Putting on a Show: Her First Time

Putting on a show: her first time

By MsBQ

Anna cut the bottoms off her jeans. She stood, in the kitchen, in her knickers and cut the bottom off her jeans. (In the kitchen! In her knickers!) Not because they were old and were being repurposed as shorts. Not because they were too long and needed to be taken up. She cut them off because she felt like it. She cut them because she could. Because nobody (Babushka) was here anymore to tell her she shouldn't. She liked the way other women wore their jeans ripped and torn with the hem fraying, or manually turned up.

Look at the state of her trousers, she looks poor.

She thought it looked...cool. Cool! She'd never referred to herself as 'cool', ever. She looked down at her feet, skinny white feet, curled up and unsure in their new look. She felt a tingle down her back and surveyed her reflection in the mirror. She lifted her blouse, just a little, so that it sat just above her waistline. Grabbing the scissors, she began to cut, furiously. She couldn't reach around so she pulled off the blouse to finish her task. Back in front of the mirror, short blouse on, she undid the top button, and then the second. Not too low, just a little lower.

That woman is only asking for trouble with all that flesh out!

She pulled her long dark hair out of its neat ponytail and shook it until it was tousled and, well, a bit wild.

Tidy up your hair Anna, nice and neat.

'Oh, Shhhhsh Babushka!' She said out loud, shocking herself. Her Grandmother had been gone for 5 months now but it often felt like she was still there; watching, judging, and offering her archaic observations on modern life. Anna had never known her Mother, she understood her to have been 'troubled, and wild', and when she died soon after Anna was born Babushka took her in. Anna had had had a pretty lonely, oppressed 26 years so far, Babushka seemingly determined history wouldn't repeat itself.

The doorbell rang; Anna jumped. Her eyes scanned the room, looking for something to throw on. There was a knock at the door.

'Anna? It's Patrick' It was the builder. Anna had contracted him to fix the worst of the leaks in Babushka's -- now her -- rickety old house. So, she'd found Patrick -- PB Building and Roofing Maintenance -- online. He'd turned up promptly, and she could just about afford it, and he seemed nice. And she knew Babushka would have hated him.

She took a breath and opened the door. Patrick was leant against the wall, swinging his keys on his finger, his wiry black afro held out of his face with a headband.

What has that stupid man got on his head, Anna!

'Hi, Anna. Sorry to drop by, I've got those brackets, to finish that bit along your guttering?'

Did his eyes flit over her chest then?

'Oh, yes, of course' she said, her hand subconsciously flew to her top buttons.

'Weather should be clear for the rest of the morning, so I'll get up and fix them now' He smiled, bright and wide, his cheekbones high and shining.

'Yes, please. That would be wonderful' She briefly caught his eyes, deepest black eyes -- then looked away embarrassed.

Patrick stared for a moment. Anna looked a bit different, a bit.. brighter? Her hair was, wow, it was long and kinda cool. She looked... hot. The sun caught her catlike grey eyes; Slavic, Patrick thought, sexy.

She smiled at him. 'So, I'll leave you to it then'

'Ah! Yes, sorry -- day dreaming! Always dreaming, me' He cursed himself, what was he wittering on about?! 'I'll crack on'

Anna closed the door and leant against the wall. What was going on?! Every time she saw that man she wanted to fall over. She'd liked the way he'd looked at her today. Something was different. She wanted him to do it again.

Men are trouble. They only want one thing, Anna!

Patrick went out to his van to collect his ladder. What was it about that woman? She was beautiful; in a cute, unusual kind of way. But not his type, there was something quite odd about her. But he was increasingly drawn to her, she was interesting and like no one he'd ever met before.

Anna went up to her room. She was going to change, into something more 'appropriate' (as Babushka would say), but she couldn't get Patrick out of her head. It stopped her, paralysed her for a moment, this sort of unsteadiness in her chest, and a burning in her... her...

You don't need to know what it's for until you have a baby, Anna. It's private.

In her pussy.

She said 'pussy', in her head. Obviously, she knew what her pussy was for. Her Grandmother may have taken a Victorian approach to child raising but Anna wasn't totally naïve.

'Pussy' she said it out loud. 'Pussy. Pussy.'

It felt exciting, her skin tingled.

'Pussy' she said it again and took off her blouse. 'Pussy. My pussy'

She slid her jeans off and stood in front of the mirror in her underwear. She knew if she opened the door Patrick would be able to see her through the landing window.

What was she thinking?! Her heart hammered in her chest; her cheeks flushed.

She wanted him to see her.

In the depths of the night - when she knew Babushka was well into her temazepam-induced coma - she'd explored. It had sickened and excited her as she very gently, and slowly (like any frantic movements might somehow make the crime more heinous) ran her fingers over her soft wet vulva, smoothing her clitoris until she lost herself in an surge of delicious shame and pleasure.

She nudged the door open almost halfway and took a sideways glance at the landing window. She could see Patrick on the roof above the kitchen, he was looking up, working on something above the window. His t-shirt had ridden up and she could see his brown stomach, a few curly black hairs ran from his belly button and down... He was quite a big guy, tall, not fat, muscular - but in a hard-labour type way rather than every-night-at-the gym type way - and black. (Yes, Babushka, he's black).

They're not folk we mix with, Anna, do you understand?

She looked back at herself in the mirror and wondered how long she would -- or should, or could -- stay here.

Patrick tried to think of something else. Guttering. His brother's football game. Fixing the bannister at home. But all thoughts led back to Anna on the doorstep that morning. Her hair, it was her hair -- that's all, so she hadn't done her hair and it was different, that's all. But, oh wow, amazing hair. And that tiny bit of cleavage, teasing what pleasures lay underneath. He reached down for his screwdriver and glanced through the window.

Anna looked at her breasts. She thought they were ok, not problematic like some women with large breasts. They looked good, she thought, as she cupped them, smoothing her hardening nipples through the fabric of her bra.

There's only one reason women need to take their knickers off, Anna. And it's NEVER for that!

Patrick stared for a moment. He could see Anna's reflection in her mirror, just, although the door partly obscured it. He looked away, she must have forgotten he would be able to see her. He picked up his screwdriver and looked back up at the guttering... But he had to look. He wanted to see her. He wanted to know what she would do next. He glanced again, she was still there, just standing, looking in the mirror in small white knickers and a plain white bra. Her hands were on her breasts, stroking them, squeezing them.

Patrick's heart started racing, his cock was stirring in his jeans and he began to sweat. He looked away; pull yourself together, fella! You're spying on a woman in her own home. Woah, this is not cool. But oh my god, this is so hot. He glanced back; Anna had slipped one of her nipples out from the cup of her bra, she tweaked it and rolled it around in her fingers, never taking her eyes away from her reflection. Patrick's cock started to harden; he was torn. This was the hottest thing that had happened to him, perhaps ever. But he couldn't stay here, like a Peeping Tom. All of a sudden, he dropped his screwdriver, it fell on the tiles with a loud clatter. Fuck!

Anna heard the noise and jumped; she'd almost forgotten he was there. She paused for a moment. What was she doing?! Out of the corner of her eye she could make him out; still, and -- she thought -- looking in.

Slowly she nudged the door so that it was fully open, and he could see everything.

Patrick drew a sharp breath as Anna opened the door and he could see her whole body, from her crazy wild hair hanging down over her breasts -- which were much bigger than he'd previously thought, one pink, hard nipple standing tall - down over her flat stomach and curved hips to her simple, yet so sexy white cotton pants. Tight pants. He thought he could make out her pussy lips, but he wasn't sure. He stared for a long time, his cock now fully erect and massively uncomfortable, he adjusted it in his jeans, taking the opportunity to rub it, just a little bit. This was too much. But she knew he was there now; he was sure of it, so he stared.

Anna's heart quickened. She hadn't ever dreamed of doing something like this -- literally the thought had never occurred to her. But she was loving it. She could feel Patrick's eyes on her and her pussy moistened, she so badly wanted to touch herself but, she couldn't, it was too private. Wasn't it?! Her hands found their way back to her nipples, she freed the second one and clutched both breasts hard, pulling at the end of her nipples like she'd done so many times before, by herself, in the dead of night.

Patrick leant against the wall, not even bothering to pretend he was looking elsewhere now. His hand rubbed his cock through his jeans; he ached to take it out.

Anna reached around and unhooked her bra, letting it fall to the floor she admired herself -- this new version of herself that cuts up jeans and plays with her tits in front of strangers. Her tits, yes, tits, not breasts. She turned slightly to look at her ass, round and -- so Babushka had told her on many occasions -- big. She pulled her pants up into her crack, revealing her fleshy pert ass, grabbed a cheek and squeezed it. The movement parted her pussy lips a little, slightly satiating her desire to stroke them. She shuddered. She badly wanted to look at Patrick but she was scared that if she did, the spell would be broken.

Patrick stared on, he couldn't look away even if he'd wanted to, he was transfixed, his cock straining as he rubbed the tip through the fabric. It was so hot he wondered if he might actually cum right there in his jeans.

Anna's hands moved around her ass and up onto her hips, she let them rest there for a moment, one finger tucked into the waistband of her knickers. Her panties. Her pussy was burning, her panties moist, she sweated. She could see Patrick was unmoving, he was definitely watching. He must be enjoying it too, otherwise he'd have left. She took a deep breath and slid a hand into her knickers, over her mound and down into the hot, wet folds. She trembled, she had never been this excited and knew that it would be seconds before she exploded if she wasn't careful. She trailed her fingers softly around and around her lips, getting close to her clitoris, and then moving away, teasing herself, watching herself.

Patrick couldn't take anymore. He looked around, no one could see him. He undid his zipper hastily and groaned as he freed his throbbing cock. The warm summer breeze teased it, a sensual relief from the tight constraints of his clothes. He grasped his cock and slowly began to move up and down -- all the way from the base, then back up to the top, where he let a finger roll over his tip, and back down again.

Anna heard Patrick groan. She could see he was moving now, very slowly, rhythmically. It thrilled her to think of her exciting him. She wanted to show him more. She sat down on the floor, leaning back against the wall she parted her legs, the wet from her pussy had made her knickers almost see through. Running her hands down from her knees, back south, pressing open her legs even further as she did so, she pulled her knickers aside and spread her lips before sliding one finger inside, in and out.

Patrick's movements became more furious. He didn't want to cum yet, but it was so intense. He tried to slow down, breathing deep, rubbing the pre-cum around the end of his cock. Oh god, I'm so close.

With one finger still in her pussy, Anna finally touched her clitoris. A few gentle flicks and she could already feel the heat building, an energy balling and growing, and surging. She stopped for a moment, gasping. She needed to see him.

Anna looked up at Patrick, their eyes met -- wild, sweaty faces. He felt it building fast. Oh god, I'm.. I'm... he took another look at Anna's fingers on her pussy and smoothed more hot precum around his bell end imagining his cock was sliding over pussy lips... then he took another, final deep stroke as he imagined plunging inside her.

Just one glimpse of Patrick, his hot dark cock in his hand, the lust in his eyes, and Anna could hold on no longer. Looking straight at Patrick, she thrust her fingers as far inside her cunt as she could and tipped herself over the edge with a few circles on her clitoris. Huge, hot waves shook her from within, blinding yet so colourful. Her fingers drenched in her cum. Watching Anna cumming and lost in the thought of filling up her pussy with his throbbing cock, Patrick exploded with a long groan, pumping out more and more cum until he collapsed, leaning heavily against the wall, breathing heavily.

When Anna opened her eyes she saw Patrick leaning on the windowsill, tucking himself in. He looked up and smiled. She smiled back, then got up, went back into her bedroom, and shut the door.