Brianna, the 18 yr-old Virgin Ch. 01

He'd been working with her since the restaurant opened. She started as a hostess when she was a plucky, adorable, 16 year-old. She looked like a young, naïve Taylor Swift -- minus the lacquered makeup. Tall, leggy, blonde, great lips, earnest eyes, bouncy butt, perky B's. He felt like a dirty old man -- more than twice her age.

Over the course of 2 years, she worked her way up to server when she turned 18 and went off to college. She was back on weekends and it was obvious that the collegiate experience imbued her with some confidence. She shed her cloak of nerdy high school girl and was blossoming with the sexual assertiveness bestowed by having new boys flirt poorly with her.

***

"Hey Brianna" he said "how's your institute of fancy book learning working out?" he asked with a wry smile.

"Hey Karter! Good! Learning, loving, drinking, the whole experience, ya know?" she bubbled back.

There was a distinctive gleam in her eye, more knowing, decisively flirty, and with her now 18 and he 36, his licentious thoughts were now just hot -- not pedophilic.

Karter had just gone through a knock-down, drag-out divorce. He was a part time bartender, full time wannabe writer. But in his reawakening, he'd shed about 25 lbs of middle-class complacency, and looked a lot better. If not for the speckles of salty grey in his beard, he looked closer to 26 than 36. So he was primed for all the attention flirty, pretty young things wanted to heap upon him. And, to his surprise, it came in abundance.

***

One Saturday he got cut early and hung around to grab a beer. That turned into 2, and his fellow bartender slid him a couple of shots of Bulliet on the sly. He was feeling pretty good, so when a gaggle of lovely young ladies -- Brianna included - asked him to go to the club after their shifts, he gave it half a thought, then demurred. But, they were kidding. They were going to karaoke at a dive bar. So he settled up and set off to be the cock in a hen party.

It took 2 more beers and 3 more shots before he felt primed to dust off his Johnny Cash "Ring of Fire" routine. While he was busy channeling his bygone baritone days, he caught Brianna's eyes and they were aglow. With what, he didn't know. But he was feeling fine and was going to find out.

His successor on stage vacated the seat just next to Brianna, so he set down -- a little clumsy drunk -- right next to her.

"So, when are you going to serenade us with your sweet stylings?" he asked, eyebrow cocked.

"Oh, no way I could follow that routine of yours..." she bantered, coyly.

"C'mon, I'm sure that mouth can make some sweet music..." he retorted, with obvious innuendo.

She stopped and stared at him for a second, then pulled her fake ID out of her purse. "If you're gonna say shit like that to me, I need another drink." And she licked her luscious lips -- full and plump and ready.

"I gotcha" he said "what are you having?"

"Surprise me..." she said, with half a question mark hanging at the end of her statement.

"Two whiskey old fashioneds -- sweet" he told the bartender. They came quick, cherries floating. He returned to his seat, cocktails in tow.

"What are these??" she asked -- seemingly surprised at a guy buying her something besides a cosmo or Long Island.

"Old Fashioneds -- sweet" he said "because I'm old and you're sweet" he smiled, knowing he nailed the line. "Cheers"

"Cheers!" she said, clinking glasses, with another gleam of something beaming from her big, baby blues.

He'd been out of the game for a decade, so he wasn't fluent in the signs and tells of the college crowd. But he was pretty sure wasn't misreading her signs.

"Whatya think?" he asked, taking a stiff pull of his own drink.

"Good -- strong" she said.

"Well, I got you a chaser, just in case." he said, smoothly.

"Oh yeah? What's that?" she asked.

He put his drink down, grabbed the back of her neck delicately, and pulled her mouth to his. Her lips collided with his in sparks. Warm, full, easily parted by his gently probative tongue.

His move caught the attention of the rest of the ladies and elicited a mix of gasps and cheers.

"You wanna get out of here?" he asked, directly.

"Ummm..." she hesitated "I came with Amy and I've got to open tomorrow, so..."

"Say no more" he said. He put back the rest of his drink in a single pull and put it down deliberately. "I had a good time, though. Maybe we can do this -- or something else -- again, soon." He stood up and she grabbed his hand -- sending conflicting signals with every move.

"I had a good time, too."

Her eyes locked on his, but she didn't say -- or do -- anything. So, he took his leave.

***

When he got to the parking lot, he sparked up a smoke and revisited every move he made. Or didn't. He was so lost in his own reflections that he hadn't heard the door open behind him and jumped when a smooth, familiar hand found his.

"Hey, sorry" Brianna said, softly "I didn't mean to make you leave."

"No worries, I misread the situation and I apologize." He offered.

"No, I was definitely giving you the eyes. I'm the one who's sorry -- I don't really know how to flirt -- this is all new to me and I have no idea what I'm doing.

"Your lips sure do..." he replied, pushing his flirtatious agenda even harder.

"Yeah, about that... nobody's ever kissed me like that before"

"How? Drunkenly and without invitation?" he snarked back.

"No... so softly, yet on purpose. I don't know if that even makes sense, I'm drunk, but, like, you know?"

"I know."

"Can I bum one of those?" she asked, motioning at his smoke.

"Sure" he flipped open his chrome case and offered her one, then clicked open his Zippo to light her up. "I've already contributed to enough delinquency tonight, what's a lil more?"

"What is this?? I've never had one like this..." she asked.

"I get that a lot" he said, winking, with cheeky suggestiveness. "It's a hand-rolled smoke with my own blend. I take the time to do things right and by hand." He couldn't help layering innuendo on top of innuendo. But it was working.

"Strong, but delicious." She exhaled.

"I'd say the same about you." He quipped.

"You're a charmer, aren't you?"

"We've all gotta be something, right?"

"Yeah, well you know you are."

"Maybe. But I'm not sure you know how sexy you are..." he said. And she blushed, broke eye contact, found the ground, flicked an ash, and reconnected with his undeterred gaze.

"I'm a total spaz" she rebuffed.

"You were a sweet, slightly nerdy girl who has grown into an attractive, confident, temptress over just a couple years."

"Temptress???!" she scoffed.

"Yeah, why do think I couldn't keep my lips to myself."

"Stop it..."

"I'm serious" he insisted.

"I just don't know what I'm doing" she said, sheepishly.

"So let me show you" he suggested.

"Okay..." she relented.

He dropped his butt, stepped it out, and closed the gap between them in a single stride. He took her cheeks in his hands, pulled her mouth to his, and pressed his lips decisively into hers. Their smoky breath met and melted as he again found her supremely soft tongue. He pulled her face tighter to his with one hand behind her neck and her body closer to his with an arm around her high, slender waist.

He worked her lips meticulously with his, alternating angles, being judicious with the amount and force of tongue, communicating lingually just how tender and knowing he was.

"If that offer still stands..." she snuck a word out between kisses.

"What offer?" he asked, barely breaking mouths for a moment.

"To get out of here..."

"Absolutely."

She couldn't help take note of the decisive bulge in his jeans as he opened her car door. He hadn't made out like that in parking lot in 15 years. She'd never been kissed like that in her life. He was hard, she was wet, the night was young.

***

"Wow, this is all yours?" she asked, as he swung open the back door. It wasn't all that much -- nothing palatial. A modest midcentury ranch. But he'd updated it methodically over the course of 10 years. And it was warm, welcoming, and smelled like home.

"Well, it is now." He said, suggestively. "A night cap?" he asked, presumptuously.

"I shouldn't... but I also shouldn't be here, so yeah, for sure."

He carefully assembled a pair of White Russians, channeling his inner Dude, and handed her one.

"Ooo, what's this? Looks creamy" she asked.

"Dirty. I've been trying to be cool with my double entendre, but that was obvious. And I applaud that."

She just smiled, took a sip, wrinkled her cute nose, and asked "No -- really, what is this?"

"White Russian" he said "I figured, you get a little White Russian in you, maybe you're amenable to a little White Anglo-Saxon..." he punned.

She snorted out her sip, but then locked eyes seriously, and said "Look, I'm up for some fun, but I don't know how much... I've never had any white anything in me before. No color, actually..."

"Wait, you're still holding your V card?" he asked, surprised.

"Yeah, I've been waiting to play it with the right dealer...."

"I'm not sure if that's me, but maybe you show me your hand, I'll help you play it right."

And, then, they were mating mouths again, lips locking, tongues tasting, arms wrapped tightly and importantly around each other. He worked her shirt off over her head, and took stock of her inventory. Her tits were average sized, but bouncy, perky, slightly pyramid shaped in her push up bra. Her core was tight and toned, no freshman 15 was hitting her yet. Her skin was silk and her hair smelled like the beach. She grabbed the back of his head with both hands and pulled his face into hers aggressively.

Being mindful of everything -- age, context of consent, the bulging in his pants -- he said, sincerely "I'm just going to work on you, slowly, sweetly, and if you don't like anything or have had enough, you tell me 'when' and we'll pump the brakes. Cool?"

"Shut up and keep kissing me" she demanded. So he obliged.

They shuffled to his bedroom in half-steps, lips never separating for more than a moment. In that time she managed to work off his work shirt. He was furry and fairly fit. She grabbed his pec, then his bicep, seeming to appreciate his recent efforts at replacing regrets with muscle.

When they got to the bed, he laid her back gently, worked his hand behind her, found the clasp on her lacy white bra, deftly undid it in a single swipe, and then worked the straps, down, and off.

Her breasts were bouncier than he had expected, her nipples were meaty erasers, her areolas were red and swollen. He took one in her mouth and she gasped, sighed, exhaled "ugghahh" all in one continuous motion of sound. He worked his hands down her torso, with urgency, but not too fast. Feeling, sensing, appreciating. If this was her first... anything, he wanted to do it right. He might have been looking for some unsavory trouble, but he wasn't going to rob a young woman of some appropriate firsts.

"Why me?" he asked, taking a brief respite from exploring her upper half with hands and tongue.

"I mean, I guess, you seem like you know what you're doing. All the guys my age are grabby and rude and selfish. Plus, I mean -- duh -- you're hot."

He didn't need to hear anymore. He kissed her neck softly, traced her collarbone with his tongue firmly, massaged a breast with his hand, gently teasing a nipple, careful not to neglect her lips for too long.

As her moans intensified, he continued his southerly trajectory. She'd kicked off her shoes, so he grabbed a hold of each sock and whisked away. She had sweet, soft feet. Pretty pink polish on her toes.

He swiped his tongue up one side, along her ribs, then down the other, settling in the middle at her belly button. She squirmed a bit, but while he was centered, he undid the button on her jeans and unzipped her zipper. There was a distinctively sharp exhale when he swept his tongue under the band of her lacy brief. He was in no hurry and wanted to build up the anticipation. He began inching her high-waisted, stone washed jeans down inch by inch. She agreeably lifted her butt off the bed so he could slide them out from under, then off. She was lying there, bare, but for a black lacy panty. So soft, sweet, sexy. He hoisted one leg up in the air, holding her by the ankle, and ran his tongue down her inner thigh, from knee to almost-pubis. She shuddered, shook, and gasped. He pressed his mouth to the thin layer of lace -- the only thing standing between his mouth and her ladiness.

"ughhhaha" she squealed -- half surprised, half ticklish. He exhaled softly, pressing warm air against her dampness.

"I'm going to take these off and then I'm going to please you with my mouth" he said, sternly. "If you don't like something, or want me to stop anything, tell me. Otherwise, I'm going to make you feel amazing."

She just nodded agreeably.

With that, he worked her underwear down, and off, underneath her bountiful butt, past her pretty toes. She had a short tuft of pubic hair, her labia was puffy and ready. A visible glisten glowed in her sweet little slit. He threw her legs over his shoulders and exposed her virgin pussy. It was pink and swollen, waiting for some proper affection. He stopped to inhale her scent. It was sweet, almost floral, aromas of anticipation mixed with natural lubricants. He teased the inside of each leg, making her wait for it, want it. "ugh, yes..." she moaned with eagerness.

After working her up, he finally took a quick courtesy lick -- to let her know what was coming and to taste test her flavor. It was as glorious as her scent. Thick, sweet, silky syrup was beading at the entrance to her tender, unused hole. He moved his tongue circularly around the outside, just gently teasing the labia, until he swiftly and decisively split her lips with his tongue and found her engorged clit waiting -- begging for his touch.

"Oh my god!!" she screamed as he began alternating vertical, horizontal, and circular strokes with both pointed and flat tongue over her big button. "Yes, yes, yes!" she exclaimed as he slid his tongue further down her slit, tasting her sweet syrup, then reaching his hands up to cup her beautiful bosom.

"Keep going" she begged. So he did. He licked, lapped, sucked, and squeezed. And she loved it all.

He continued his lingual assault on her clit, repeating the bouts of alternating pointed and flat tongue, adjusting as her body squirmed, tasting her sweet virginal juices, tweaking her perky teenage nipples, his cock about ready to burst out of his pants.

She grabbed the sides of his head, started rocking rhythmically with his licks, and she felt her body tighten and tense. She'd pleasured herself enough to know what was about to happen, but wasn't prepared for the full effect. No one else had ever made her cum before. And it was going to happen soon.

He kept at it, diligently. His jaw was tired, his tongue fatigued, but he felt her back arch, and her legs lock. Her body clenched and he knew she was close.

She stopped breathing for a moment as it built from deep inside. And then she let go. She came. Hard. Harder than she ever had before. He kept licking her all the way through to completion. A sweet little trickle of white lady cum drizzled out of her pretty pink pussy. He wasted no time in sucking it up. It was tangy, tart, a little salty. Flavors he'd never had before.

"OMG" she said -- literally using the letters only. "What was that."

"You came, love" he offered "and you gave me a sweet treat for my troubles.

"That... that's never happened before" she insisted.

"It's okay, I take it as a compliment. You're delicious."

She laid her head back, deliberately, put her hands to her face, equal parts exhaustion, exaltation, and embarrassment.

"Nothing to worry about, it was hot as hell" he reassured.

But she just laid there, stunned, drunk on vodka, whiskey, and tongue.

Before he could segue to the next act, she was out. Sleeping the fast sleep of the deeply satisfied. And, while his over-eager erection would have to live to fight another day, he knew it would.