The First Time for Everyting

Eve was feeling super, crazy naughty. And normally, that would be fine, but not now. Not at this very point in her life. Right now, feeling crazy, super naughty.... that was a problem, because the man in her life that was otherwise perfect, was not the super naughty type. He definitely wasn't the crazy, naughty type. And he was on the way over right now.

What. To. Do???

She was at that age, that particular age for women where their bodies desire, their libidos run roughshod over their better judgment at times, their mind's ability to paint a picture of things they want done to them and things they want to do to a man so absolutely vivid now, so utterly and ultimately filthy the devil would blush, that age where wisdom, experience and longing meet testosterone, confidence and the idea that they can get exactly what they want by doing little more than asking right, or asking wrong or just by simply saying, "come fuck me."

Eve was reveling in that age.

She had asked wrong, and gotten what she wanted. She had flirted and fucked. She had said, "come fuck me" more than a few times. She had certainly asked right, and, herself, been asked a lot. She said, "yes, please" to her heart's, and other parts, too, content.

She wasn't classically beautiful, but more of an exotic thing, a taboo of a woman. And what a woman!

She was a mix of a half-African mother, all curves and athleticism, and a Scotch-Irish father with broad shoulders, a man with a penchant for good whiskey and food, made powerful through the legs and back by the grace of God and honed through working 60 hours a week on a farm. She was that rare combination of naturally soft curls, big green eyes, a stern chin and a dimpled cheek on one side of her face combined with a softness and feminism that was appealing on its own, and many, muscled curves.

She wasn't tall, was fair-skinned given her heritage and meandered toward middling in her fitness. But she kept a flat, taut belly through good genes alone and, in an honest moment, she'd say she watched what she ate in order to keep her looks.

In the last two years, before the not-so-naughty man, she wasn't just having a lot of sex, because she was. She wasn't just having good sex, because she was. Fuck, yes, she was.

No, the truth of the matter was she was having mind-blowing sex and having it a lot!

She had divorced long ago, and hadn't really met someone for a long time she couldn't live without, so she had accumulated a number of partners that all made her feel good for a moment, or a few moments. There were tall men and short, fit and not-so-fit, some good, some better, some amazing, some just okay. She accepted them all for what they were, tried to take the best of each of them to meet her needs and to give as good as she received. She was a generous, passionate lover and wanted the same in return.

She also liked the variety.

She didn't mind, at least for a while, seeing someone new under her or on top of her. It was exciting, fun, naughty. But she also craved something that the often random men who serviced her, who filled those womanly needs, couldn't really give her and weren't meant to give her in those kinds of relationships. She had her regulars, and even they lacked in this area.

Intimacy, that elusive devil.

She craved intimacy, more than anything now. Missed it so. Missed holding hands, cuddling, back rubs. Missed meaningful kisses. Missed it all.

She wanted the touch that only someone who cared more than a little could provide. She didn't want to look over the next morning and plan her exit strategy, or worse, plan it in the middle of the night. She didn't want to wake up to a snoring lumberjack whose name escaped her. She didn't want to have to gently or forcefully get him to exit her place. She was tired of fucking around, even if it had its perks.

Then she met Paul.

Paul, the kind of name a kid gets when his family is Irish-Catholic and he's one of eight brothers and sisters, was brought up in a house where sex wasn't really on the table for discussion. He had been sheltered even through college, where Bible classes were a regular part of the curriculum.

But he was over 30 now, and.... still.... somewhat sheltered. He'd had only a handful of partners, and none of his relationships had lasted for longer than a couple of years.

He'd never been married, although he had asked once, which was such a horrific idea looking back on it. It was like he watched his ego, his love, his affection, his woman, all balled up together in one critical moment, into a single ball of emotion, and watched it crash as if aboard an air liner filled with all of his emotions and feelings and desires, doing a nose dive straight to the middle of the earth. So. Bad. So. Painful.

She turned him down in such a way that he thought he might never get over it.

He was more than puzzled by the rejection, crushed completely, and swore off women for a time.

Eve was really the first person he'd seen in more than a year. They'd met at a coffee shop, randomly, oddly, when Eve decided he should wear a mocha latte in addition to his coat (a terrible but hilarious accident, but one they laughed about constantly). She offered to pay for the coat, he asked for dinner instead. She accepted, and the sparks flew. From spilled coffee to a budding romance, all in a span of a few weeks.

He was smart and witty. He was handsome, funny, cute and even flirty without trying. He had a boyish charm, a wry grin. He was dark complected, had dark, straight, shortly-cropped hair, with spectacular gray eyes, and at 6-3, had one of those bodies that allow men to wear whatever they want and still look good in it.

And Paul sent flowers. And called. And cared. And texted. And flirted. And opened doors. And they clicked. They were intimate without trying. They finished each other's sentences. They were, at least in most facets of their budding relationship, which had been brewing just a couple of months, really, really working for each other.

He felt confident for the first time in a long time. He felt desired. Needed. She felt loved, respected, wanted for things other than what she could provide with her mouth or body. They were falling, but, and this is where Eve's spidey senses were working overtime, they were lacking in physical contact.

Lack. Ing.

It wasn't that Paul was bad at sex the way he viewed it. He was equipped enough, not pushy, not lacking for tenderness or foreplay.

But Eve wanted something that Paul, so far, hadn't even been willing to try.

She was looking for some creativity, dirty talk, FILTHY talk, something other than her or him on top. They had done that several times, but it was SO quiet. She was looking for something a little more earth shattering, something that made her want to scream his name. One particular night, she had reached for herself to help the process along, and he asked what she was doing!

She was frustrated, and, in a too honest moment, very, very flustered and wondering if it was worth it. Is HE worth this?

But, still, horny. Really, terribly horny. And tonight... she was going to try to get the best from him.

Paul arrived, and Eve tried to put on her best "come hither" face. She was dressed to go out, although she'd given no indication that they were scheduled anywhere. She had on a short, silky dress, tights and tall boots, all of which Paul liked. She had candles burning in the living room, and in the bedroom.

"You look amazing," he began, kissing her at the door. And she held the kiss for too many seconds too long. Paul knew they weren't going anywhere, at least, not soon.

She breathed heavily into his ear, "I want to try something new tonight."

She took him by the hand into her bedroom and slid the boots off, one, then the next. Paul watched, intently.

She pulled him closer, undid his brown belt, and unbuttoned his pants, bent down to her knees and slowly kissed him right above his underwear.

"Let's try something different..." she questioned, looking up at him from her place on the floor, right beside her bed. "I want to please you, then let you play with me for a while."

Paul looked back at her with something between confusion and disappointment. What she was asking him to do, he knew he wasn't good at. She had tried before to get him to not be so.... vanilla.... to go beyond the basics.

"Don't worry so much," she purred, slipping his cock out of his underwear. She got most of it in her mouth, still not quite erect. She purred around his puffy head. "Just enjoy this."

She worked her mouth around his member, gently sucking and taking it in her mouth and out again. She took a quick break to wiggle out of the dress. leaving her in just the tights, then went back to work on Paul's now rock-solid cock.

She worked up and down the shaft. Paul watched her work, amazed at the skill and the sheer sex appeal of this exotic woman with her lips and mouth and breasts wrapped around him, pursuing his pleasure.

His tension grew, the buildup palpable now, inevitability growing, throbbing deep inside him.

And then, she slowed down. The intensity of her lips, her mouth, lessening. She left him for just a moment, slipped out of her tights, now completely vulnerable, this taboo of a woman, all curves and muscle and sex appeal.

He looked down at her, in that moment, naked, wonderous, beautiful, looking back up at him with the green eyes glinting, the candlelight dancing in them, sensuality oozing from every pore, and he knew he would do anything to please her. He would try. Something. Anything.

He just didn't know how.

Eve went back to work on him before he could think about it any more. Tongue. Shaft. Licking. Sucking.

She cupped him, began to slowly, artfully, skillfully work the bottom of the shaft and balls while using her mouth on his head.

He watched, taking in every movement. He felt himself build as he was looking at her face. She stared back at him as he got closer to climax.

"Cum for me Paul," she mouthed just as he released into her mouth, a ribbon of cum flying into her throat as her head and mouth bobbed for more. He groaned with pleasure, filling her mouth with all he could muster, then let out a huge breath of release. She stared at him for a long moment, a huge smile growing on her face, and swallowed his load.

"Oh... God.... that's so amazing, Eve," he purred. "You make me weak with the stuff you can do."

"You can do the same things for me," Eve looked at him, longingly, sensually.

She took off his shoes, slipped him out of the rest of his clothes so they were both nude. She wanted this to be intimate, open. She wanted to show him that she was comfortable with her body, that she was confident in herself, that she wanted to be pleased, she wanted to be completely naked with him, to be open to new things.

She wanted HIM to try new things with her.

She lay down on her bed and let her legs gape open. She wasn't completely bare between them, but she wanted him to see her fully open. Her nipples were still erect from enjoying his climax, so she gently circled them with a finger. The play felt good and was an appealing visual.

"Paul," she began, "I know you are worried, but just trust me here and I promise it will be fun for both of us." He felt pensive, but willing. He had, after all, just cum about as hard as he ever had in his life, and wanted to please this woman who was sooo good at pleasing him.

"Tell me what you thought about what I did to you," Eve gently prodded.

"Oh, God, Eve. Your mouth is amazing. It makes me so incredibly hard," the words stammered out, limping unsteadily from his mouth, but coming out, still. "I will remember your mouth, and the way your head moves, and the way you make me feel so incredible. I'll remember that forever," Paul said, now getting a little bit of rhythm, a little boldness in his sharing. .

"That's what I want to hear. What else? What else about this body makes you want it?" She slid her hand down from her nipple, past her taut stomach, to herself, and slid a finger in near her bottom and pulled it up through. She repeated the movement a second time, and then a third.

"That looks incredible. I like watching you touch yourself," he said, confidence growing. She placed her finger in her mouth and sucked it for moment, then popped it out like a lollipop. "It tastes amazing, too, Paul. Do you want to taste this pussy? I want you to taste this pussy."

"Show me," he stammered.

She kissed him hard on the mouth, tongues crossing, and moved to his ear, whispering heavily. "At the very top of my pussy, right between my lips, I want you to take your tongue, and lick softly there. Lick in circles. Lick in rhythm with me," she instructed.

She kissed his mouth again, and told him, "kiss me on the way there, too."

He did. He kissed her neck, her breasts, her nipples. He slid slowly past her naval, got in a comfortable spot, and found her sweet spot, and began circling, slowly, with his tongue.

"Oh, yes, baby, that's the spot," Eve cheered him on. He was excited with the feedback, trying hard to please.

"How wet am I?" she questioned, knowing she was growing extremely hot by this ground-breaking momentum toward a kind of sex they had not tried before.

"You're soaked, Eve. You're really soaked. Oh. My. God. You're so slippery."

Eve's hips were already involuntarily thrusting bit by bit now. Paul tried to find his rhythm, and was doing okay, when Eve wanted more, begged breathlessly for more.

"Put your fingers in there," she asked. "Can you do it? Can you do both? Oh, God, Paul, you're fucking me so good right now. Keep that face right in my pussy, Paul. Baby, you're doing it."

He cocked himself up on an elbow to free his hand, And slid two fingers in, and hardly felt a thing because Eve was gushing.

"Yes! Yes!," Eve encouraged now. "Slide your fingers in and out. Put more than one in, if you can."

Paul circled with his mouth and tongue, worked a third finger in, and then a fourth.

Eve's hips, her entire body, were rocking now. He forced his fingers in and she met his thrust with her own. His tongue circled her clit, and he slid his fingers in and out, slowly rhythmically.

Two minutes and Eve was still thrusting. Two became four, and the tension grew for both of them. Paul, thinking he was doing well, and Eve wanting a touch more stimulation. She knew in the back of her mind that she was trying to hold back, trying to take her time, enjoying this new-found level of intimacy, of animal that Paul was finally showing her. She could feel the intensity of her orgasm building, but she wanted to savor it. Building, but holding back.

"Harder!" she demanded now. "Use your hand a little harder, please baby," it came out more a strong suggestion than a command, but it wasn't just a request.

Paul puzzled for a moment, not knowing how much harder he could go. She was incredibly, increasingly wet. She was SO wet. Eve's hips were lifting off the bed now, as she thrust harder, deeper, wetter.

She felt herself twinge, knowing her release was going to be epic. The bed rocked. Her body was almost trembling, as she squeezed around his fingers while he continued circling her clit. She could feel her legs, her body, her pussy squeezing, intensifying, building toward something so epic, she knew. This was going to be an epic cum. She told him.

"I'm going to CUM SO HARD, Paul. You're GOING TO MAKE ME CUM SO HARD, BABY!"

He thought and puzzled for a moment, wondering if he could go harder.

And in a moment of bravery that had taken some 32 years to find, with this taboo woman begging him for more, he slid his thumb toward the inside of his palm, and thrust hard. Her hips, already coming toward him, thrust HARD back at his now educated hand

And that's when Paul's hand disappeared up past his wrist.

Eve let out a moan the likes of which he had never heard. Her body nearly convulsed. She rocked, insanely now. He couldn't get his hand out, and she didn't want him to.

"OH MY GOD. FUCK me like that! FUCK ME. FUCK ME!!.

Paul slid his hand to the hilt of his wrist, and plunged it back in, again, and again, and again.

By the fourth thrust, something had taken over Eve's body because she shook, and rocked and came uncontrollably. And it didn't stop.

"PAUL. OH MY! FUCK! OOOOOOOHHHHHHH........ GOOOOOOODDDDDD..... FUCKKKKKK," she yelled.

Eve had never felt so full. So FULL. So INTENSELY WET and FULL and hot and horny. And he plunged in again, and she rocked and thrust toward his wrist and arm and maybe elbow.

One long orgasm that seemed to go on for two minutes. She just kept cumming and cumming, Paul kept thrusting and licking and circling. Eve kept thrusting and cumming. MY GOD, she was cumming. She was getting FISTED and cumming. And on it went for a few more seconds, until she let out a huge gasp, and her body stopped thrusting and remained trembling, every part of her spent.

And she lay there wordless, breathless for a full minute.

Finally, after the orgasm demon had left her body, Paul pulled his hand out of Eve, covered in girl cum, a sticky mess of elation and satisfaction.

Eve was immovable for a moment more, and then said, without moving another muscle in her body, except her mouth, "I can't believe you fist-fucked me like that."

Paul, not knowing quite what to say, said nothing, and waited.

"And I can't wait for you to do it again," she said, softly.