Amazing Grace: Beginnings

Amazing Grace: Beginnings

© Bad Hobbit 2023

Author's note: Lately I've been mostly writing stories with some sex in them. This is unashamedly a sex story, impure and simple. I hope you like it.

*****

Just before I came, I reflected on how good life was. I had a handsome, eighteen-year-old, blond Swedish boy, pumping his cock deep into my soon-to-be throbbing arsehole. Meanwhile, his pretty little blonde girlfriend licked my clit hungrily as she approached her latest orgasm of the night, thanks to my finger on her clitoris and my husband's clever cock inside her sweet, neat, pink pussy. As I heard Matteo groan and felt his long cock twitch, deep inside my deliciously-dilated rectum, I finally let go, feeling the thrill as I involuntarily, but ecstatically, gripped and released, gripped and released that hard rod of flesh.

I absolutely adore the 'trigasm'; stimulated repeatedly in all the most erotic spots - a tongue on my clitoris, two slender fingers on my g-spot and a nice hard cock deep inside my well-trained anus - riding the roller-coaster of rising and falling peaks, trying to hold back each one until the sensations are almost unbearable, then giving in to the torrent of sensations, as everything bubbles up from my lower abdomen. My arse goes into the most extreme and almost unnerving contractions, my clit seems to light up like a lightbulb, my vulva tingles all over, my vagina ripples, my nipples ping like doorbells, my legs start to shake uncontrollably and my head and body are filled with a kind of euphoria that - I guess, because I've never tried it - recreational drug users must feel when the rush comes. I could feel the sticky, wet pulse of Matteo's cum, hitting my stretched inner walls, and hear his almost anguished moans as he felt my muscles milking his cock dry. I gave myself up to the moment, relishing the response of every one of the thousands of over-stimulated nerve endings, all firing volley after volley of beautiful sensations through me.

And then beneath me, I heard, and felt, sweet little Hana moan and squeal as Claude and I took her across the threshold to her own ecstasy. Her long, skinny, beautifully-toned and bronzed legs began to thrash wildly, and my clit got another stimulus as she ululated into my pussy. I looked dreamily at Claude, his face a mask of concentration, and knew he was near.

"Now?"

"Now!" he replied. I bent forward, his hips moved back and then up. In a movement we'd practiced many times before, my mouth opened to envelop the head of his cock, even as the first spurts of semen hit my lips and then were consumed within. I felt, tasted, savoured this outpouring of his lust. We had completed the circle; four hedonistic beings, sated at last as we each took our long-awaited orgasms.

We'd met Matteo and Hana at a nudist beach on the Greek island of Spetses. Claude and I had taken a villa for a month, me to study some local archaeological finds, he to survey the local marine environment. Although I'm in my late forties and Claude is now over fifty, we keep ourselves in very good shape. There seems to be something about people who scuba dive that keeps them slim and well-toned. As an eminent marine biologist, Claude spends a lot of time underwater and, if I have the opportunity, I join him. But on a dig, you don't get much time off, and when I'm working, I rarely eat much during the day. He and I often cycled from our villa to our respective workplaces, only meeting in the evening to compare our finds, to eat - always healthily - drink sparingly, and then, usually, fuck. All of this keeps us slim and fit. Matteo and Hana seemed to pick us out as fellow hedonists almost straight away, and the significant age difference - both of them young enough to be our children - meant little as we appraised one another's nakedness and found it intriguing.

*****

Our current relaxed attitude to free and delightful sex with other beautiful people is something that has developed over decades. When I met Claude, I was a naïve undergraduate at Cambridge, preparing for my career in archaeology. Claude, I discovered, was in the final year of his PhD, assembling his thesis and looking for career opportunities. I was having coffee with friends in a little café near the Fitzwilliam, one warm April morning, when Claude walked in. There was something about him; all three of us 'fresh-faced frustrated females' as my friend Vanessa called us, watched him as he walked - or rather 'flowed' toward the counter. His good-quality clothes seemed moulded to his lithe body, and he reminded me of a gazelle, or possibly a cheetah, with a grace that belied an underlying power. His face was strong, chiselled, with high cheekbones, a firm jaw, a wide, slightly sardonic mouth and big, dark eyes. His rich, black hair was tied in a ponytail behind, giving a rakish, almost piratical look. As he turned from the counter, clutching his cappuccino, and scanned for somewhere to sit in the crowded café, I found myself involuntarily catching his eye and indicating the spare seat at our table. He smiled, nodded and, to our immense excitement, joined us.

I remember vividly the first time he spoke to me. "Grace! What a beautiful name, and so appropriate," he said with a broad, even-toothed smile as we introduced ourselves. His French accent was apparent from the first moment. His English was impeccable, but the way he pronounced certain words made even the most mundane sentence sound fascinating. I think my friends, Vanessa and Maisie, were somewhat miffed when he focused almost exclusively on me. And while he was polite, most of his questions were directed at me, to my astonishment and delight.

When he finally finished his coffee, he did something strange; he took out a business card and handed it to me. "Call me. Tomorrow. Now, if you'll excuse me, ladies, I must go. Au revoir." It was weird; not so much an invitation as a command.

If looks could kill, my bleeding and beaten body would've been on the floor of that café as soon as Claude walked out the door. Vanessa and Maisie wanted to know what it was that had made Claude focus on me.

"Maybe he could lip-read and Grace was mouthing 'if you take me home, I'll suck your balls dry'," Vanessa opined.

"Vanessa! Don't be so crude!" I replied shocked. I was trying not to make it obvious that I was still a virgin and had no idea how to suck a boy's cock, apart from some rather confusing advice I'd read in Cosmopolitan. But inside, I was thinking 'what if he just wants to have sex with me? Would I want that?' And a little voice said 'Oh my God, girl, who wouldn't want to have sex with him?' It seemed clear that my two friends would have been very happy to oblige him in that respect.

Sure, I know I was quite pretty in those days. My hair was long, thick, glossy and curly. I've always thought that my eyes were my best feature; they're quite big and a nice shade of brown. My eyes and, I suppose, my breasts. They were large but firm, uptilted with nipples that stood out quite a long way when I got excited. But I tended to dress down, in loose and unflattering clothes, perhaps because I didn't want to attract 'the wrong kind of boy', as my mother would have said. Whether Claude was the wrong kind or the right kind, my eighteen-year-old self was incapable of judging.

"Did you see his bum? Gorgeous!" Maisie's eyes were wide.

"How could you not see his bum? And the shoulders! And the cheekbones! And those eyes!"

The next day, around coffee time, I pulled out his business card. It seemed he had a job - "Marine Environmental Analyst" - with some research outfit, as well as studying at the University. I called the number on the card. My hand was trembling as I held the receiver next to my ear.

"Grace! I'm so glad you called. What are you doing this evening?"

And, just like that, we had a date. He picked me up in his open-top Alfa Spider, held the door open for me, drove us off to a classical concert in a nearby church. Normally I preferred indie music, but I recognised several of the pieces the quartet played, and I could tell they were very good musicians. To be honest, I barely noticed the music; I was just caught up in the moment as Claude sat beside me, occasionally smiling in my direction and asking if I was enjoying it. After an hour, we went to a tiny French place he knew, where he was greeted like an old friend and spoke in rapid-fire French with the owner and staff. He introduced me - 'enchanté' the owner said with a broad smile - and we had a delicious meal that I would never have been able to afford on a student's money.

The weather was still warm, so we drove out to the Fen Drayton Lakes and watched the moon reflecting in the water. It felt romantic. He leaned across and kissed me, and I melted into the kiss. 'We're in the middle of nowhere. He's going to have sex with me. I hope it doesn't hurt,' was all I could think. But he took his time. We'd been kissing for at least five minutes before he moved his soft, gentle touch from my bare arm to the neckline of my dress. He unfastened three buttons, slid his clever fingers inside my bra and I trembled as he touched and gently circled my nipple. My bra had a front fastening, which he skilfully unhooked before dipping his warm, soft lips down to suckle very gently. My nipples are sensitive, so this was thrilling. Then his hand moved to my thigh, stroking slowly, sensuously up and down. His other hand found more buttons, and moments later, he'd pulled the dress open. "You have beautiful breasts, Grace," was all he said before returning to tease my nipples.

He took quite some time before his fingers moved from my thighs and tummy to the little bulge in the front of my panties, and pressed lightly into the cleft. I sighed. And then gasped as his hand moved up to the waistband, insinuating itself between my legs.

"You're so wet!" he breathed in my ear, temporarily releasing my tingling nipple.

"S-sorry," I remember muttering, like an imbecile.

He laughed. "Why are you apologising? Unless..."

I felt a clever finger travel back through my slit, press into my pussy-hole and slowly slide inside. I think I moaned quite loudly. Then it encountered resistance.

"Ah, I see," he said softly. "So, you are a virgin."

"Er, um, er, yes. Er, sorry."

He chuckled. "Grace, my dear, that is not a problem. You will still be a virgin when you return to your room tonight, do not fear."

My plaintive, disappointed "Oh!" made him chuckle again. Yes, I was a virgin. But I didn't want to be, and this was just the kind of boy - man - that I'd always hoped would end my virginity.

"Grace, my sweet, I said 'tonight'. There will be other nights. But here is not the place for a virgin sacrifice. We need somewhere more appropriate if you want to give me such a rare and precious gift."

I gasped again as his fingers started to do magical things between my legs, both inside and outside of my pussy-hole. He returned to alternately kissing me, licking my neck and throat and teasing my nipples with his mouth, occasionally pausing to blow on the saliva-moistened flesh.

"You have such beautiful breasts," he whispered between delicious - at least for me - mouthfuls of my nipples. "Such a sweet face. Such a wet, responsive little pussy."

And my wet, responsive little pussy had its first-ever orgasm that I hadn't given myself, as Claude did naughty things to me that I'd only read about. His fingers seemed to know exactly where to touch me. His gentle insistent rhythm on my clitoris didn't need to go on for very long before I was gasping "Oh my God!" and feeling that delicious fizzing in my loins. And I expected him to stop, but he just lightened the pressure, slowed the pace a little, and went on, while kissing me and teasing my nipples, my neck, my arms. I drifted down slowly from my first orgasm, and was surprised at how quickly I was able to ramp up to my second, and then my third.

Finally, he stopped, though I felt sure that he could have given me an unending series of orgasms if he'd wanted to. He kissed me again.

"Grace, you are inherently beautiful, but when you come you are completely radiant," he said with that warm smile of his.

I thought, 'Well, he's going to want me to suck his cock now.' But he didn't. He simply helped me refasten my bra and button my dress, then he kissed me again - and drove me home. He'd given me a delightful evening - music, a fabulous meal and three stunning orgasms - and all he wanted was a kiss and my phone number.

*****

"Grace, there's some French bloke name of Claude on the phone for you," my landlady called up to me. In those days, mobile phones were rare and out of the reach of mere students, so we just had the landline in my accommodation. I was fluttering inside when I said 'Hello'. Before I knew it, another date was organised. 'This time,' I thought. 'Tomorrow, I won't - I won't be a virgin any longer.'

We drove out to another remote spot, the cool breeze blowing through my hair. The weather remained unseasonably warm, so Claude had brought a huge picnic rug and laid it out in a grassy area, screened by trees and low bushes. 'So, this is where it'll happen', I remember thinking, looking at the lowering sun. 'Next time I go to bed, I'll - I'll be a real woman.' I was both nervous and thrilled.

As I stood there, Claude knelt in front of me, reached under my skirt and pulled down my panties. I gasped. "What? Now?" was all I could say.

"Patience, my dear Grace. No, I want you to feel the air on your pussy. I want you to anticipate, knowing you are secretly exposed. And I want to think about that sweet little slit, getting wetter and hungrier as you wait for - for what?"

I was taken aback by his question. "For - for you to - to have sex with me?"

"Is that what you want? To surrender your precious virginity to me, a man you have known for so little time?"

It hadn't occurred to me until then that I had a choice in the matter. Claude made love to me with his eyes. They betrayed a hunger for me that I could only reciprocate. If I was going to lose my virginity to someone, why not Claude? He was the best-looking, the most powerfully attractive man I'd ever met. And if - if, after he'd done it, then what? Would he still love me in the morning? If he didn't, if this was just a one-night stand, how would I feel? Dejected that he'd used me? Or elated that he'd given me pleasure I'd never felt before?

"You - you will be gentle, won't you?" I said, nervously.

He laughed, softly, which I thought was a strange reaction.

"Grace, my sweet, it seems you want to honour me with a precious gift. I'm not the kind of man who would tear that away from you. I will treat it - and you - with respect, with the utmost care. Do not be afraid. I will try to make this as good for you as I can. But first, we have a picnic. Sit down, please."

I folded my legs under me, the short skirt riding up my thighs, and tried to eat. The food was simple and delicious - cheeses, some gorgeous tomatoes, salad, crusty bread and some lovely wine. I guess I drank more than I should have, given that I could only pick at the food in my nervous state.

And then he cleared the food and wine away to one side, helped me back to my feet, and unfastened the clingy dress. As he slid it down around my feet, I stepped out of it, instinctively covering my naked bush - this was before women routinely waxed - with my hand. He stepped behind me and unhooked my bra. I'd worn my best undies - lacy and, I thought, sexy - but it hardly seemed to matter, as I was quickly naked.

I hadn't forgotten how he'd touched my skin the night before, and that evening, he took a long time, exploring every surface of my body as we kissed, hugged and caressed. I fumbled with his shirt buttons, and he waited patiently as I removed the stubborn garment before laying my hands on his smooth, muscular chest. And then his fingers went back to my slit, and I think I threw my head back and moaned loudly. I don't know how, but next thing I remember, we were lying on the rug, my legs were spread wide and his tongue was suddenly in my cleft. I think that the sheer naughtiness of having something done to me that I'd only heard whispered of by my friends and read about in Cosmo gave me a mini-orgasm there and then.

Soon there was a finger inside me, and I could feel it pushing at my hymen. And his tongue - his tongue lapping at my slit, circling my clitoris, was divine! And his lips pinched my inner pussy lips, pulling gently, teasing, his tongue insinuating itself into every crevice. I gasped when he licked my bumhole.

"No - no, not there, pl - please..."

And then he did it again. And again. And it felt so naughty and erotic that I forgot about protesting. Finally, as my sensations rose to a fever pitch, his mouth homed in on my clitoris. My first full orgasm hit me like a tsunami, and my legs were thrashing around. I was afraid I'd injure him with my heels. He let me slide back down from the orgasmic summit for a few moments, then ramped me back up. Just as he started the slow strokes on my clit with his flattened tongue that I knew would take me back up in seconds, a wettened finger pressed against, and then into, my sphincter. I squealed, protested - and then came even more strongly than before. I felt a pulsing in my back passage that I'd never previously been aware of, as it gripped and released his naughty digit. And all the while he was licking me senseless.

As I came down from orgasm number two, the strongest I'd ever experienced until then, he began gently sliding a finger into my vagina, stirring up a new set of sensations. He kept the other finger up my bum, which felt weird but in a good way, and once again the tongue-work lifted me higher and higher and BAM!

As I peaked for the third time, there was a sharp pain from inside me. I squealed, but almost immediately his insistent finger had found another pleasure spot. In less than a minute, I was able to ignore the slight soreness and relish this strange but delightful sensation on the front wall of my pussy-hole.

I knew what he'd done. He'd broken my hymen with his finger. So now I was no longer 'virgo intacta'. But I still hadn't had a boy's - or a man's - penis inside me, so I was still, technically a virgin.

"How was that?" he asked, looking up at me from between my legs. "Did it hurt? Does it still hurt?"

"Just a little. Why didn't you do it with - with..."

"With my cock?" He pronounced the 'k' quite strongly. "Because, my lovely Grace, I wanted your first time to be the best it can be. If you feel my cock tearing you inside, you will not welcome it so much, I think. Now there is no barrier. We take it slowly, gently, and you'll enjoy it. First, though, pour yourself a little more wine." He extracted his fingers from inside me and moved from between my legs.

I was still trembling a little when I rolled toward the wine bottle, pulled out the reinserted cork and poured some of the rich, deep-red liquid into our two plastic tumblers. As I pushed the cork back with some difficulty, I had a mental image of his penis going into my tight little pussy hole. I had no idea how big he would be; how tight a fit. Would he stretch me a lot? Would it hurt? What about the still-sore area of my broken hymen?

I pushed any fears to the back of my mind. I'd come here specifically to lose my virginity - or rather to give my virginity to Claude. Him putting his penis inside me was the purpose of this date, what I'd wanted from the outset. Only - only now, when it was about to actually happen, it did seem a little scary.

And as I turned back to him with a tumbler of wine in each hand, I gasped. Claude was standing, carefully folding his trousers. He was naked, and I could see his penis. It was hard, erect - and it looked awfully big.