Susan's 21st Birthday

Good, she's less green than I feared.

She quickly changes the subject: "I also have a present." She lifts her large handbag on the bed next to my briefcase, unzips it and takes out a bottle. "For the festive launch." A bottle of real champagne.

I chuckle and open the minibar. "Come and look? I'm skimpier than you are. Fake champagne."

She laughs, putting her bottle next to mine. "We're going to get pretty drunk."

"Shall we have a glass now? On your birthday?" She's a lot more relaxed already then when she stood so hesitantly on the doorstep half an hour ago, but a glass of champagne never hurts.

Does Susan have the same idea? She tilts her head and says, "Now the fake, later the real one?"

We look for glasses. Toothbrush beakers is all we can find. I pop the cork, she holds up the glasses. I do not pour them overly full. The idea was breaking the ice, not getting royally drunk.

We sit next to each other on the bed.

"Cheers Susan! Happy birthday."

"Cheers sir." She sees me looking. "Uh, George."

I take a few sips in silence. Frankly, a good Crémant de Bourgogne is better than a cheap champagne. But I'm not going to tell her that. And yes, I also know that those corks are not supposed to pop but hey, it's a party. Her party.

"What do you think. Time for foreplay?" I pull her towards me without waiting for the answer, kiss her on the mouth.

"But sir! What are you doing?"

"Do you really want to fuck, but no foreplay?"

She cringes at the dirty word. "No... yes, foreplay sounds all right. But not so suddenly." Her actions belie her words. She tilts her head towards me, closes her eyes and purses her lips. She is the first to try tonguing.

"Another sip of champagne?" I take a sip and let her drink from my mouth. Then, of course, we have to try that the other way round. It quickly turns into a big mess.

"My sweater. Look at those stains!"

"Well, come on, take it off then."

"Yeah, you would like that, huh? You take off your shirt first."

Jacket, tie, shirt. She clumsily tries to help me with the buttons. She looks approvingly at my torso. All those hours of rowing over the last few months are paid off in that one look. "So beautiful," she whispers, more to herself than to me.

"Your turn."

She blushes, but she gets up, walks a few steps away from me, turns around, grabs the bottom of her sweater and pulls it over her head. And fails. She did not think of her new necklace and struggles with the sweater around her head, hiding her face and her eyes. That gives me the opportunity to appraise her body. Not disappointing at all! She is certainly not beautiful, but she's got full breasts that lean heavily into her bra -- and she's less fat than she looks with clothes on. More hips than belly. Then she pulls her sweater down, feels for her throat. Necklace off, sweater off. Necklace back on.

"Bra too," I command.

"No, my skirt first." She's coloring again. "I'll warn you in advance, sir. I have saggy tits." If she gets shy, she forgets that we are on first names.

"Okay, together then. You do your skirt, I do my pants. Keep our underpants on."

The clothes fall to the floor. She finishes before I do, because I also take off my shoes and socks.

"Well, well, well... that is seductive." She wears black stockings with an elastic band. Her underwear -- lingerie -- is a set, dark blue, with lace. Her nipples show through the lace, harden under my gaze, visibly pushing against her bra. The front of her panties is half open, in ajour work. Between stockings and panties a strip of flesh, the elastic bands of her stockings cutting into het legs. A vaulted belly, deep button. She may not be fat, but she is plump and therefore has the most agreeable curves. My cock stands up curiously.

She smiles. "I was hoping you'd say that."

"Turn around please?" I'm hoarse.

She smiles again, but does as I ask. The back of her panties is semi-transparent.

"Jesus Christ! What a beautiful ass."

"Please, don't use His name in vain." But she shakes her butt coyly.

"Girl, you might have been a fashion model." We both know it's not true, not with that chubby figure and not with that nose. I walk up to her, rubbing my stomach against her buttocks. "If only you had slightly longer legs."

She giggles. "Have a look down?" She has exchanged her sensible shoes for a pair of high heels. "So my ass... that's how my hips are at the same height as yours."

"I really appreciate it." To prove it I try to slide my semi-rigid cock between her buttocks, but her panties are too tight. Unceremoniously, I pull the backside down. I squeeze her firm ass cheeks, slide my hand down, feeling her slit with the back of my hand. She is not yet noticeably wet. I withdraw my hand, smell furtively. Nothing. Again I grab her buttocks, pull them wide. Soft girls' buttocks, round and springy. I take my dick out of my underpants and push it into her ass crack. She has no objection. "Hmm," she whispers and twists her torso half a turn, supports herself with an arm around my neck, searches for my mouth with her hers. "Kiss me again?"

Gladly! And meanwhile I run my hands over her belly, over her bra. The way that she stands puts her completely at my mercy. I caress her neck tenderly, whisper sweet nothings in her ear, nibble on her earlobe. My hands go back to her bra. I locate her nipples, squeeze them softly. The lace crunches under my hands.

She tries to grope me too but she's at a disadvantage, hunched back like that. She strokes my forearm instead, then takes my left hand and puts it on the front of her panties. I know what she wants and search through the fabric for her clit. With my full hand on her stomach I push her buttocks against my cock. Then run small circles with my finger over her panties, put my hand in, feel her pussy.

"Hmm, that's what I dreamed of. Shall I take off my bra now?" She seems to have lost her shyness, takes the initiative -- and I gladly let her. She turns, pushes me until I fall backwards on the bed. I quickly rearrange my underpants -- as if it matters now! Then she takes a few steps back, reaches behind, unhooks her bra. Teasingly, she holds the cups for a few seconds in front of her nipples, then drops it. She catches her breasts, lifts them up to me. Then she lets go of them, putting her arms behind her head in a clearly rehearsed gesture. Her breasts sway heavily. Generous and round. Bigger than grapefruits, but no melons -- well, small melons. Big pronounced areolas, my caresses have visibly aroused her nipples.

I sit up. "Saggy breasts? You are beautiful! Come over here!" I kiss the marks the bra has left on her skin, tongue her nipples, reach for her tits. I pull her towards me and drown in that blissful springy softness. A sharp smell comes out of her armpit. She is aroused by that little strip tease she just gave, or maybe by my caresses. I lift one arm and sniff.

"Hey, you creep. Do you like that? Shouldn't I just use my anti transpiration again?"

"Are you crazy? You wouldn't drown that lovely girl smell in some dirty deodorant, would you?" Would she know the word pheromones?

She laughs knowingly, imitating Aunt Winnie once more: "All men are perverts. Just believe me." But she does not seem to mind me, or my free roaming hands. We fall back on the bed, belly to belly, she on top. She sniffs my armpits in turn. "Hmm, I never liked the smell of men's sweat. But yours..."

I make half a turn, so she has to roll off me. Now we lie like spoons, one of my arms under her body. I enjoy pampering her beautiful breasts. "Jesus. Such a wealth."

"Please, don't use His name in vain," she repeats and reverses that half turn, lying on her back. Her left breast rolls down languidly, almost beside her body. I knead it, I lick it, I cuddle her nipple which rises even firmer than before. She sighs. Her mouth is half open, her eyes are closed. She is ready for more. "Shouldn't we... be making love?" she asks.

"What do you mean? What do you think we're doing? Or do you mean to fuck? Are you wet enough already?"

"No, but I brought lube." She straightens up, takes a tube from her bag. Practical as always.

I object. "Let's first have some more fun." Casually I put my free hand back into her panties, feel her pussy. She's definitely wet now, and her outer labia are twice as thick as they were a few minutes ago. I roll back onto my back, pulling her once again on top of me, belly to belly. Is it instinct or sophistication, the way she presses her pubic bone against mine, slides it back and forth, tries to hit her clit? She obviously doesn't care that my dick is in between. But I do. Delicious!

I push her up by her shoulders. She willingly puts her hands on the bed beside me and straightens her back. Eyes closed, mouth half open, panting slightly. No, this is not sophistication, this is not make believe, this is real, unconcealed lust. Her full breasts are hanging above my head. With hands, tongue and teeth I coddle them as if my life depends on it. Her nipples are now so sensitive that I have to work around them, I am not allowed squeezing them anymore. When I do, she emits an angry growl. Even her areolas are erect and bulging.

She slides back from the bed, her head level with my crotch. "Please, I really don't want to wait any longer." Without listening to my answer, she grabs the edge of my briefs and pulls them down. My cock pops out like a lazy harlequin. She sniffs it curiously and pulls a face. "Should I put it in my mouth?" She corrects herself: "Should I blow it?"

"No, you don have to. Only if you really like it." Did Aunt Winnie tell her to?

She sniffs again. "You actually smell not bad at all. Male." She sniffs again. "Like onions pickled in dill weed." She clumsily pulls back my foreskin and plants a kiss on the tip. Then, hesitantly, "It's really big, isn't it?"

"Thank you, but it's not that big at all. To my dismay it is rather smaller than average." I scrutinize her closely. "You rehearsed that little remark, didn't you?"

A radiant smile, not guilty in the least. "Is it so obvious then? Aunt Winnie told me I should always say that to a man. Oops." That smile by itself made my cock jump in her hand.

I'm getting off the bed too. I make her stand up, kneel in front of her. Without further ado I slide her panties down. She willingly steps out of them. To my surprise she has been shaved: her labia are free of any hair, the bush on her venus mound is trimmed. I do not comment, I've got better things to do. I am inspecting the folds in her soft plump belly, her slit, wet and fragrant. Her labia majora are generously rounded -- is that because she's chubby or because she's aroused? If I had to search for her clit a few minutes ago, now it is perky enough. Her inner labia are fleshy, not symmetrical: there is a fold in one of the two lips.

It's my turn to sniff her crotch.

"Oh dear, do I smell? Should I wash again?"

"Not at all." She has put a drop of perfume in her pubic hair, but her pussy smells stronger. Fish. Lobster. "You smell wonderful." To prove it -- no, just out of sheer lust -- I lick her pussy lips. She sighs. Then her clitoris. She sighs deeper. I slurp up that little fold in her labia. She emits a little cry. I suck in her clit. She slumps back on the bed, spreading her legs willingly. I'm on my knees in front of the bed and bury my nose deep in her salty cunt. She may not want to give me a blowjob (what do we bet she learned that word from Aunt Winnie?), yet I'm only too happy to lick her pussy.

A few moments my tongue swirls in her slit, my fingers explore her clit. Then I use my tongue on her clit, ever so gently. Carefully I insert a finger into her, little finger first, then my index finger. With my every movement she emits appreciative small sounds: "Wow," or "Yes," or "Huh-huh." I slide up on the bed, licking her breasts again, her nipples. She tastes a little salty now, and I assure you she's not sweating from the heat. She lets me continue for a moment, but then she pushes my head back down to her hips. For ten minutes (or longer, who cares?) I make love to her with my tongue and my fingers: chubby thighs, the edge of her stockings, labia, clit, breasts, abdomen, a wet kiss, more breasts, more pussy.... I get what I wanted: she is now soaking wet, she is dripping on my hand -- she is out of this world.

Her body is tense, she throws her head back, lifts her hips eagerly up to my tongue and my fingers. Her little cries are coming faster, autonomously: "Whew...yes...yeah...oooh." Her hands glide over her own breasts, over her clit if I leave it alone for even a single moment. Every now and then she straightens half up, tosses my hair, lets herself fall back helplessly. The smell of lobster is now overwhelming. Lobster, seafood, fish. No: girl. No, not even girl: woman. Delicious. A thin stream of fluid runs from her vagina, from her cunt where I unabashedly toss around with two fingers. I feel resistance, but she's so wide open that...

And then, unexpectedly, she orgasms. She squeezes her legs around my ears, raises her buttocks, tries to push me away. But my experience tells me that I have to hold on just now. My tongue follows her clit, however she bucks and turns. No more carefully licking around it, just grating over it full strength. She sighs and growls, stretches one more time -- then goes limp. No, not quite limp. A muscle in her thigh twitches uncontrollably, making her legs kick around. One of the high-heeled shoes she was so proud of before flies across the room.

Now it is my turn. I don't ask. I straighten her up (an angry grunt), drag her a little higher up the bed (another angry grunt), put my hand under her buttocks and push them up, with my other hand grabbing that towel from under the pillow, slide it under her buttocks. If she notices at all, if she understands what I'm doing, she just lets me go. She is half passed out, from lust, from that orgasm, from God knows what. Should I put on a condom? No, I don't want to break the spell. Not a chance of nasty diseases: she is still a virgin and I haven't been with a woman for six months. I just will have to pull out in time. I open her legs wide, observe her still pulsating vagina, slide up her body and try to push my cock into her. I grab it, but she beats me to it. She is conscious again, spreading her labia with the fingers of one hand, guiding me into herself with her other hand. She tries to raise. "May I look?" she whispers timidly. Carefully I push a little deeper into her, moving up and down with only the tip of my cock between her lips. I can barely feel her, she's so wide open and so wet.

She falls back on the bed. "Go ahead. Do it."

I can no longer contain myself. I swing my hips two, three times and my pubic bone touches hers. She makes little noises again, maybe from fear, maybe from pain, maybe from pleasure. "It hurts!" But only five or six thrusts later she starts to move in my rhythm. I move mightily into her, I haven't had a woman for six months. I must confess that at that moment I am only thinking of my own pleasure, not of hers. And Susan? I daresay she also seeks her own pleasure. Her trimmed bush touches my belly. Her clitoris touches my pubic bone. I lean on one hand, reach for her wildly swaying breasts, her nipples, with the other. She also fondles her own nipples, puts her nails in my back, my buttocks.

Self-control, George. Do not ejaculate prematurely. I try to recall the face of the bank employee I have been talking to that morning. Douche bag. Probably impotent. I rehearse the balance sheet of my company. Debit side, nice. Credit side, too much, ugh. But it will not be long before I... Up, down, up... and then she ruins my orgasm by coming a second time. Again she tries to free herself from under me, again I won't let her. She makes more noises now than before: "Oh Lord, oh God, oh my God, Christ, oh Jesus, oh sweet Jeesusss..." and once again she suddenly goes limp and falls backwards.

I slide out of her, or she pushes me out, I don't know. I look sadly at my shrinking cock. "Please, don't use His name in vain," I mimic her, but she doesn't listen. Or she just ignores me. Still panting, her eyes closed, she whispers in surprise: "But that was really nice."

I roll off her, gently stroke her hair, her face, her body and, God help me, those lovely breasts again. She lays there for at least a minute, recovering from her own orgasm and enjoying my caresses. Then she says in a conversational tone, "Why didn't anyone ever tell me it's so good?"

Yes, /that/ is the parson's secret. I slide to the ground, peering closely at her body. She has put her legs back on the bed, but they are not closed. I can look right into her cunny. She's wet, so wet that the insides of her thighs are shiny, even the tops of her stockings are damp. I can smell her lust from that little distance. She catches me looking and it turns her on. "Do you like that, leering at me?" She reaches for her handbag which is still on the bed, takes out a mirror, looks between her own legs. "Ooh, did you spray in me?"

"No, I haven't finished yet. You didn't give me the opportunity."

"What is that white stuff, then?"

"That is your own grool." Her mistake is understandable, a thick tear of white fluid flows from her still half open pussy. "Female lubricant. Who needs store-bought lube here?"

She looks at me in disbelief. Aunt Winnie didn't tell her about this. "And now I've lost my virginity?"

"You can count on it." I pull the towel out from under her buttocks and show it to her. A faint pink spot. Blood mixed with vaginal juices.

"Is that all? Is that what I was so afraid of? It hurt only a bit."

She puts the mirror aside, sticks a finger inside herself. "Still does." Then in a different tone: "But it was also very nice. I thought I was fainting."

"The small death." I get another vacant look, but I ignore her and continue: "You are lucky. At least ten percent of all women cannot climax. A few percent even always feel pain when fucking."

"Well, I can." And then something comes to her mind: "Champagne."

"None of that. First I have to cum too."

Her mirror, the finger she stuck inside herself and her amazed pleasure have made me horny again. She looks at my boner, feels for it, pulls back her hand with a dirty face: "YOU are bleeding!"

Indeed, there is a pink-red layer on the tip of my cock, my foreskin. On the whole shaft, yes, even on my balls. Surprised I look at it, feel it, taste my fingers. Iron. So, yes, real blood, but I don't feel anything.

Then I understand. "Your blood," I chuckle.

Who is the youngest here? She firmly takes the lead. "Come on, we're going to wash first and then we'll do it again. And then you may come too. And I'll have another glass of champagne anyway. That first bottle isn't even half empty yet."

Resolutely she pours the glasses. "Cheers. You were right. A very successful birthday."

- - -

Moments later we are in the shower. Her back against my stomach, my hands on her body. I feel up her pussy, her breasts. But she wriggles free from my grasp, squats down in front of me and lathers my dick. Thoroughly, one might say. She straightens up, rinses me off, then washes her own crotch. I help her, she lets me do it. Legs, thighs, pussy, bottom, ass.

But she has had enough and turns off the shower. "Are we going to fuck again?" She doesn't even notice that she's using the dirty word unabashedly now.

My cock is already stiff. She grabs it, tries to jerk me off, but she's inexperienced: she tugs irregularly and pulls my foreskin back so far that it hurts. I put my hand on hers, wrap her fingers around my shaft and together we jerk off for a minute. Then she kneels in front of me and gently takes it in her mouth.

But this time it's me who doesn't feel like boring blowjobs, I want the real thing. I pull her up, slap her firmly on the buttocks.