Dale's Women Ch. 11

Dale astounded Bethany by stopping where he was and saying, "I won't do anything you don't want me to do."

When was the last time a guy had ever said that to her? Of course, she'd never been in a position remotely like this, but she couldn't believe a guy who was obviously wanting to take her to bed and have his way with her could be so—gentlemanly. It didn't seem right somehow. Men were beasts, weren't they? When they got a girl in their clutches, they just did whatever they wanted. Why wasn't this guy ripping her clothes off and—?

A little more calmly and gently Bethany said, "What do you want to do?"

"May I kiss you?" Dale said in that same placid voice.

A shudder passed through her. Everyone knew that a kiss was the first step toward . . . It had been years since a boy had tried to kiss her, but suddenly she was fixated on Dale's mouth, which seemed soft and cushiony like a favorite pillow.

"I don't know . . ." she said shakily.

Dale was now standing right in front of her, but far enough away that no part of him—especially that protruding thing from his groin—was touching her. He bent at the waist, extending the upper part of his body toward her—and before she knew it, his lips were fastened to hers.

That was the only part of their bodies that were touching. He made no attempt to hug her, and Bethany kept her own arms at her sides. All her sensations, all her feelings were focused on that kiss. It was a kiss such as she had never received before—the gentle pressure of his lips against hers, the faint wetness, but most of all the fusing of not just their mouths but their souls in some inexplicable union.

Dale pulled away after what seemed like minutes, or hours. Bethany found herself gasping—not just from lack of air, but from a mental and emotional turmoil such as she had never felt before. My God! It was only a kiss—but what a kiss! I never thought it could be like that.

Dale gazed down at her. He was only about two inches taller than her, but she seemed small and slight next to him.

"Was that nice?" he said in that kindly, soothing tone of his.

All she could do was nod.

As he continued to look at her like some benevolent uncle, he said, "May I hold you?"

She shivered again. I know where this is leading—but do I really want it to stop? She cursed herself for betraying the ideals of the Asexual Club, but she couldn't help herself. Anyway, what's the harm in being held—even if by a naked man?

So she gave an almost inaudible, "Okay."

Dale unhurriedly took her in his arms, pulling her away from the corner into which she had trapped herself. The first feel of his skin against herself was electrifying, and she unconsciously threw her arms around his shoulders. That skin was soft and silky, but with firm muscles underneath. And he now couldn't help pressing that big thing at his groin into her belly. She tried to pull the lower part of her body away, but his arms around her waist made that impossible. She resigned herself to feeling a man's member—still stiff as a board—for the first time. At least she still had her clothes on!

But she was starting to feel dizzy—maybe in part from that ill-advised cocktail, but much more from the unusual rush of sensations flitting through her head. Dale's utter lack of embarrassment at being naked in front of a person he'd never met was astounding to her; if she were in his place, she would be cowering away from the dreaded "male gaze," covering her private parts as best she could. And the feel of his skin as he continued to hold her close was creating a sense of inexpressible intimacy in spite of the plain fact that she knew not a single thing about this young man—nothing, that is, aside from the bizarre realization that he was having regular sex with two middle-aged women.

The embrace, like the kiss, seemed to go on for hours. Dale did nothing but hold her around her midsection: he made no moves to fondle her or to tug at her clothing. It was as if he was simply letting her get used to the sensation of being close to a man.

But then he said, "May I take your blouse off?"

Okay, now we're getting to it.

Bethany knew that she had reached a point of no return. If she gave way now, that would be the end of it—the end of the physical purity in which she took so much pride, and the end of her much-vaunted Asexual Club. What could she possibly tell Bridget and Marcia? That she'd let a man strip her, that she'd seen all his secret places, that she'd allowed him to—?

But she just had to know what it felt like for her own bare skin to touch his.

So she said, "Okay."

He pulled back from the embrace, and she devoured his nakedness with her eyes once more. That pole jutting out from his groin was as hard as ever—and yet, he himself seemed as calm as if he had taken some Valium. Looking at her benignly, he unbuttoned her blouse with excruciating slowness. Bethany almost wanted to cry out, "Oh, get on with it!" But that would be pretty shameless, wouldn't it?

The buttons were now undone, and he peeled the thin cotton blouse off of her. He smiled at her white bra, but didn't seem to be ogling her chest as so many other men had done.

Then he said: "Your skirt?"

She closed her eyes, for this new request required a further summoning of her will power. Could she still say no?—and would he respect that answer? Somehow she sensed that he would, but she couldn't bring herself to utter that small word.

She said, "All right."

The skirt had a button on the side that covered a zipper, and he undid both without fuss and let the skirt fall to her feet. She saw him taking in her shapely thighs and calves. He couldn't tell what her feet were like, as she was still wearing shoes.

She knew what was coming next.

"Your bra?"

This, really, was the moment of truth. To take her bra off would mean the exposure of one of those parts of her anatomy that she had vowed would forever remain hidden from men, and if she yielded on this point there was no turning back. But she realized she had already reached that stage.

"Okay."

He reached around her back to unclasp the bra. He was quite deft at it, and she sensed that he had done this many times before. She herself was not extremely well-endowed, and in fact felt a certain inferiority because her breasts weren't quite as ample as those of many girls she knew. She knew men had all kinds of (mostly derogatory) names for small breasts—but she couldn't help sensing that Dale, as he looked down at them, was more than admiring. She also felt his member give a twitch.

"Your panties?"

At this point, there seemed hardly any point in resisting. In the utter silence that engulfed the house, she felt as if Dale was the only other man in the whole world. They were really like Adam and Eve, weren't they? And Adam and Eve didn't wear clothes—why would they?

So she said, "Yes."

Rather than waiting for him to strip her, Bethany peeled off the panties herself and let them fall to the floor. As she stepped out of them, she felt an overwhelming sense of—purity. Yes, purity in the sloughing off of all artificial barriers between the quintessential man and the quintessential woman. She realized for the first time in her life how utterly natural it was to be naked—and how unashamed and unembarrassed she was at exposing herself to what she had so preposterously feared: the "male gaze." For the "female gaze" was just as penetrating and intense, as she now took care to absorb all the physical details of the man who stood, also unashamed and unembarrassed, in front of her.

But this realization was nothing compared to the rapture she felt as the two embraced. She had already touched his soft but firm flesh with her hands, but the contact of her entire body with his created a sensation that rendered her dizzy and light-headed. The press of her breasts against his chest; the feel of his rampant cock against her belly; the touch of his hands as they roamed all over her body, from her head to her back to the delectable curves of her bottom and her thighs. And when Dale lowered his head and planted a long, deep kiss on her mouth, she felt she had achieved a sense of connection to another human being such as she had never felt before.

Bethany didn't know how her senses could be more stimulated than they were; but, as the kiss went on and on, inflaming her mind and body, she at first didn't even feel the warm, gentle hand that slithered from her bottom to the wetness between her legs. Dale was using two fingers to rub and stroke either side of her clitoris, occasionally parting her labia and inserting them into her vagina. This stroking would—perhaps as recently as a few minutes ago—have caused her to faint from mortification, but now it seemed like the inevitable next step in their union. She was so wet that several drops trickled down the insides of her thighs.

As he continued his sensual massage, she found her breathing becoming agitated and irregular. She pressed herself closer to him, relishing every inch of contact between their two bodies. She wasn't courageous enough to seize his member, but she did make so bold as to slide her hand down and touch his firm, muscular bottom—another first for her. But her sensations were intently focused on her own sex, as his ministrations were now sending successive tidal waves of pleasure from her delta all over her body. She moaned heavily almost directly into his ear, clinging fast to him lest her suddenly weakened knees give way and she fall in a heap at his feet.

His motions didn't stop all at once: more skilled even than she herself was at inducing and prolonging her orgasm, he continued to stroke her gently until the intensity of her emotions forced her to pull his hand away. She felt close to expiring from the overwhelming satisfaction of her climax.

He sensed her weakness and, in a swift and unexpected motion, lifted her up into his arms as she continued to clutch him around the neck. Looking down at her benignly, he said, "Was that nice?"

The question was so ludicrous an understatement that she was tempted to laugh uproariously. But she restrained herself and only nodded dazedly.

He slowly walked over to the bed and, with ineffable gentleness, laid her down on her back.

She knew that another moment of truth had come. It was surely not enough for him to coax an orgasm out of her; his own stiff, quivering cock gave unmistakable signs of its own need for satisfaction. The ecstasy that had washed over her from this first orgasm induced by someone else now gave way to sudden apprehension.

What was expected of her? Would she be able to endure the next stage of the proceedings? What if her pleasure turned to unendurable pain?

He glided into bed next to her, looking calm and tranquil as he stroked her face with his hand. He took the occasion to move down so that his head was placed between her breasts. He kissed them and sucked the nipples, sending another jolt of emotion through her.

"They're not very big," she said in self-deprecation.

"They're beautiful. You're beautiful."

He was right. Her breasts were indeed quite small, but were almost as round as oranges—and there was a wide space between them, something that Dale found unusual and fascinating. He squeezed both of them together and continued to lick and suck, and then he moved back up so that he was lying directly on top of her. The position of his body forced her to split her legs to accommodate him.

"May I go in you now?" he asked simply.

A violent shudder shook Bethany from head to toe. She swallowed heavily and said, "I'm scared."

He again stroked her face and said, "Don't be. You'll be all right."

The response was a bit lame, but Dale was in no hurry. Even now he was prepared to stop the whole proceeding if Bethany was really not keen on continuing. He told her so, but she said: "No, it's okay. You can go in."

He gave her a piercing look as if to make sure she knew what she was saying. She gazed unblinkingly at him, silently conveying her full consent.

He reached down with one hand and guided his member into the crevice between her legs. The initial feel of its firm thickness against her moist labia made her gasp, but she didn't back down. Still looking up at him, she nodded briefly as if to urge him to go on.

As he inserted himself inch by inch, she felt as if his entire body was slipping wetly into her. In the past she had tried to stick various phallus-like objects into herself, but this sensation was utterly different: this phallus was connected to a living, breathing human being, and it symbolized the very essence of that creature as he sought to fuse his body and his mind with hers.

And then he encountered the obstruction.

Why he didn't expect the barrier to be there was something he couldn't explain to himself; but somehow it disconcerted him so much that he almost pulled out. She looked at him with a mixture of surprise, alarm, and disappointment, but silently urged him not to stop halfway. He resumed his penetration, doing his best to be gentle; but it did require a certain force to perforate that delicate membrane.

She cried out in sudden pain, but refused to be frightened or agitated. But she couldn't help letting two large tears fall out of her eyes and slide down the sides of her face.

Now that he had a clear path to her innermost recesses, he plunged in her to the full, bringing forth another gasp as she took in that large member. There was some undeniable pain, but it was overwhelmed by a sense of communion such as she had never felt before. The biblical notion of "one flesh," which she had formerly derided as a ridiculous fantasy, now suddenly became a vibrant reality to her.

His strokes were hard but not rough, and he recognized that in spite of her inexperience she did not wish to be treated with excessive gentleness. As he kissed her repeatedly on mouth, cheeks, and neck; as he stroked her breasts and bottom and thighs; and as his thrusts became more and more forceful, she experienced the full-body sensation of coitus, unconsciously wrapping her legs around him to emphasize the commingling of their bodies and souls.

When, with a heavy groan, he began pumping her full of his seed, she received the tribute of his passion with quiet satisfaction, as something that was her due as a desirable woman. The amount of his essence that he forced into her surprised her, but she took it all in with grace and beneficence.

As he pulled out of her and rolled over to the other side of the bed, she felt a throbbing in her genitals that somehow made her feel that he was still in her. There was the inevitable disappointment that the moments of intense passion were over, but she had a dim sense that they weren't finished.

Through heavy breathing he said, "Are you okay?"

She found the question almost absurd, but replied mildly, "Yes, of course."

He was surprised by that. "It . . . didn't hurt?"

She suddenly remembered all the stories she had heard from friends about how the "first time" was always painful. But she said, "Only when you—broke through."

That comment made him remember what happens when a virgin is deflowered. Looking down at himself, he said, "Um, I think you bled a little." He could see some streaks of red on his member.

She examined herself and said, "Oh . . ." There was some red around her sex also.

Climbing stiffly to his feet, he held out a hand and said, "We'd best get cleaned up."

She didn't want to rise from the bed, but realized that staining the sheets would not be a good idea. They both trooped into the bathroom and did a quick wash of their privates. There wasn't a great deal of blood, but there was some. She almost wanted to save the reddened washcloth as a kind of souvenir, but then thought better of the idea.

She raced back to bed, wanting something more but not exactly sure what. As he returned and lay down next to her, she wrapped her arms around him and kissed him firmly.

He said, "You're a brave young woman."

That's right! she thought to herself. I am! And I'm a woman—not a girl anymore.

As he stroked her whole body with both hands, she luxuriated in his touch and in the contact of her body with his. She didn't ever want to get out of bed, so long as this kind, gentle, but virile man was with her. In a matter of minutes she felt the renewed hardening of his member and looked at him with amazement.

"Can you do . . . more?"

"Yes," he said simply.

"I didn't know men could do that—I mean, so soon afterwards."

"Many men can't. But you inspire me."

She knew that was blatant flattery, but somehow she also detected a fundamental truth about it. She was about to flop over onto her back when he said: "Would you like to put your mouth on it?"

A pleasant shudder went through her. I was wondering when he was going to get around to asking me that. The idea of wrapping her mouth around a man's organ would once have repulsed her, but now it was something she knew she had to do as the next stage of her sexual maturation.

She almost flung herself in the direction of his groin, reversing her position so that her face was confronting it head-on. She had unconsciously adopted the position that he would later tell her was called sixty-nine, and without realizing it she pushed her own sex into his face while taking his cock in her hand and putting first the tip, then several inches of the shaft, into her mouth.

The inexplicable melding of softness and hardness in his cock caused her again to become a bit dizzy, but she carried on, licking and sucking and using her tongue with such skill that he groaned even while he had glued his own mouth to her labia. With her hands she gently felt his balls, fascinated by their contour and velvety smoothness. Feeling incredibly naughty, she even poked a finger in the approximate direction of his anus. She had of course never had such an up-close-and-personal look at a man's genitals, and the novelty and fascination of the whole package was such that she kept on with her sucking as if she had found an inexhaustibly sweet and ever-regenerating piece of candy.

His own tending to her sex were making her wetter than she had ever been, although she knew that some of that moistness was from the large quantity of his own discharge, now oozing out of her. She wondered absently if he liked the taste of his own seed—and how that seed tasted when mingled with her own juices.

She was so focused on her actions that she didn't hear him say, "Dearest, you'd better stop now." Or rather, she heard him but didn't understand why on earth he would want her to stop. Was she giving him too much pleasure? Was such a thing even possible?

But when, with a series of quivering pulsations, his organ began pumping that treasured fluid into her mouth, she registered only momentary surprise. As his cock continued to pump, she received the bursts of his essence as, once again, a natural homage to her own femininity, and she swallowed every precious drop even as his ministrations elicited a second and even more intense climax of her own.

She kept his cock in her mouth long after it had softened, lapping up any residual juices she could squeeze out of it. One stray drop started to course down her chin, but she saved it from being wasted by scooping it up with her finger and placing it into her mouth.

She flipped over and planted a wet kiss on his mouth, tasting the mingling of his fluid and hers that coated his glistening lips.

He looked at her apprehensively and said, "I, um, didn't know if you wanted to do that."

"You mean take your stuff in my mouth?" she said lightly. "It was fun! It just slid down my throat—a bit like eating oysters."