The First Ninety Days Ch. 01

He knew he probably should have worked up to it with fingers, but he was too excited to care now. She was responding, responding beyond all expectation. His tongue worked at the little nub, stroking it up and down, while his hand found her other breast and caressed it, stroked it—not just the nipple, but the underside and the seam where it blended back into the body, which were supposedly extra-sensitive. Her arm curled around his head, holding him to her, while her breathy moans began a steady crescendo.

He loved her breasts, he decided. He had known them for only a few minutes, but he already loved them. Her nipples were the palest pink, fairly large (something he had not expected) and capped by puffy areolas. Her skin was a perfect white, lit from within by faint, translucent veins. Each breast was just the right size to fit into his hand, smooth and soft, and within them he could feel the beating of her heart. That was something he liked a great deal.

He transferred from one breast to the other, turning his mouth and attention to that yet-untouched territory, while his hand left her chest and began its travels again, scouting out the lay of the land. He caressed her sides and flanks, wishing she were not laying on her back, and then began a steady advance down her hip and thigh, sliding his hand back and forth from breast to knee.

He wasn't sure how he was going to negotiate the removal of her sweatpants—she was, after all, lying down—but when his hand slipped inside the waistband, she surprised him once again. Her hands pre-empted his, and she lifted her hips and suddenly the pants were sliding away down her legs, and now she was naked except for her panties. One hand reached below to help her get free, finally emerging from beneath the bedspread to toss them overside, while the other immediately began an exploration of her leg, feeling the smooth fine skin there, the faint traces of shaved hair... The distinct softness of her inner thigh. He felt heat there, and possibly a hint of damp, though he couldn't be sure.

They remained thus for a long time, his hands at rest and his lips on her breast, her arm curled around him as she arched up, presenting her breast to his ministrations. Then he moved his hand, taking one of those final steps, bringing it to rest on the mound beneath her navel. He felt crinkling hair shift under her cotton panties, and a deep abiding warmth, and she breathed an "Oh" through parted lips and he knew she would be ready. With that knowledge came a upstanding anticipation... But a low, insistent doubt as well.

He pressed his hand gently against her mound, feeling the new pulses in her body as her hips rose in anticipation. When he could wait no longer, he let the pressure up. She whimpered in disappointment, but then tensed—maybe in anticipation, maybe in dread, who could say—when she felt his hand make that final transition and slip inside the elastic band of her panties. His fingers brushed over curly pubic hair, now slightly damp, and then over skin softer than any he had felt before, skin that was soft and warm and now slick with moisture.

Once again she took the dilemma out of his hands. She let go of him again to reach between them, and with a final wriggle she lay totally naked beside him. Her breath came in heady pants now, and her hand clutched him to her breast, while the other raked over his back. Her legs were parted to allow access to his stroking hand, her nipple proud and erect within his mouth. She was ready—as ready as he could make her.

Ideally, he would like to bring her to orgasm, but (enhanced responses notwithstanding) that would have been a project for an evening. He had no real idea how much effort it would take, other than a whole lot, and this wasn't the time. Besides—might as well admit it—he was selfish. He wanted to taste her depths for the first time, and see what it was he had waited for. He wanted to know what this was all about.

His fingers were already wet from her juices, so it was easy to slip one inside her. She did not have an intact maidenhead, which didn't surprise him; she had wanted to be a Dance major, after all. But it did surprise her. "What... What is that?"

"It's just my finger, it—"

"No. —No. Don't."

"Okay, I don't have to—"

"Only—" She was still gulping for air, and her voice was a breathy moan. "Only one thing goes inside me, Jon."

His heart leapt—almost the same way his cock did. "Are you sure?"

"Ye— Yes. Jon, why would— Why would I lie about this?" He felt her hand on his rear. "And why are you still dressed?"

His haste to disrobe would have been unseemly in any other circumstances, but when his cock sprang free, as hard as it had ever been, her eyes widened. "That looks big."

That was a nice thing to hear, even though Jon doubted his cock was truly any larger than average. "Well, that's why I started with a finger."

"Are you sure it'll fit?"

"It was made to."

"Oh."

"I can try the finger again, if you want—"

"No." Her arms closed around him possessively. "No. No, I want you to— To put it in me."

He kissed her. "I will, my love."

He positioned himself between her legs, suspended on elbows and knees so that he could lean down to kiss her. Her breasts made shallow pools under him. "Umm," he said. "If you could, just. Reach down there and, um. Put things where they need to go."

"Oh," she said. "Okay, um."

The touch of her hand on his cock was unlike anything he had ever felt before. It was just a hand—how could it be so? His own hand wasn't like the touch of lightning on his skin.

It was almost more than he could bear, but he gritted his teeth and said, "You should probably rub it up and down a bit, get it wet. That'll make it easier to get in."

She looked at him quizzically, but did as he bade. Then her eyes were lost. It felt good to him too.

"It does— Seem really big," she gulped. "But, it's ni— Oooh..." For right then one of her strokes had taken him a little too far in the wrong direction, and he felt the clasp of her pussy lips as the tip slid inside her. The head of his cock was now surrounded by snug, wet warmth, better than anything he had known.

"Sh-should I?" His arms were trembling from the strain of holding himself up.

"Could... Could you go slow?"

He didn't see how he had a choice. If he went fast, he would probably blow right then and there—and what kind of a stupid first time wouldthat be? So, slowly, carefully, he let his hips shift forward, slowly, carefully filling her up inside.

Her pussy was joy and molten fire, as smooth as velvet and warm, so warm on the skin of his cock. Her wetness made her slippery soft. Her depths opened before him as he slid ever deeper inside her, feeling her petals creep up his shaft until finally (sadly) there was no more to give, and he felt her pubic hair tickling his skin and her pussy lips at the root of his cock, and he opened eyes he didn't remember closing and saw her face before him.

She looked up at him.

"Okay," he asked.

She nodded.

"How does it feel?"

"It feels... Different. I dunno."

How would she? They had traded sexual histories (or lack thereof) more than a year ago, and he knew she had never used tampons, had never played with herself, had never even explored up inside herself more than once or twice. What would she compare it to?

"You were right, though. You did fit."

"Toldja."

She gave him a small, shy smile.

"I need to let myself down a little," he said. His arms were aching from the strain of holding himself above her.

"Okay."

"But tell me if I'm too heavy."

"Okay."

He let his elbows move out, settling down on her, keeping himself suspended, but only somewhat, letting more of his weight rest on her. He felt her breasts cushioning him, her breath brushing by his shoulder. She reached up to accept him, her arms circling around his back—and then her legs, bending at the knees, her thighs brushing against his waist. It was almost more than he could bear.

"How doyou like it," she asked.

"It's... It feels great," he said honestly. It was heaven, as far as he was concerned.

"Better than... Than playing with yourself?"

"Way better." How could it compare? Five fingers and vaseline were nothing on her warm, tight, smooth pussy.

"Are you... Are you near to..." She colored. "Shooting?"

He felt his own face flush. "It could happen pretty soon, if I let it."

"Oh."

"Why?"

Her eyes were hooded for a moment, looking past him. Then she met his eyes, her gaze clear. "I want you to," she said. "I want you to... Ejaculate in me. I want you to shoot inside me. I want you to make me your woman."

He kissed her forehead, the place currently most accessible. "Are you sure?"

"Don'tyou want to?"

"Of course," he said honestly.

Her arms left his back and she placed her hands on his shoulders, stilting him up. "Then do it, baby."

How could he refuse?

He began to move, slowly sliding out of her. Her eyes flickered, and he knew it must be uncomfortable for her, but she hadn't asked him to stop yet, so he figured he was okay. Her passage closed up around him, as if trying to prevent him from leaving, but the slickness of her walls made adhesion difficult. When only the tip of his cock remained inside her, he reversed motion, renewing his penetration, and she gave another murmured "Oh..." as he began to fill her again.

On his second stroke he began to speed up—not much, just a little—but even that was too much. It wasn't three or four strokes before he felt the rumbling begin inside him, beginning to burst forth, and he pushed himself in, as deep in as he could go, as quickly as he dared. She must have sensed it, because she said, "Jon?" But the next moment his orgasm hit, and then he was beyond speech.

It was almost too strong. He felt the first rush of semen down his shaft, and a single moment of unshakable clarity: the rich warm caress of her pussy all down his length, and her whispered exultation and her arms around him and her legs flanking his hips and the pounding of her heart under his chest; then liquid ecstasy burst forth from inside him, and he groaned out his pleasure as his body jerked and clenched and shuddered and fell with an intensity that almost overwhelmed him.

In the aftermath, she murmured his name.

When sensation returned, he found himself collapsed atop her, her head at his shoulder, his heart thundering. Around his softening cock was liquid light: the warmth of his own spend mixed with her juices, and around that the duller, softer heat of her pussy. Her arms and legs still cradled him. He felt the press of her skin against his chest and torso and groin, the tickling pubic hair. He smelled sweat and hair and underneath it all that red scent that was so distinctly hers. He felt her smile at his shoulder. He felt... Everything.

"I love you," he murmured weakly.

Her arms tightened around him. "I know."

There was silence for a time.

"I'd better move."

"It's okay."

"I'll get heavy."

"I don't mind."

"Oof." He disengaged from her, his cock slipping from her grasp one final time (he felt a wave of sadness), and then drew her up beside him. Her arms fit under his and wrapped around his back, his fit around her shoulders. Her head on the pillow met his shoulder, and he rested his on hers. They pressed together, head to toe. They had spent many hours like this in their lives—though, previously, clothed.

"How are you," she asked.

"Good," he said. "Sleepy."

"Sleepy?"

"Yeah. It's what guys do. They cum and then they doze off."

"Really? I never knew that."

"It's one of those... One of those things you don't find out unless you're a guy. And you're so..." A yawn. "You're so comfy..."

Her hand ruffled his hair. "Then sleep, my love. I'll still be here. Sleep..."

He did.