She Fulfills Her Fantasy - and His

As I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes, there came a stirring from my trousers – a not-so-unpleasant one at that – as the image of her appeared in my mind, and of that night...

In my parent's dimly lit basement we sat, two nervous eighteen year olds, on the precipice of sexual awakening. We were both virgins, both raised by good Catholic parents, but brimming with desire and – finally! – an outlet to unleash it. She sat and held my hand, smelling sweetly of lilacs, brown eyes staring deeply into mine. And she said she wanted to do it. For me. Right now. All I could do was nod dumbly.

She stood up and began to undo her skirt from behind. Her hands seemed a bit unsteady, and she smiled at me nervously as she fumbled with the buttons; with my heart pounding in my ears, I whispered that she didn't have to do this. We'd never bared our bodies to each other before, settling instead for inexperienced groping in the dark. I was transfixed by her pouty red lips as she looked at me and said resolutely 'I want to show you. I want you to watch."

My cock grew in my jeans as the skirt slid down her lovely legs to reveal a pair of white cotton panties. Even in the subdued light, I could see the triangle of pubic hair under the fabric, and even the faint outline of her lips as she stepped out of the skirt and kicked it away. Her cheeks grew the prettiest shade of pink as she saw my reaction; tousling her shoulder-length raven black hair, she crossed her arms across her body and began to lift her shirt, slowly, as a curtain would rise at the theatre. She exposed her belly, but grew a bit timid as the shirt reach her ribs; with a deep breath, she continued the tantalizing show, revealing a sheer pink bra that covered her full breasts. I could see her nipples straining through the fabric, and for a brief, foolish moment I worried that she was cold.

Pulling the shirt off completely, she modestly covered herself, her eyes looking down bashfully. I was enraptured by what I was watching; it was my teenage dream realized. She glanced down to the bulge in my jeans – my arousal was clearly evident, though I am of average size – and with a coy smile, tossed the shirt to the side. The scent of her perfume filled my nostrils as she leaned over me and trailed tender kisses all over my face and neck, and ran her hands through my hair. I rose to hold her, to touch her, but she took a step back and motioned for me to sit again. I did as told.

She turned her back to me as one hand reached behind her. As her fingers deftly undid her bra, her eyes smiled at me over her shoulder; catching it from falling off, she held it tightly to herself for but a moment. My eyes traveled the length of her body, from the nape of her neck down to her bare feet, lingering on the swell of her bottom barely concealed by her panties. Looking to me again, she reached out and dropped the bra amongst the rest of her clothes, but did not yet turn; instead, she hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her panties and slowly brought them down.

Down the small of her back the thin material slide, uncovering her cheeks first, and continuing slowly onwards, pausing every so often as more and more of her bottom was revealed to me. Tossing her hair back, she shimmied her hips and slid them down to her thighs. Her bottom was totally exposed, and, bending at the waist, she let the panties slide down her legs. As she stepped out of them, I got a fleeting glance at her vagina, but quickly she turned to face me, her hand shyly covering her womanhood while her arm tried (and failed) to conceal her breasts.

She smiled at me demurely, as a proper girl might if she'd been caught being naughty, and, still covering her most private of areas, looked away from me and lay down on the couch. Slowly she removed her hands, and for the first time I got to see this woman that I had loved since grammar school naked; in that moment, I longed to feel her bare, firm breasts, to run my thumbs over her hard, dark nipples, to kiss down her belly and through the tangle of hair, and lick and suck on her hard little clit as it peeked out from between her lips, which, to my surprise, were shaved clean (apparently for the occasion). But I sat there, unmoving, probably unblinking, as she licked her lips nervously and covered her eyes with her left arm, as her right went to work.

She trailed her fingertips slowly down her right side, starting just beneath her ear, over her cheek, down her neck, along the side of her breast, where it rested for only a moment; soon she began stroking the underside, her red nails moving casually at first, then a bit more insistently as she cupped it in her hand. Her tongue flicked out again to wet her lips, and lingered this time as she traced a fingernail around her nipple, feeling the crinkly skin of her areola beneath her fingertip. Hesitantly, as if she didn't want to stop, she pulled her finger away and up to her lips, licking around it as she would a Popsicle, then back down again to encircle the nipple languidly. Her red lips parted slightly as she pinched the nub between two fingers, and I watched her chest rise and fall as her breathing began to quicken.

"Mmmmm," she moaned. "Ohhhh..."

She moved her left arm away from her face, resting her left hand on her hip, and opened her eyes to look directly at me. Her face was flush, and her left hand was so close to her womanhood, so close to touching herself, that my cock twitched in my pants. As if she noticed the subtle movement of my member, her eyes worked their way down to my crotch, and she lightly touched her areola again. Our eyes met as I moved my hand to the zipper of my jeans; with a quick motion, I unzipped myself, and my cock sprung out through the opening of my boxers. I nervously wondered what she would think of my modest size, but her lips parted again with a sharp intake of breath, and her left hand moved to the top of her labia. Her eyes never left the purple-headed penis poking from my jeans as her index finger began to trace her lower lips.

"Is that all you're going to do?" she purred, nodding towards my cock, partially hidden by my clothing. Her left leg fell to the side, laying bare her slightly parted, very swollen pussy lips. As if she were going to wait patiently for me to disrobe to continue, her finger trailed slowly down one side and up the other side of her labia, caressing herself gently. Though my own left hand had already begun to work my belt open, and then the button of my jeans, the pace was too slow; fervently, I abandoned all ideas of moving slowly and yanked off my shirt and jeans and boxers until I was now as naked as she was. Her eyes drank me in – anxiety overtook me then and I could feel my erection begin to fade. But she smiled, before my cock began to noticeably sag, and all was right again: with renewed vigor, my cock grew harder than I could ever remember.

I could tell, however, that if I stroked it, I would cum too quickly, and I didn't want to do anything to ruin this night. Still, she waited for me to do something; for show, I wrapped my left hand around my cock and pumped it slowly, cautiously. My eyes went wide as I watched her resume, and it took all of my self-control (and how many 18-year olds have much of that?) not to explode simply from what was happening before me.

Her index finger was working in concert with my hand, stroking her labia as I stroked my cock. She had begun to touch her other breast now, raking her nails around the areola. Her right leg pushed urgently against the cushions of the couch as she tried to spread herself wider; I could see her lips were now engorged and open, and I could see the wetness glistening on her fingers as they slid lazily in between. Her eyes were fixated on my penis – and I started reciting the playoff roster of my favorite baseball team to try to distract myself from my oncoming orgasm. She smiled and looked away – as if she knew of my internal struggle – then tilted her head back, closed her eyes, and slipped a finger inside of herself. I could hear the squishing sounds as her hand manipulated her womanhood, and the soft moan escape her lips.

Her right hand moved down just then, abandoning her breasts for more sensitive spots. In retrospect, I should have taken a nipple into my mouth and helped her along – but she'd given no indication she wanted any help (and by the looks of it, she needed none). I sat there, cock in hand, just watching as a second finger slipped inside her and, with her right index finger, she began to rub her clit. Slowly at first, then more urgently, her fingertip rubbed at a spot right above the sensitive nub. I watched her legs tense, then relax, as her ministrations continued. Her hips rotated beneath her hand, and her red lips were clearly parted now, her breathing ragged. Her eyes were glazed over and her hair was splayed on the pillow under her head. She was a vision of beauty.

I knew I was close; any sudden motion and I was going to explode. I stopped stroking my cock, hoping she didn't notice, praying she didn't care. I desperately wanted her to cum first. Though she looked right at me, I got the feeling she saw nothing through her own arousal; three fingers of her right hand now rubbed her clit while her left worked furiously between her legs. The smell of sex was in the air, and, even if it was just two people masturbating six feet from each other, it nearly drove me over the edge, even though I was no longer touching myself.

She spread her legs as wide as they could go, her fingers clearly curled upwards inside of her, rubbing, feeling for the spot that would launch her into orgasmic bliss. Her pinky finger rubbed the skin between her anus and her vagina while her fingers filled her; her other hand had stopped rubbing but now pressed down hard on her clit. She arched her bottom off the couch, her hips pushed into her hand, her eyes closed hard. Her moans became gasps, her breaths came in spurts, and her tongue unconsciously extended to touch her top lip (something I discovered she only did as her orgasm approached). One last time her legs tensed, then clamped shut; her orgasm washed over her and for a moment she was still but for her left hand, which had replaced the right and was rubbing her clit with drenched fingers. Her movements slowed as she came down, and soon her bottom rested back down on the couch and her breathing quieted. She ran her tongue over her lips, took a deep breath and looked right at me with a wild smile on her face. Her nipples were still hard, her face was flushed, and her eyes were full of lust. I had been so lost in her orgasm that I'd forgotten about my own; she reminded me by looking down at my throbbing cock.

I didn't need any prompting, and I grasped my cock with my left hand as she parted her legs slightly and ran a finger slowly along her slit. A string of wetness ran from her pussy to her fingertip as she brought her finger to her lips; her eyes closed and opened again slowly, as if she was exhausted, but the smile never left her face. I could feel my orgasm approach, and before I could finish stroking my cock once more, it was upon me. The first spurt didn't quite reach the couch, but arched through the air impressively nonetheless – fifteen minutes of watching and not touching built up the pressure, and it was now released. My cock spasmed, over and over; my own eyes went dark. When my orgasm faded, I found her watching intently, leaning on one arm and touching the skin between her breasts lightly. My hand was drenched, as was the carpet and the couch, but I was without a care in the world. We sat in total silence, reveling in the moment, with smiles that didn't fade for quite a while.

I never found another woman who would do that with me; my few sexual partners have been very prim and proper, or very prudish in comparison. But that memory will never fade, nor will my love for that girl, wherever she might be today.