Stephanie and Dwayne Ch. 01

But at the moment, all I was thinking was: Omigod, I really want this man in my bed.

I had no idea what my flurry of kisses was doing for him: he really wasn't reacting very enthusiastically, and his jeans were so thick that I couldn't feel any swelling in his groin. And I hadn't been shy about using that old female trick of pressing my tits against his chest. But he remained unresponsive. Letting out a rough groan, I took one of his hands, which were around my waist, and by main force moved it to my butt.

If that wasn't a clear signal, I don't know what was!

Well, he finally got the hint. He began kissing me back with some fervor, and he also started kneading my bottom with both hands. Pretty soon he was lifting the hem of my dress so that he could reach my underwear; and he seemed to like the feel of my satin panties, as he rubbed them all over for quite a while.

Then, without warning, he whipped my panties down to my knees and with a swift motion placed one hand between my legs, the other hand remaining on my butt.

I was, of course, incredibly wet, and I think he was startled at that. He had a strong but delicate touch, and he knew what to do. His fingers probed my labia and my clitoris, and sometimes he stuck two or three fingers deep inside me. I was continuing to kiss him—whenever, that is, I wasn't moaning with a pleasure that was making me dizzy.

I don't think I'd ever had a climax so hard and so fast. My whole body shuddered in his grasp, and I pushed my legs together and pinned his hand to my sex, so that I could extract every drop of ecstasy that that orgasm sent through me. I hung on to him for dear life, fearing that I'd fall to the floor if I didn't; and he sensed that also, holding me as tightly as he could with his free hand.

But as I came down from my sexual high, another dreadful thought coursed through me: Does he think that he's finished, since he's rung my bell? Does he not want his bell rung?

Thankfully, my fears were needless. When I said, "Dwayne, let's go upstairs," he dutifully followed me.

I led him by the hand up the stairs and into my bedroom. It was a smallish room, and the queen-size bed took up most of it. But we managed to find our own separate corners in which to disrobe. In a trice I had doffed my dress, my bra, and my panties. Dwayne took a little more time shedding his clothes, since he had to take his thick boots and socks off before he could get to his shirt, pants, and underwear. But when he was finally naked, I was relieved to find that he was already pretty hard.

And no, Nina, he wasn't huge. He was definitely above average—about seven inches, I would say—but that's all. It was much more than adequate, and I fell to my knees to see what his member tasted like.

But as I did so, he frowned and almost pulled away. I looked up at him in surprise.

"You don't need to do that," he said gruffly.

"Do what?"

"Kneel in front of me. It ain't—right."

I was rather touched by his concern that I was being too submissive. "It's okay, Dwayne," I said. "I don't mind."

And I put his cock in my mouth.

It tasted heavenly—not least because it had been quite a while since I'd done this. As I licked and sucked, I brought one hand up and gently tickled his balls. He seemed to like that, if the sudden groan he emitted was any guide. For some reason I felt the need to see how much of him I could get into my mouth—and so I swallowed it, inch by inch, until my nose actually touched his groin. Then I had to withdraw quickly, as I was starting to gag. But I'd done it! I'm no expert in deep throat, but I looked up at him as if expecting praise for my accomplishment. He gave me a big smile, and that was all the recompense I wanted.

Then I guided him to the bed. I pulled back the covers and slid in, lying on my back. He followed me, first paying homage to my breasts, which he gripped with both hands and squeezed together, sucking one nipple and then the other and at times even nibbling on them gently with his teeth. Then he moved slowly down my body, licking and kissing the whole way, until his face was right next to my sex. He was taking in its appearance and aroma, and then his lips fastened themselves on it. I was mortified to think that he might end up giving me a second climax before he'd even had one of his own; but his licking lasted only a short time before he moved back up. Nestling his frame on top of mine, his upper body propped up by his elbows and his legs between my own, he entered me.

That first feel of his member plunging with almost infuriating slowness into me is a sensation I'll never forget. The way he slowly filled me up was so incredible that I almost fainted. It was such a potent symbol of our physical—and, I hoped, spiritual—union that I wanted him to forge right ahead until he was buried in me up to the hilt. I wanted his entire body in me.

He did go fully into me, and then he started thrusting. In the course of time he slowly lowered his body onto mine, so that his chest was squeezing my breasts. I loved the feel of him on me, and I wrapped my arms around him and also brought my knees up so that he could go in me even further. But one thing troubled me.

His thrusts were quite gentle, and I quickly sensed why that might be.

So I whispered in his ear, "Dwayne, dear, I'm not made of porcelain. I won't break."

He got the message and started pumping me harder. Now the whole experience—his big member in me; the wetness that was lubricating both my parts and his; the weight of his body on mine—was becoming so transcendent that I felt I was in another world. Or rather, I felt that nothing in the world existed except him and me—and we had become "one flesh" in every possible sense of that term.

I was secretly delighted that he didn't take long to come. I don't know when his last experience had been, but I was pleased that whatever charms I had were such as to bring him to climax in a matter of minutes. I fully expected to have more couplings with him—both now and in the days and weeks to come—and I also suspected (what proved to be true) that part of his excitement came from a very simple fact:

I was the first white woman he'd had.

After he had sent his seed into me, he rested heavily on me, as we both relished the aftermath of what had been for both of us an overwhelming experience. He pulled out of me gradually and rolled off, and as I saw the sweat that covered his chest and belly—some of it mine, no doubt—I thought that no man in creation could possibly be more desirable than he was at that moment.

I turned and clung to his arm, pressing my breasts against it. I kissed his cheek and said, "Was that good, Dwayne?"

"Yeah, it was good," he said with a sigh of remembered pleasure.

Presently I sidled over on top of him, holding his head in my hands and giving him many kisses on the mouth, nose, chin, forehead, and every other place I could reach. I could have eaten him alive! He had his hands on my waist, and they gradually slid down to my bottom, which he seemed to find particularly appealing. He rubbed and squeezed and kneaded my butt to the point that I thought I could come just from that.

Then he said to me, "Ma'am, can I ask you something?"

I looked down at him severely. "Dwayne, I have a name, you know. Can you call me Stephanie?"

For some reason he frowned at that. "How about Stef?"

I wasn't all that keen on people calling me that, but it was better than "ma'am"! So I said, "Okay. Now what did you have to say?"

He gave me a strange look that I couldn't quite read. Then he said: "Can I go into your ass?"

I think a little shiver went through me. He was, of course, talking about rear entry. In my relatively limited experience, only one or two guys had even wanted to do that to me; and at the time, the idea had filled with such revulsion that I'd vehemently refused, and in one case almost refused to see the guy anymore. With Dwayne, I felt more sorrow than anger: I was already so besotted with him that I would have let him do almost anything to me; but I just wasn't ready to go where he wanted me to go—not right now, anyway. Maybe I was being a prude, and maybe I was just yielding to a prejudice against an act that did have its unseemly aspects but which many people—including many women—no doubt enjoyed.

But I couldn't help saying, "Oh, Dwayne, I'd rather not. I really don't think I want to do that right now. Do you mind terribly?"

He took it in good stride, saying, "That's okay."

"There are plenty of other things we can do!" I said quickly. "You could do me doggie-style and pretend you were going into my ass!"

He smiled at that, but took me up on my offer. But he didn't want me just to get on my hands and knees on the bed. Instead, he had me drape my legs over the side of the bed, and then he climbed out of the bed and stood on the floor behind me. The mattress was just about at the height of his groin, so the angle was pretty good. He parted my legs—noticing, no doubt, the thick wad of come that was falling out of my vagina and down my legs—and plunged into me from behind.

This time there was no need for me to tell him to do it harder, for he pummeled me unrelentingly for many minutes. I'm sure he loved the sight of his cock going in and out of me, and also the sight of my bottom, which seemed to fascinate him. At times he leaned over and seized my breasts, and I felt quite helpless as he pounded me, his thighs slapping against my bottom as he did so. This position afforded pleasure both to me and to him, and I actually came before he did—although possibly my climax, which resulted in my unconsciously squeezing his cock as it thrust in and out of my pussy, may have brought his on.

He remained in me until the last drops of his emission dribbled out of his cock, and then he pulled out. We both struggled to get our bodies back on the bed, and for a long while we just lay there in awkward positions, trying to regain our energy and our composure.

But I, for one, wasn't quite finished yet. The passivity I'd exhibited in our first two couplings hadn't entirely sat well with me, and so I now took the initiative. What I did was simply start covering his entire body—he was lying on his stomach—with licks and kisses, starting with his neck and shoulders and going all the way down his back. I paid particular attention to his own bottom, which was a marvel of tight musculature and soft skin. I continued down to his thighs and legs and even his feet and toes. Then I urged him to get on his back, and I settled myself on top of him, in sixty-nine position, for some serious cocksucking.

I worshipped that cock. It wasn't that I'm fixated on the male organ; it was that I dimly sensed that it somehow symbolized everything good about Dwayne: his mix of firmness and gentleness; his bravery and also his endearing shyness; his pride and his diffidence. I sucked that cock, licking the whole shaft with my tongue and also engulfing his balls (gently!) in my mouth, one at a time and both at once; and I all but pushed my own sex in his face, even though his two dollops of come were dribbling out of it. He licked and sucked with delicacy and determination, and I think he made me come twice before I finally coaxed another orgasm out of him, his salty discharge foaming into my mouth and sliding down my throat.

Now I was really exhausted, and I suspect he was too. I lay there next to him, my head right next to his genitals; in fact, his softening member had flopped down on my cheek, warm and wet and strangely comfortable. But just as I was getting used to this unusual position, I felt a sudden absence—not only of his cock but of his whole body.

He had gotten up from the bed.

I sleepily figured he was just going to use the bathroom or something like that, but as I directed my bleary eyes in his general direction, I saw that he was quickly getting dressed.

A stab of pain shot through me. Oh, God, Dwayne, don't tell me you're leaving!

I had trouble imagining that he couldn't know how horrible, how cruel, it was to abandon me at that moment. I was so staggered that I lay there speechless, my mouth hanging open.

Finally I managed to croak, "Dwayne, you're not going, are you? I thought you'd stay the night."

Without looking at me, he muttered, "I gotta go."

"But why, Dwayne?" I said, rising up on my elbows. "What's the rush? I wanted to make breakfast for you tomorrow morning."

"Got an early job."

"Okay, fine; but I can get up early. I have to go to work also." It was Tuesday night, so Wednesday was a work day for both of us.

But he just continued dressing. There was a stubborn tightness around his mouth; but I also sensed, uncomprehendingly, a kind of fear in his eyes, as if he was in a haunted house and needed to dash away before the ghost appeared.

I crawled up from the bed. He was now on his knees, tying the laces of his shoes. I stood over him, naked, his come running down the inside of my thighs, and said:

"Dwayne, please don't go."

But it was no use. He continued to look away from me, and as he got to his feet he did everything he could to avoid even touching me. Without a backward glance he started heading down the stairs.

Admitting defeat, I choked back tears, put on a robe, and followed him like a lost puppy.

I couldn't believe he was just going to leave without a word. But his hand was on the knob of the front door, and there didn't seem to be anything I could do to stop him.

But I made a last-ditch effort. "So what's going to happen now, Dwayne?"

He misunderstood me—whether deliberately or not, I couldn't tell. "What's gonna happen is I'm goin' home."

"I didn't mean that. I meant, what are we going to do from now on?" You're surely not going to say this was a nice one-night stand, but that's the end of it?

His hand paused on the doorknob. He looked at his feet but said nothing.

"Am I going to see you again?" I said, cursing myself for sounding so needy.

"Sure," he replied offhandedly.

"When?" I challenged.

After some moments he managed to say, "How about Friday?"

Almost three whole days! But it was probably the best I could get out of him. I mean, we did have jobs. "Okay," I said in resignation. "Can you come here for dinner? Or should I go over to your place?"

That latter idea seemed to fill him with horror. "No!" he burst out gruffly. Then, more softly: "I'll come here."

"For dinner? Can I make you dinner?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Okay, it's a date," I said in an attempt at whimsy that fell utterly flat.

He turned the knob, letting in the cool air. I had deliberately left my robe partially open to let him know what he was giving up, and the sudden burst of air chilled me to the bone. As he was stalking out the door I said:

"Dwayne, aren't you going to kiss me goodnight?"

He had the decency to look mortified. Turning around, he gave me that crooked smile—the one that was already wringing my heart—took me in his arms, and plastered a thick, wet kiss on me. For good measure, he squeezed my bottom hard.

I guess I took some comfort in that.

He trudged off, and I closed the door behind him. Then I went upstairs and cried myself to sleep.