Miranda and Major Hardman

"You're a skinny girl so they don't need to be very big to look great. Their shape is perfect. Your nipples are perfect."

He put his hands on the sides of her face, kissed her forehead, and whispered, looking into her eyes. "You have fucking hot tits, Miranda. You should feel very good about them. But no matter how you feel about them, I fucking love them."

If she hadn't already been in love with him, she fell at that moment.

A man who could love her little breasts was a man she had to have.

"I'll tell you some things I'm going to do with them, if you'll let me. I'm going to touch them and suck them. And some time, not right now but some other time, I'm going to cum all over them. I'm going to just cover your tits with my cum, Miranda. Would you like that?"

She nodded, although she'd never heard of such a thing.

She'd like basically anything he wanted to do with her, actually.

He proceeded to enjoy her body, turning her over in his hands like a giant buttered corn cob, kissing her waist and hips as he pulled off her jeans and panties.

She loved being naked with him, her naked little body in his big, strong, gentle hands. She didn't know what they were doing, but BD apparently did, and she just happily let him do whatever he was doing.

He was kissing her thighs when they heard Emma and Diego sneaking out. He'd started at her ankles, alternating licks and kisses, working his way up, and she'd been amazed by how good it felt, shivers of pleasure running all the way up and down her body.

"Thank god," BD growled when they heard the main door to her suite close. "We don't have to worry about the noise anymore."

And suddenly he just licked her vagina.

A long, slow lick, with his eyes closed, like a connoisseur savoring her taste and scent.

Although she'd heard of things like that being done, she was caught by surprise -- an amazing, wonderful surprise!

She couldn't believe how good it felt, his soft, wide tongue sliding up both her inner and outer lips at once, pressing in just a little, gathering her wetness, and then sweeping up closer and closer to her clitoris, where she needed it, and thank god he finally put it there.

Her body shuddered. She cried out a little, involuntarily.

"You taste fucking good," he'd growled, and did it again.

He really seemed to enjoy her vagina. She wouldn't have believed it, but the way he went after it -- spreading her lips with his thumbs, licking here and there and everywhere, a finger inside her, so many pleasures she couldn't keep track of everything he was doing.

And he told her so:

"Oh, god, I love your pussy," he'd say between licks. "Tastes so fucking good."

He just kept going and going, and she kept feeling better and better. Her whole body seemed filled with light and air, she seemed to be floating --

"I love your pussy," he kept repeating, "you're so fucking hot."

With his hands all over her body, squeezing, gripping, massaging....

She felt him enjoying her beauty.

But most of all, he was enjoying her -- she could think the word in his amazing voice -- her pussy.

She'd been a good girl, a girl who'd felt too ashamed to touch herself a lot, a girl who felt shame about what she had between her legs, so his pleasure delighted her, she felt so proud that she had a "pussy" that he liked so much --

A pussy, not just a vagina, not just an organ that a doctor might need to check, not something she had to defend against predatory threats, but a fucking hot pussy that she could give to this amazing man whose tongue was taking her to heaven.

And holy god did she feel good!

The pleasure just spread throughout her body, waves of it, just richer and richer, hotter and hotter, and his big hungry hands on her waist and hips and breasts --

When her orgasm hit she'd never experienced anything remotely like it.

She made sounds she didn't understand, her body shaking.

She had to pull his head away -- it felt too good, it hurt.

Her body just kept shaking. She felt him kissing her stomach, her breasts, but she didn't care, he could do anything he wanted, she didn't have the resources to think about it.

So it wasn't fair, perhaps, when he whispered in her ear, as his huge body hovered over her, "I want to make love to you. Can I cum inside you?"

How could she say no at that moment?

She knew better of course. She knew exactly who he was.

But she wanted it.

That was all there was to it.

She didn't care, in that moment, about any consequences. He wanted to make love to her, she wanted to make love to him, and they made love.

Later, when she saw his penis -- he was not nicknamed "Big Dick" for nothing -- she couldn't believe it fit inside her, but at that time she hadn't really seen it yet. He hadn't even taken off his pants until she'd started orgasming, and she wasn't about to pause and look down then. Eager for what was about to happen, she was only barely aware of him pulling off his jeans, and then she just let him take her, filling her.

"Oh, god, yes," he gasped, sliding inside her.

He grabbed her face so they were looking in each other's eyes.

"You feel so fucking good," he'd growled. "Your pussy makes my cock feel so fucking good."

"My too," she whimpered. "Your cock --"

But she didn't know how to finish such a dirty sentence. She just looked up into his powerful, beautiful face.

Then he kissed her and began pumping. His tongue filled her mouth, his words filled her mind, his cock filled her pussy, and the power of his body moving inside her and above her took her to yet another realm of pleasure.

Eventually he pulled back and looked in her eyes again.

"I'm going to cum," he said. "Look at me while I cum inside you."

She looked in his eyes, saw him glaring down at her with dominance and desire and desperate need, felt the tension in all those muscles, saw his jaws clench -- he could have done anything to her in that moment and she would have accepted it with joy.

Then suddenly his body stopped moving, tense and hard.

She felt him deep, deep inside her, felt him holding her tightly.

Finding her legs hooked around his hips she tried to pull him in even deeper, wanting him as deep inside her as she could get him, wanting his cum all the way inside her.

"Yes!" she cried, looking into his eyes as he filled her with his cum.

After a few moments, she felt him relax.

"Oh, god, you're amazing," he told her as they began to breathe again.

"You are too." With the aftershocks of pleasure still pulsing through her body, and the strange awareness that he'd put something from inside himself into her, she could barely even understand what they were saying.

They lay there like that as they caught their breaths. He let his body rest on hers. She felt him still holding himself up, or else he would crush her, but she knew he wanted his body against hers, and she tried to pull him down more.

Then she felt him slide out, which concerned her for a moment, but BD seemed okay with it, so she didn't care either.

Finally he kissed her forehead, slid off to one side, turned her body, and spooned her, resting her head on his arm.

Completely exhausted, she just let him do whatever. But with his huge, strong arm over her body, her hips pressed back against his stomach, his legs curled up around hers, she felt safer and more content than she'd known she could feel. She listened to his breath as he fell asleep, hoping that this would last the rest of her life.

-- -- -- -- -- -- / -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

She woke up there in the middle of the night.

Still naked with him, their bodies together, her head on his arm.

She listened to him breathe. She thought about his penis, which she could feel touching one of her buttcheeks.

And then she realized -- oh god, oh god, oh god, oh holy fucking god -- he'd probably gotten her pregnant.

She could practically feel a baby growing inside her, although she had no idea what that would actually feel like.

She looked at the clock on her dresser.

Ten o'clock at night. The pharmacies would have just closed. No "morning after" pill until the next morning.

Perhaps her nervousness woke him.

"Hey, sexy," he whispered, "come here."

Oh, god, she gasped, in love with him.

She didn't know what to do, but he did it for both of them.

He put on her top and she rode him, holding his hands, watching him watch her breasts, smiling at each other until he grabbed her waist and forced their hips together while he came inside her again. She figured whatever, it was too late now, she might as well enjoy the process.

Afterwards, as she lay with her head on his chest and her legs split across his waist, she realized that her brother and Emma were probably in the next room, and her bed squeaking might have woke them up.

For a moment she was mortified thinking about what her brother might have heard -- she couldn't help gasping a little with BD's dick inside -- but then she thought, well, if she can handle hearing her brother cum into her roommate's pussy, they can handle hearing her cum on his roommate's dick.

The next morning, BD fucked her doggy-style, putting her knees on the pillows to lift her up to him as he stood on the floor behind her. Knowing that her brother and Emma would surely hear them, she bit a blanket to try to be a little quieter, but BD fucking her from behind felt so good -- he was just using her for his pleasure, and she loved it, she felt so sexy and feminine -- that finally she just gave up and let the sounds come out of her.

They cuddled a while, she put on a bathrobe to sneak out to the minifride in the common room for some fruit and yoghurt for them to eat, and then they made love again, missionary position like last night.

"You're amazing," he told her. "I'm already in love with you."

"I love you too," she replied, realizing too late that he'd said "in live with" rather than "love."

Anyway, he finally had to go, and as she watched him get dressed she began to worry.

Did he think she was a whore? What was their "relationship status?"

"Do you know... I don't really... I've never done anything like this before...."

"Me neither," he said.

He squatted down to her level as she sat on the bed and kissed her forehead.

"Can I come over again next weekend?" he asked.

She nodded eagerly, looking up at him with joy.

"Can I call you in the evenings this week?"

She nodded again.

"Can I tell people you're my girlfriend?"

She kissed him.

"Will you tell people that I'm your boyfriend?"

"Of course!" she laughed. "I'm going to tell everyone!"

He picked her up so they could kiss, and she wrapped her legs around his waist again. That was the easiest way for them to make up a thirteen-inch height difference, and she loved it -- her ankles on his butt, his hands on hers, holding her up as though she were weightless.

But the moment the door closed behind him, she sprinted to the shower, washed and dressed as quickly as she could, and practically sprinted all the way to the pharmacy.

She spent the evening throwing up, miserable, but so in love that it didn't even occur to her to doubt whether it was worth it.

-- -- -- -- -- -- / -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

So began the sweetest few weeks of her life.

He called her every weeknight and they talked about everything. They understood each other so well, their minds seemed to sense each other's thoughts and feelings.

He came to her dorm every weekend, and they spent hour after hour naked together, their bodies learning to move together.

She did things she never should have done -- repeatedly allowing him to ejaculate inside her without a condom. She knew better, she knew it wasn't worth the risk. She had to get an education, then pursue a career....

But she wanted it. Even after she got on birth control, she worried constantly about whether she would need an abortion, how she would feel about it, what she would tell her mom...

But he always told her how good her pussy made his cock feel, how good he felt cumming deep inside her, and every syllable of his praise delighted her.

So every time he reached for her body, she just wanted to please him.

BD had told her, "If Diego gives you any shit about us, let me know...," but her brother's reaction to her being with BD was comical.

He sighed with so much sadness, like he was so disappointed in her. But then he shrugged.

"It's my own fault. I brought him over here knowing full well what might happen. But let me tell you something. He'd better treat you right. If he doesn't, you let me know."

Right. Diego was a big guy by normal standards, but he'd need at least two other guys his size even to have a chance....

Though she did enjoy a mischievous fantasy of BD beating up Diego over her....

They were glorious weeks. Everywhere they went she felt people's eyes on them, on her amazing man and his beautiful girl.

She learned to ride behind him on his motorcycle, and he took her to the nicest restaurants in the city -- their meals often paid for by anonymous strangers.

They were so proper and polite out in public, but alone together, naughtier than she'd ever imagined being.

He taught her to suck his dick, to lick his balls and kiss his shaft. She was so in love with him that she even loved his penis. She nuzzled it against her face and body, tenderly loving it, and when he came, she loved his cum too, loved knowing that she had pleased him.

One night he tied her up. She lay there naked, her wrists tied to her headboard, her ankles to the feet of her bed, and he put his face between her legs and sent her to heaven. Later she found him kneeling over her, his dick shooting streams of cum onto her face, and she loved it.

"I'm your personal slut," she whispered, cleaning his penis with her mouth. "You're my god. I will do anything for you."

But he was sweet too.

He wrote her little notes and sent them to her through the mail.

Dear Firecracker,

[For that was his pet name for her, a reference both to her passion in arguments and to what he flatteringly described as her "talent for hot sex."]

I am in class now trying to take diligent notes on the culture of the samurai, but all I can think about is you, your smile and eyes, your kiss, your body, the way you move, the sound of your voice and laughter, and what you might be doing right now.

I hope you are thinking of me too. My god, do I miss you. Being apart from you feels like missing my own soul.

I will call you tonight and see you this weekend.

Love,

Richard

He traded bed sheets with her every weekend so that he could smell her during the week, and told her he slept with a pair of her panties in his hands, held against his chest. He kept a photo of her on his desk -- Diego told her -- and another photo in his wallet.

He constantly brought or sent her gifts: a box of green tea on a day he knew she needed to stay up late studying, a book he'd seen and thought she might like....

She told him that Cezanne was her favorite painter, and two weeks later he gave her a framed print of The Brook. For Valentine's Day, he bought her an emerald necklace and a little Louis Vuitton Pochette, and when she opened it up -- "I got myself a little something too," he drawled, as cheeky and cute as ever -- she found a lacy, bright red crotchless teddy inside.

During a trip to DC in March, he even stole a sprig of cherry blossom for her -- breaking the actual law.

She was more in love with him than she thought she could ever be in love. Life was amazing, everything was wonderful, she was the happiest girl in the history of the world.

But then she fucked it all up with three little words.

-- -- -- -- -- -- / -- -- -- -- -- -- -- -- --

Chapter 2: Three Little Words

The three little words.

No one to blame but herself.

They'd always agreed pretty easily about almost everything. They shared basic intuitions about the world, understanding each other's reasons for feeling and thinking certain ways. They both considered themselves "very moderate" conservatives, open-minded, interested in ideas, socially inclusive, but committed to basic values like family, hard work, freedom, and contributing to society.

They had great conversations about political and social issues like feminism, corruption, class, race and ethnicity. His ideas challenged and excited her -- he had thought so deeply about things she usually hadn't thought about: the nature of human societies, the role of the military, the nature of leadership, personal character, and his ideas illuminated surprising aspects of the texts she was reading and discussing in her classes.

He listened to her too, and respected her ideas. "That's a good point," he'd say, "let me think about that." And after a deep breath and a few moments of nodding and squinting at the sky, he'd ask her some question that would cause her thoughts to unfold, often making them seem more profound than she would've anticipated.

Or, if she found herself in some kind of contradiction, he would encourage her sympathetically. "No, there's something there. It's tricky though, isn't it? How do we put this all together?" And together they'd figure out what she probably should've said in the first place.

In more personal conversations, he was considerate and thoughtful. Such a good listener.

He talked about his children in touching ways.

"People react like it's something horrible," he told her, "but I love every one of them. I understand that it seems like a mistake from a certain point of view. I got three girls pregnant at almost the same time. I know that's not ideal, and now maybe I can't be the very best father, but I don't regret anything."

He showed her photos of them, shaking his head with emotion that he couldn't put into words.

"Look at them," he told her, looking into her eyes to be sure she understood the significance of what he was saying. "I want, like, ten more! But I want to marry the woman who has them for me."

She looked into his eyes and gave up her future career, thinking, "Well, being an anthropologist was just an idea."

But the problem, and she'd always known it was going to be a problem, was religion.

He'd already told her that he was an atheist. He'd grown up in the Episcopal Church, but he'd been an atheist since high school.

Not that he hated religion. He respected it. But to him it was just something humans did, a kind of social glue, and something he had to account for as he planned to lead frightened young men into combat.

She heard that and thought she could change his mind. After all, she knew he was the one who was going to have to change. She wasn't going to become an atheist for him.

She began by dropping some very explicit hints, telling him she wanted a big Catholic wedding in a church with the priest and everything, but that meant her husband had to be Catholic.

He'd only nodded thoughtfully.

He knew what she was telling him, and he didn't have anything to say about it yet.

Which was fine with her. He could take his time coming around, but he had to come around.

So she started inviting him to church, and he agreed to go as often as she wanted. Dressed up very nicely, he sat and stood and kneeled during the service, polite and respectful.

Afterwards he complimented the art and the music, and incidentally he charmed all the students -- her church had a huge private school, kindergarten through twelfth grade, with over a thousand students -- all the girls instantly fell in love with him, all the boys instantly looked up to him with admiration.

He even charmed the priests. Now, she'd been going there for months and had hardly even spoken to a priest outside of confession, but the first time he showed up, here came four of them to welcome him. But she felt good about it. That's the kind of man she had.