Mike called. "You ready to behave?"

"Yes, Mike."

"All right. Hair and clothes like you were supposed to wear yesterday. But no panties."

"Yes, Mike." I showered and shaved everything. I lotioned and perfumed myself. I brushed my hair until it shone. I put on a sparkly silver halter top that tied in the back at my neck and my waist. I pulled on the short black skirt that swirled around my upper thighs. I don't know how I'm going to be able to behave myself in this outfit, I thought. Just thinking about the access that Mike would have to my body in it was making me drip. I slipped on the black fuck-me heels and turned this way and that to check myself in the mirror. I was not satisfied with the halter's bow at my lower back, so I untied it and went in search of Dad.

He was watching football in the den, stretched out in his recliner. I blushed, remembering how he saw me yesterday. But I wanted to look perfect for Mike, so I asked, "Daddy, will you tie my bow for me, please?"

He looked at me, up and down my body. I caught his eye and smiled a little smile. He abruptly sat up in the recliner and growled, "Come here." He put his hands on each side of my waist and pulled me towards him a little more. He tied a perfect bow for me. I turned and kissed his cheek, "Thanks, Dad."

Dad touched the back of his hand to my cheek and said, "You're welcome, Beauty." The doorbell rang. "Ah, and there's your Beast." He walked me to the door, his hand on my naked back in the same manner that Mike always used. He opened the door and kissed me on the cheek, saying, "Have a good time, Baby."

After the door shut, Mike looked me up and down, slowly. He was a wolf and I, a tasty snack. I gave a little shiver of sexual acknowledgement. My nipples pebbled under his gaze. "Satisfactory?" I almost moaned.

"Let's find out" he said, and led me to the car. After I sat, he said, "Show me that you've obeyed me." I gawped at him. "Show me!"

"Yes, Sir!" I pulled up my skirt and closed my eyes. I knew my cheeks were flaming. I heard a camera click and let go of my skirt. "What are you doing, Mike?!" I was in a near panic.

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