Tales of A Good Catholic Dom

I looked for a while. I ran my hands over her, still marveling how I came to be stroking this almost-stranger's almost-naked body. She didn't say anything. I grew anxious to see her front, so I took her by the hips and had her turn over. She rolled a trifle energetically, letting her arms fall wide open, as if helpless, and looked at me, as I thought, in a way that said, "Yours to command!"

I now had to shift position because of my erection. I didn't try to hide it. I pushed it aside with my hand. I wanted her to look at me and see that everything was working. She smiled but didn't say anything.

I drank in the whole sight: her sandy hair, her pale face with wanting blue eyes, her slender neck, her skinny shoulders, the pale nubbly skin of her armpits, her freckled red chest, her heavy breasts with their secret female darkness, her arrogant nipples surrounded by almost blackish aureoles, her taping tummy (with an innie belly button), the swelling line of her hips, her lacy black panties with a panel holding back that secret, her trim thighs, her wrinkled reddish knees, and her white shins that flowed down to petite ankles and feet.

Some instinct made me stand up. Now I, a fully if very casually dressed man, was standing over her, staring up and down her body. Now I got the difference: clothed, I was somehow superior (despite my still-strained nerves). Nude, she was vulnerable and (the thought was absurd, but it nevertheless came into my head) and somehow under my control. She lay with her arms spread as if helpless, waiting, wanting, imploring. It was like we were acting in a play, somehow knowing our scene without ever having played it together before.

When I had my fill, I simply bent down and started to pull the panties off. Now that I understood something of what Michelle wanted, I didn't need permission. She wanted me to take her visually. I would.

She lifted her legs, the panties came off, and I threw them into the corner more vigorously than necessary. I was starting to feel a little like a pimp in control of his woman. Ah, the fantasies of a virgin!

Michelle's thick sandy bush, somewhat more reddish than her hair, seemed to boil out of her sex, like a cataract in the mountains (as a poet might put it). It completely concealed her slit.

I went to the end of the bed and said, "Spread your legs." She complied. Now she was completely splayed across the bed. I wanted to see more of her. "Lift your legs, reach down, and open yourself." She complied. I was now, at last, face to face with a live vagina, which had hues ranging from crimson through pink to a dusky paleness where it disappeared inside her. Her labia were glistening. I didn't know then whether that meant she was excited or it was just the usual state of those tissues. I looked at her bright sex for a while, still not emotionally quite comprehending that I was really going to push my untested cock into it.

"Now turn over." She complied, again tucking her arms under her. I studied her ass and the dark soles of her feet, which had a few black spots. "Spread your cheeks open." She complied. Her asshole was reddish-brown, tight, puckered. I didn't especially care about her asshole; I did that only because she wanted to be looked at. Had she suggested anal intercourse, I probably would have fled the room. I had her turn back over. Then I had had an inspiration, from where I don't know.

"Now," I said, "I'm going to put you in poses, and I want you to hold each one until I release you."

The look I got, a mixture of admiration, apprehension and amusement, told me I'd pushed at least one of her buttons. (She told me later that no man had ever done that with her, and now she wondered why not.) Anyway, I first gave her simple things like, "Lift your right leg bent and twist your torso to the left" and "Sit up, push your tits together and kiss them." Some of them required her to get off the bed and pose sort of like a ballerina. I made her correct these positions, and hold them for a while, as I enjoyed the view and the sensation of power. It seemed clear she enjoyed doing this for me.

Eventually, I reached out spontaneously to correct a pose. After that, I started to touch her often. Eventually I grabbed her as she knelt on the bed. We had a full, tight embrace and kissed passionately. This time, our tongues were busy. I squeezed her breasts with abandon. Afterward, she asked if she could undress me.

There wasn't much to undress. I was wearing only a sweatshirt and jeans. I let her pull the sweatshirt over my head. There was nothing underneath. I had the build of a former athlete, but at this time I was merely a nerdy student who never worked out. I wasn't fat but I'd gotten soft. Suddenly I wished my muscles were harder. Michelle didn't seem to notice. She began stroking my chest and arms, telling me that I was beautiful. Then she asked, "May I take your pants off?" When I nodded, she fell to her knees.

I suddenly felt almost dizzy with desire. This woman, the secrets of whose body I was free to explore, was kneeling with her face at the level of my cock. The bulge in my jeans was obvious. With her mouth set in an expression of busnesslike pleasure, she unbuckled my belt and unsnapped the jeans. She looked up. I nodded, dumbly. Now my zipper came down, slowly. My excitement climbed another notch. She peeled the top of my jeans down, reaching back to pull them off my butt, till they slipped down on their own.

And now Michelle shocked me again. She leaned forward and placed her cheek against my bulge, which twitched violently under my shorts. She caressed it with her face, almost more affectionately than sexually, like a mother would caress a baby.

"Would you put your hands on my head, Gus?" I gently rested them on her hair. She kept moving her face and my cock kept twitching. Then she said, "For me, this is happiness. Kneeling before a man I know wants me." I had absolutely no idea how to respond to that.

After a bit, she looked up and said, "Gus, I think it's time for me to see what's under there. May I?" I nodded, still not trusting my voice.

She carefully lifted my shorts over my erection and they, too, slid down. Now my penis bobbed out freely, its obviousness shouting, "I'm Gus's penis and he needs to fuck!" I was at once embarrassed, proud and nervously unsure what came next.

Michelle looked up again, put her hands together as if in prayer, and said in a very soft voice, "Gus, you're beautiful. May I touch you?" Again, all I could do was nod.

Now her hands gently, warmly, cupped under my scrotum, lifting my sac almost reverently, like the priest lifts the host. She had to tilt her head back to avoid my cock poking her in the face. Its end was already shiny with precum. In my inexperience, I thought for a moment she'd be grossed out, but as if reading my thoughts she leaned forward and tasted the tiny rivulet drooling out of the tip. She looked up at me. I have no idea what my face said, but it must have been some kind of agreement, because she did it again. And again. She smiled up at me and said, "Gus, I'm totally happy to give you head right now, if you want. But you tell me. How would you like to use me?"

I will digress here and say that the phrase "use me" made me briefly apprehensive. I don't use people. People, as Kant taught us, are ends, not means. And yet I couldn't deny that the theme Michelle had skillfully built into this whole scene we were acting out, of my being somehow in control of her in spite of the fact that she had to tell me what to do, was working for me, big time. My cock stiffened with every such hint. Yeah, OK, I'd use her, because that was what she wanted. That made it all right.

I did want her to give me head, very much, but I was just too new to do it. I was afraid I'd come in her mouth. Yes, I knew perfectly well people did that, but at that moment it felt like it would be giving way to some kind of weakness, a loss of control. Of course, it would, logically, be the same if I came in her vagina. I wouldn't have any more control over that, either. But at that moment, intercourse seemed respectable, head did not. So I told her to get on the bed.

She suggested we get under the sheet, which had only a thin cover over it, so we did. The smoothness of the sheets was gratifying. We slid into each other's arms, and for the first time I felt those hard nipples against my chest.

"Gus," she almost whispered, "I'm going to do some things to excite you, and I'm going to show you some things that excite me. OK? You don't have to do any of it that you don't want. Just do whatever feels right." So I kissed her repeatedly and cupped her breasts while she gently, slowly, caressed my cock. "Easy, easy," she whispered. "It's best if we raise our excitement up then let it cool back down. If we do that over and over, the explosion at the end is bigger."

After a bit, she rolled onto her back and threw the sheet partway back. "Would you like to use my breasts?" God, did I, but I had little clear idea how to do it. Mostly I just squeezed them repeatedly and rubbed my face on them. I was afraid to do anything to her nipples. I knew nipples are sensitive—mine are—so I was afraid of hurting them. All I could bring myself to do was kiss them reverently.

"Oh, that's wonderful," she said. "Try using your tongue." So I tongued them reverently. She liked it, but I sensed I wasn't quite rising to the occasion. I rose onto an elbow and looked at her face.

"Gus, my nipples are sensitive, but they want to be used. Like, kind of roughly. There's a direct line between them and my cunt. You can suck them, as hard as you want. You can bite them, not too hard, please. I'll yell, but that doesn't necessarily mean I want you to stop. You can pinch, twist and pull them. You can slap them. You can even go into the bathroom, get my nail file, and poke them—carefully. I do that to myself sometimes."

More shock here. The word "cunt." I couldn't yet bring myself to use it; it seemed so disrespectful, as if she were just an animal. I was also surprised to hear she stimulated her own nipples, especially that strange way. I wasn't sure I could bring myself to do much rough stuff with them. But I could suck them, so I started with that. I was very gentlemanly at first. But enjoying a woman's tits, like enjoying any of her, can make you turn sort of mindless. Before long I was pulling them out as far as I could and letting them pop back. I could tell from her gasps we were getting somewhere. I paused, let her rest for a moment while I caressed her tits again with my (somewhat stubbly) cheeks.

When I returned to the Nipple Wars, I had an urge to do more, to make them feel I was in charge. Was she afraid having them bitten? Good, I thought with a surge in my crotch, I'd enjoy her fear. For the first time, I heaved myself on top of her. I grabbed her biceps and pinned her arms to the bed. I looked at her in a way I hoped was a little scary. Then I bent my head and slowly, steadily bit down on one nipple until she screeched. I didn't keep going, but I didn't back off, either. I kept the pressure and rotated my head slightly so she'd feel my teeth again. She garbled out something incoherent. I did it again. Then I did the same thing to the other nipple.

In the meantime, I was acutely conscious that my cock was sticking high between her hot thighs, sometimes prodding the outer labia slightly. But, amazingly, I was in no hurry. I was having fun torturing Michelle's nipples. When I was tired of biting them, I straddled her waist, my shiny cock sticking up between us, looked into her eyes, and started twisting them. She started getting vocal, lots of OHHHs and AHHHs and OH FUCKs. I didn't yet have the confidence to be vocal with her. I just growled (or what I hoped sounded like a growl) and grunted.

When it was time to give her nipples a rest, she asked me to roll on my back. She did the same stuff to my nipples, and now I started gasping and saying OH SHIT. When her hands weren't busy tweaking my nipples, they were stroking my cock. After a while, she suggested that we calm down, lie back and rest. She was curled on her right side, facing my left side, with her head on my arm. We breathed quietly for a couple of minutes.

"Gus," she asked, "is it OK? Are you getting what you wanted?"

"Michelle," I said, "it's all good, all fantastic. You're incredibly sexy. I'm nervous but I'm also just fucking excited. I was so innocent about this stuff. I mean, I am innocent. I'm just a good Catholic boy. You need to teach me."

"OK," she giggled, pulling herself up and smiling. "Now let's head downstairs."

I was confused. She took my face between her hands and said, "Gus, dear, sweet, innocent Gus, I mean what's between our legs." She straddled me. "Let me show you something."

I had gone semi-soft while we rested. She positioned her . . . vagina (I was beginning to dislike that word) right over my cock, pressed down, and slid back and forth. I hadn't realized how wet and soft she was. She slid on me and cooed, "Gus, your cock is the biggest turn-on. I am so proud I can make it hard. It feels so good when I rub myself on it." I stiffened, grabbed her nipples and pulled her down. "Keep doing it," I commanded. So she slid on me, faster now, until her wetness was spread all over me. I had to have her stop because I was afraid I'd come.

She rolled off and then said, "You see how wet I am? She took my hand and guided it to her. For the first time I was finding out what a . . . cunt is like in heat. I was amazed at how much wetness was involved, how slippery she became. I knew, of course, in a general way, what a woman's genitals looked like, but only from pictures. I didn't realize that when she's swollen and bathed in so much of her fluid it's a little hard to feel your way around. Everything feels like everything else.

Michelle knew I needed help. "OK," she said, "I want to show you some things. But only if you want to. If you'd rather just fuck me now, that's OK, too. I'm already ready, obviously." She giggled. I considered the offer. My balls had gotten a little achy and I wanted to come. But Michelle was my teacher, and I was not accustomed to refuse to do what my teachers asked. "Sure," I said. "Teach me."

"You're right-handed, aren't you?" she asked. "OK, lie on this side." She took my hand and lay it on top of her bush, with her hand on top of mine. Her legs were closed and so was her cunt.

"First," she said, "just brush me back and forth. No, lift your fingers a little. Don't go into me yet. Press a little, but not too hard. Like this. For some reason, lighter touch is better than harder." I did as she asked, and she began sighing. "God," she exclaimed, "I feel like we're in your car and you've just started to feel me up!" She turned, threw herself on top of me and kissed me passionately—indeed, just like we were a couple of kids making out on a date. Then she rolled back over, and I tried to do exactly as she wanted.

Next she took my index finger and showed me how to stroke the edges of her labia, again very softly. "Not as sensitive here," she breathed, "but it's a good thing to do early. It shows you're in control of my cunt." So we did that for a while. My fingers were now swimming in her juices.

"OK, there's some other places, but let's skip that today. I'm feeling very ready. But just one more place, the most important." She guided my index finger to her clit. For the first time I felt that hard knob tucked up in the apex. At first I was too rough. "Lightly, lightly," she gasped. "That's the most sensitive spot. Stroke it lightly. It helps to keep changing speed and direction. Try twirling your fingertip in a circle. OHHHAHHHGN! OH FUCK FUCKING SHIT! FUCK ME! FUCK ME! MAKE ME COME!"

I took her literally. I thought she wanted me to penetrate her and took my hand off. But she grabbed it, pushed it back where it had been, and gasped no, what she mean was to keep doing what I was doing and she'd come. It took only another 30 seconds or so of twirling and flicking, and she suddenly made a sound like a dying cow's moo, pressed my hand down hard on her mound, and crossed her legs tightly, rocking back and forth. Her eyes were clenched closed, her red face contorted, her lips working. I had hitherto known girls as well-behaved creatures who always seemed concerned with how they looked, like my mother. I had never been with a woman in this state of extreme abandon, entirely oblivious to what she looked and sounded like. I was impressed, I was sort of flattered that I'd made it happen, but I was also, to tell the truth, a little disconcerted. This wasn't exactly good Catholic sex, was it? I couldn't imagine my mother and father doing this.

Little by little Michelle pulled herself together. She kissed me passionately, saying, "Thank you! Thank you! You were great, just great!"

We rested for a while. I'd gone completely soft. Finally, Michelle said, "Well, you ready to pound my pussy now?"

Pound? Was that how it's done? I had imagined a kind of decorous sliding in and out, sort of like a horizontal ballroom dancing. She reached down and felt my member. "Oh. Let me get you ready." She wiggled amidships and set to work licking me back to manly estate. I enjoyed it, but now I was eager to stop being a 20-year-old virgin and become a man of the world. Michelle said: "There. That's a hard, proud cock and it can do whatever it wants to me."

She lay on her back, her knees raised. I rolled between her legs and hoisted myself on my hands. We looked at each other for a few moments. I felt the moment deserved a certain amount of mutual consciousness. It was, I say in all seriousness, like deep, emotional prayer. And Michelle's blue eyes were now more intoxicating than ever. She smiled contentedly and said, "Take me, Gus."

I didn't know that I needed to guide myself with my hand, so she reached down and did it for me. "Unhhh, THERE!" And the bulbous head of my penis was suddenly inside a woman. I had achieved penetration, as the old sex books said. I continued pushing, eager, but carefully, afraid of hurting her. Oh, the regalness of that first slow taking! She gripped my arms, arched her head back, and moaned loudly. "OH GOD OH GOD FUCK ME! KEEP GOING! ALL THE WAY! UP HARD AGAINST ME!

I was hard against her, couldn't go any farther. She ground her gaping sex against me, smearing her wetness. I withdrew part way and then went back in fast. More noise. "YES! HIT ME HARDER! HIT ME HARDER!"

So this, it seemed, was what "pounding a pussy" meant. I loved the dominating view I had of her flushed face, her gasping mouth, her freckles against the glowing red skin of her chest, her wildly bouncing tits. She clung to my upper arms and wrapped her legs behind my knees. I started, slowly at first, a slow withdrawal followed by as hard a thrust as I could deliver. I gradually speeded up and slammed my loins into her. I was amazed anybody could enjoy that kind of treatment, but Michelle screamed and begged, so I kept doing it. I pounded her, conscious that both our midsections were now drenched. There was a distinct heavy smell that was, Michelle told me afterward, what great sex smells like.

Inexperienced as I was, I couldn't last that long. I'd guess somewhere around a minute. Sex messes with your sense of many things, including time. I felt my orgasm starting; it seemed far off at first but it approached like a speeding train. No stopping it now. It hit me at 300 miles per hour, and for a few seconds I wasn't sure I was even there at all, there was just a kind of roaring noise, an overpowering wave of pleasure, and my loins jerked again and again until I was empty. Hot, sweaty, soaked in her juices, mindless, I collapsed on Michelle. She patted me and cooed to me and told me I was great, but I was too far gone to pay any attention.