Just Say No, Expanded

Hi folks. I have revisited this tale and expanded it in response to reader input. I hope you like the new version. Please vote and give feedback. Money? Got money. Want fame.

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She is eighteen today. She is a virgin. She has been obsessing about that. She wants a big man; to feel tiny in his arms. She wants it to be perfect, to be ravaged in a cultured sort of way, devoured, and turned every way but loose. She thinks Jason would be a good first lover. Jason is huge, perfect, but doesn't even know she exists. She will however, insist on a large man. She knows what she wants.

She leaves the late revelers and wanders down the long garden. The gate is closed, shadowed by the trees in moonlight. The air is cool, and a slight mist rises from the ground. She hugs herself and looks out beyond the gate at the land as it goes down to the river.

She decides she will go back, to her bedroom this time, and masturbate. Again. She will do it thinking of Jason. She will feel sexy sitting on the counterpane, nude from the waist down; slutty, vulnerable, an upward glance away from discovery. She will use only her fingers, and look at Jason.

A tiny motion blinks at the corner of her eye. A man appears to her out of the mist. He is very tall, and seems older than the other guests. He asks in a cultured way if he may come in via the gate.

"I am compelled to always ask permission."

He is wearing a Goth cape; making it look stylish again. She opens the gate for him and allows him past, shutting it behind him. He brushes lightly against her and apologizes. His name is Vladimir.

They talk there by the gate, in the moonlight, under the trees. He talks of many places, much experience; he listens to her. After a while, he kisses her, holding her face gently between his large hands. She stands on tiptoe to receive it.

They talk some more, she speaks of the callow young men she knows.

She says, "Have you had many lovers?"

"Yes."

"Tell me about your lovers."

She thinks she is clever.

"A gentleman does not discuss these matters."

She knows now she wants to be his lover, to have him for her first time.

"Do you always woo your lovers?" she asks.

"I sometimes woo, some call me to them, and some turn me away."

"How do you win them? Why do they turn away?"

"I can only show you how I win them."

He gathers her hands loosely in one of his behind her back, and then kisses her again. She is slim, eager; her hips are wide, her waist narrow. His free hand rests on her hip; his fingers cup her firm young rump.

She allows him to nuzzle her neck as the back of his free hand caresses her front. He pulls her gently in to his front, kissing her again, deeper this time, and moves her back against the iron gate, under the trees. She begins to shrink, twisting weakly away.

He stills her with another kiss, still holding both her hands gently in his at the small of her back. "You can pull free or say no anytime; I will stop and this will be over."

His free hand roams her front slowly, sliding over the fabric of her shirt, the modest swellings under it, and their smaller crisping bumps. He watches her face. Her arms quiver. She longs to break free; reach around his neck and pull him hard to her mouth.

He nibbles her neck, lifts her hands a bit and weighs her breasts with his free hand. He crushes them slowly, softly under his palm, murmuring in her ear, "Be still. I know how. I know what you want."

He breaths in her ear a long cool breath, and licks lightly around it before nipping gently.

He nibbles again at her neck as his hand slides along her collarbone, sliding down, down her front to the proud rise of her pubis where the buttons of her fly gleam in the moonlight. His fingers slide between her thighs to the center of her body and lift slightly.

The pressure feels good; she begins to soften, to moisten. Her legs tremble. He looms over her as he turns to face her again, sliding his feet in between hers and bringing her away from the gate a little step. He bends to the other ear and breathes in to it.

"Hold the gate. If you let go I will stop."

Her hands tremble, butterfly light on the cool iron as she complies. His hands, cool over hers, spread them wider on the gate. He reaches under her top to release her bra. Her breasts wait for the touch that wakes. He only just touches her nipples. They spark fire to her groin, growing tight. His hands go to the small of her back and pull her waist to his hips. His penis is hard on her belly.

He uses his feet to maneuver hers back to the gate, and wider, much wider apart. He cups her bottom and lifts her whole body against his hard cock, and kisses her deeply; his tongue searches her hot mouth. Her hot breath follows his withdrawal as he nibbles her throat with his lips, forcing her head farther back. She feels herself in her lusty pose. Randy, her arms and legs wide behind her she presses her hips forward to his cock,.

He tells her to stay like that.

His hand goes to her fly. There are five buttons, and below, a strong double sewn seam. It is tight tucked high in her groove. She has no belt, no belt loops; the jeans ride low. She has left the faint tendril of hair trail from navel to pubic hair unshaved. He pats her mound firmly. His hand rises in her crotch from below. He mashes the big bright buttons with one hand as he firms her hips from behind.

He feels her legs as a rider might feel the legs of his steed. She moans and leans in to him, glories to the pressures. This is what she imagined it would be. She is his ride, his animal, the mare to his stallion. He slips the first button free and spreads the fabric open.

She whimpers and chews her lip.

In her obsession she bought the jeans because they were nearly skin tight on top and loose in the leg. There is nothing under them tonight. The fabric is thin. It divides and displays her cunt. She has never called it cunt before, bur glories in it for what it now will be.

His hand slides again under to lift her.

"On you toes girl, I will make you my woman."

She rises, trembling, to her toes. His fingers slip the next button loose. She feels the seam twist in her wetness as he works the button. She has worn the jeans before, hoping to feel this. He looks at her erect nipples and pinches them through her shirt, pulling strongly.

"Spread wider for me."

He looms all the way over her and kisses the nape of her neck as she spreads her feet wider, staying on her toes for him, leaning her cunt to him, feeling surrounded by him. He uses one hand to support her ass as he works the next button free. His fingers slide in to her jean clad groin from the rear.

She begins to pant.

He says, "Kiss me".

She turns her face up and devours his lip hungrily as fingers twist and work the next button.

He says into her mouth, "You bad girl, I feel skin and hair, nothing else."

She giggles into his, "I am feeling naughty, do what you want with me."

He groans as he loosens the last button. The jeans gape free. She is ecstatic as his hand slips to cup her musky center.

"You invite more than you have imagined."

His finger slips down her wet forest grove seeking the entry. She is wet wet wet.

"Do it, do anything you want. It feels so good."

He growls as he works his finger deeper. She arches to him as the finger slides past the delicious tightness within.

"More. Do more. I am yours."

She throws her head back as he bends darkly down, his fangs protrude. While his fingers gently rummage; he sips. From the delicate chalice of her neck he sips his unholy communion. He tastes her blood, her obsession, her soul.

"You have asked three times. Let go the gate now."

Her arms wrap around his neck as he reaches between her straddled legs. His hands rip the dampened seam from front to back. The jeans fall free, rumpled puddles at her ankles.

The moon shines free on the pale stone bench near the gate. He lays her there, on her back, as on an ancient altar. He lifts her shirt and bra over her head, arranges her arms above. She knows not to make a sound. Her pale flesh shines as he kneels beside her.

His teeth gently crush her nipples as she squirms, silent and desperate to call out. He kisses her again and grasps her heels raising them high and spreading wide. In her dark jungle, a blood red gash opens wet.

He begins to feed, his mouth urgent and insistent. She moans and stuffs her mouth with desperate hands as she flows forth her virgin lust. She goes rigid, trembling.

"I want you in me," she whimpers.

She pulls his head deep to her jungle heat. He nips her nether lips, left and right. Once. Twice. Again at the top where raised the nub of her desire. She yips at each assault. "Am I bleeding?"

"Just a tiny bit. All virgins must."

"Make me yours."

"You told me twice before, I must say again, you have to come to me."

He rises and opens his wide dark cloak. Under, he is dressed in leather boots to his knees, hose, a velvet jerkin, all black; and bound between his legs, a copiece with ribbon ties. He pulls her to her feet, enfolds her in the cloak. She runs her fingers lightly over the codpiece, the hanging shapes within.

"Pull on this." he says.

She, in this dark nomad tent pulls it free. The codpiece falls away and just below her breasts she feels the rigid shaft of her dreams.

"Wet your fingers with yourself and oil me down. Be sure to pull the skin back from the head."

She reaches down herself and under, in. She feels her wet, feels the thrill as she gathers it up past her risen girly button. She explores his shape, oiling it with her lust and wonders at the cool soft hardness, how will it ever fit.

He reaches down and gathers her by the waist. "Now come to me."

She spreads wide her legs and squirms herself up his torso, spreading flat against him, hands up, around his neck, heels behind his thighs. She can feel his cock as it trails down her belly, the head finally dragging through her hair to the slick groove of her need. A trill of pleasure drags across her button. She feels wide and wet and wanton, the urgent pressure settles at her opening.

He says, "You must ask me now a third time, for I may never take what is not already mine."

She whimpers up in to the moonlight, asking as the dark mouth descends upon her neck. She knows now what is happening, knows its ancient truth within herself; but does not care.

"Take all of me. Do me thoroughly. Drink full deep."

The fangs protrude a third time as she squirms her tightness down, his big hands pressing her wide hips. She feels herself gloriously opening, stretching, filling, full filling as he penetrates; the sensations from below meeting, mating with the delicious lightness of being as he nuzzles against her neck.

She thrills, she fades, she falls, a leaf among others fallen in the ancient winter forest of his lovers.

As she falls, he speaks, sated once again; only then regretful.

"You could have just said no."

He departs, once more a mist, to find his dark haven, to sleep his strange sleep.

She awakes and somehow knows she is not just another fallen woman. She has needs: Food, shelter, clothing. She shrugs her shirt down over her head. She knows she will never need a bra again. She finds her jeans and pulls them up; doing the front buttons closed, holding them at the back. She will sleep in the cellar. Tomorrow night she will look for a more permanent place, better attire.

She is hungry.

She walks back up to the party. They are almost all gone. Jason is still there, alone, seeming lost. She sees him with her new Sight. He is as always was but now it is clear to her he has not been ignoring her; he is a shy lost virgin puppy.

"Jason," she calls, standing in the moonlit shade of the tree.

"Come hither."

She sees his head turn to her.

He calls out "See ya guys!"

Her senses are acute now. She hears the crush of grass under his sandals, the whisper of fabric as he walks. She hears the thudding of his juicy full heart, the sound of his breath.

She reaches forth her free hand and says, "Come with me; I want to talk with you."

"Your hand is cool." He says.

"Yes."

She leads her stallion down the bridle path in the dappled moonlight. This, she knows will always be her bridal path. She stops at the stone bench, her altar, her sacrificial stone.

"Sit here Jason, let me look at you"

Jason, sitting, looks at her eye to eye for the first time.

She says, "Sit on the edge."

When he shifts forward, she sits on his lap, straddling his legs, close to him.

She feels herself gape wide as she straddles, knows what she looks like from the rear -- spread, immodest, immoral. She had always been open to him if only he would reach.

"I have had my eye on you for the longest time."

Her kiss is hungry. Jason's arms come around, first hesitant, then firm, then confident.

His hands slide down to her waist. She feels his shocked breath, hears the hiss of his disbelief. The big hands cup her naked bottom, fingers near the center, feeling, then gently probing, delicate sensibilities guiding them.

He is confused, does not know what to think.

She rises, she croons to him, "Be still. I know how. I know what you want"

Her jeans fall as she takes his arms and raises them over his head.

"Do not move your arms, if you do, I will stop."

She kisses his mouth as her hands, clever fingers flying, manipulate his belt buckle. She smoothes down his torso and pops the top button free, lowering the zip. His heart is racing, his cock is thickening, elongating, rising as she strips off the jeans and sandals.

He wears loose boxers which she leaves. She invades the boxers by the leg openings, finding her giant in the dark. She feels the outside through the fabric, grabs his balls.

"Up" she motions and he raises his hips. She drags them off.

She crushes them to her face as she looks past them to his wide shocked eyes.

"You smell good, Mister Jason. Funky and musty and mine."

She kneels at his side and roots out his balls from the hairy space between his legs.

"My toys." She says as she moves them in their sack, breathing on them, rubbing her cheek on him.

"My cock" He gasps at the word, the feeling of her small hands bending it to her.

She kisses it, watching it swell.

"Kneel on the bench"

He obeys, she adds, "Now spread those knees wide and hands on the ground in front of you."

She walks to the other side, sliding her hand on a proprietary way over his tight ass. She has always wanted to be the quarterback in nude football with him. She wants to freely handle those male mysteries, milk them like a maid in her barn. See and feel the great beast tremble at her touch.

She looks him over, dangling between, his cock curving forward out of sight. She cups his balls, swings the sack, reaches past to pull the straining cock down and to the rear; smooth and eager in her hand. It is strong and stiff, blood-hot and hard. She knows he will be fast, she must hurry.

She orders him on his back, feet on each side of the bench.

She mounts, and with an in-born body-certain knowledge guides him to her entrance.

He spouts as she squirms herself partway down his shaft, an eager flood of foredoomed life eagerly lubricating the way. As he cries out, her fangs protrude.

He moans to her pale ear, "You feel so cold."

She sips, she drinks, she drinks full deep.

But only once.

He lies back numb, almost drained, heart fluttering.

She leaves, a cool mist in the night. Her words, "You will recover." Drifting softly from the mist.

She lies upon her earthen bed, in her basement room, her makeshift tomb. She is blood sated as she knows she must be, and ready to dream, thinking, "Next I want a real man. Virgins know so little."