Punishing Anabelle

The first time I punished Anabelle, I didn't really want to. I knew she was different. I knew she could take it. And I didn't know if I could dish out more than she could take.

But her transgression could not be ignored. And her punishment could not wait. I opened the door and went in.

She was standing at attention in the middle of the room, legs spread wide and hands clasped behind her collared neck. "Kneel," I commanded. She dropped to her knees and repositioned her hands, still staring down between her spread thighs. "What were slave's commands?"

"Master's slave was given three commands. Command One: stand at attention while alone. Command Two: permit entry to anyone who wished to enter. Command Three: assume usage position while not alone." Good. She had understood perfectly.

"Was slave commanded to look at anyone who entered? Or to speak?" Of course not. Or else I'd be rewarding her rather than punishing her.

"No, Master," she replied instantly. She knew what was coming. And she was ready.

"And did slave look at someone who entered? And speak?" I already knew the answers. Unbeknownst to her, I had been watching. When he had finished using her, just like Frank and Ken before him, she had turned around, looked at Tim and practically begged him to make her cum.

"Yes, Master," she answered.

"Yes," I said. "Yes indeed. And who did slave look at?"

"Master's slave looked at the third person who entered," she said.

"Yes, slave looked at Master's friend, Tim." She should know his name, the one she violated her contract over and the one she was about to be punished over. Severely. "And slave spoke to Tim. What did slave say?"

She said nothing. She knew I knew, and nothing would make it any better or worse. "Master's slave requests punishment to assuage slave's guilt."

Letting the lack of a possessive go, I laid the riding crop between her knees, dropped the short length of rope on the carpet in front of her, and set the paddle across her hands and thighs before pulling the blindfold out of my back pocket and placing it over her eyes. "Kneel to the whip," I commanded. She instantly crossed her arms at the wrists and slid them forward across the carpet while leaning ever forward, until her crossed arms were extended fully above her head and her entire upper torso was almost flat against the carpet between her thighs. Jeezus, was she limber.

I looked her over for any signs of imperfection in her position. Finding none, but wanting to make a point, I raised my voice: "Slave can't even obey the simplest command! Bracelets! Behind the back!" She understood, quickly crossing her wrists behind the back. I grabbed the rope and bound her, then moved around behind her, pulling the black permanent marker out of my back pocket. Afterward, she would be unable to wash the targets off, not only due to the marker being permanent, but also because of the raw, painful skin. The targets would remain as reminders of her insolence and the painful punishment it brought for many days after the pain subsided and the skin healed.

Mentally I divided her ass into quadrants and quickly drew four targets, then reached down between her thighs and, unable to see, attempted to draw a fifth set of three concentric circles on her shaved vulva. Capping the marker and tossing it on the floor, I stepped back and admired my work. "Such perfect targets," I said to nobody in particular.

I quickly knelt beside her, and began with my hand and the upper right quadrant. SMACK! I felt a bit of sting and heat in my hand. Precisely five seconds later I moved on to the upper left: SMACK! Five seconds later I reddened the lower left, and five seconds after that, the lower right. For the next five minutes, I rotated through the quadrants every five seconds, reddening her ass with slaps of ever increasing intensity until my hand was on fire.

Then I switched hands.

Several minutes later, I began to get responses out of her: moans. She was telling me she could take it.

That was fine. I knew that already. I alternated hands twice more, each time stopping only when the pain in my hands became intolerable. Her moans subsided, and I could tell she was starting to pay attention to the pain, focusing more and more on it with each round. I stopped and looked: every quadrant was bright red, and I could already see a few welts forming. It was painful. My cock was starting to get hard.

But I knew she could take more.

I walked around and retrieved the paddle, then dragged it down her back as I returned behind her. I had only ever used this paddle as a prop, as an implicit threat of what might happen to her were she to disobey a command. It was intimidatingly solid. I picked it up and began extracting cries from her.

When her cries turned to sobbing and, occasionally, screams, and the bright red spots on her ass cheeks turned to solid patches of welts, I stopped. My cock was throbbing.

"Offer your Master pleasure! Raised sulu!" She did as commanded, rolling onto her back, spreading her legs wide and raising her hips as far off the carpet as she could, given her wrists were bound behind her back. I removed the blindfold. It was wet on the inside. I looked at her eyes. They were red and wet.

"Master's slave wishes to pleasure Master!" she cried out.

I grabbed my cock. "Slave has already pleasured Master. But Master could always use some more pleasure." I smiled at her, then grabbed the riding crop.

I slapped the inside of her thigh. "Wider!" I commanded. She complied.

I slapped the inside of her other thigh. "Wider!" I commanded again. She complied again.

I walked around and sat between her legs, examining the target I had drawn earlier. It was far from perfect. I grabbed the marker and touched it up. "That's better," I said, standing and stepping back.

"Time for slave to pleasure Master!"

I dropped the pen, walked over to her head and knelt above it, facing her feet. "The only way an insolent slave can pleasure her Master is by receiving her punishment properly." I grabbed my cock with my left hand, and began stroking it while slapping her pussy with the riding crop every five seconds. I had to be careful not to hit her too hard, so that I could take my time. I didn't want to raise welts. Not long after I noticed her mons starting to get bright red, she started whimpering, and occasionally crying out. I knew it was time to cum. I dropped the riding crop, switched my cock to my right hand, backed up just the right amount and seconds later dumped a huge load all over her face.

I continued stroking for another minute or so, then slapped her face with my cock while stroking it to make sure it was completely drained. Then I stood.

"Slave has received her punishment properly, and must be rewarded appropriately." I saw the faintest glimpse of a smile on her face.

Bad move. I could not let her get away with the slightest thing.

"Leash!" I commanded. She rolled over as quickly as she could with her hands still cuffed behind her back, then struggled to the proper kneeling position. I went to find her leash, then returned, clipping it to her collar.

"Stand!" I commanded. "Slave's reward is to spend the night with the symbol of Master's pleasure on her face." I looked at her, the faintest glimpse of a smile now on my face. "Chained in the basement. With bracelets."

I led her to the basement.

Fucking Kristin

A couple of weeks after realising just how much I wished I could unfuck Lauren, and at the height of Lauren making sure everyone we knew in the dorms was aware that I had fucked her ("Three times!"), I met Kristin. She didn't live in the dorms, but she was up for a weekend visiting her best friend Teri who did, and since I knew Teri as well, Teri played matchmaker and introduced us.

I liked Kristin immediately, she had a cute face and a cute personality, and a nice body to boot--a little short, but slim, with nice hips and ass, and smallish tits that made my mouth water. She had short, brown hair, blue eyes, and a very nice smile, and she was very certain of who she was and what she wanted. And most of all, she wanted "to go out sometime." The problem was, she lived several hours away, and worked six days a week.

But I wasn't against driving six hours round-trip for a night out, especially if it ended how I hoped it would. Besides, I figured since it was such a long drive, I could turn it into a weekend, which meant it would likely end several times better than I hoped it would end. So over the next few weeks, that's what we set up: I'd drive down on a Friday, we'd have a weekend-long date, and I'd drive back on Sunday evening.

The following Friday, I picked up a dozen red roses, jumped in my truck, and headed south. I hadn't planned on Friday evening commute traffic, which added an extra hour, but I still arrived in time for pizza before the movie started. We ate pepperoni pizza and had a few beers, while she periodically smelled her roses and smiled appreciatively. I liked how they made her smile. She had a nice smile.

I can't recall what movie we saw, but we had a very nice time, and afterward stopped at a 24-hour donut shop and got two dozen glazed and chocolate donuts just because we were driving by and they were open and who drives past a donut shop? We got back to her place around midnight, and I was the perfect gentleman, expecting to spend the weekend on the couch. She rented a room from a couple, and the living room was off limits for guests to use as a guest room. We went to her bedroom. And fucked.

Afterward, we talked for about an hour. And then we fucked again.

And then we talked some more. And then we fucked again.

Around 6 AM we fell asleep for a few hours. Then we woke up and fucked again.

Then we talked, ate donuts, and showered. And then we fucked again.

It was now afternoon, and we were hungry, and besides, she had to go to work for an evening shift, so we got up, walked down the street to a sandwich shop and grabbed lunch to take back to her place. And then we fucked again.

Kristin worked in a mall, so I drove her and went shopping while she worked. When she got off, we went to a late-night diner and had breakfast for dinner before going back to her place...where we fucked again. And then we slept.

She woke me up three hours later and told me she wanted to drive up into the hills to look at the stars. So at 3AM we drove out of town and into the hills and found a place to park and look at the stars. And...yes...we fucked again.

We left when the sun came up, went back to her place and slept for a few hours, and then woke up with just enough time to fuck and shower before she had to leave for work and I had to leave for home.

We combined fucking and showering--always a most righteous way to fuck--and got dressed. And then the phone rang.

"Hello?" she said. "Oh. Hi. I was just leaving...What? Why?" She was clearly upset. "I don't understand...Cutbacks? On a Sunday? Why didn't you say anything before?" Tears. Then: "OK, I get it. I understand. You're a fucking asshole. Fuck you, you prick. Fuck you. And by the way, I will make sure the district manager knows you are fucking two of your employees...I mean you WERE fucking two of your employees. Now you're only fucking one." She hung up the phone. "I've been laid off. I don't understand, though, because I had seniority. He was dating two of us. I guess he must have preferred banging the other chick."

It took her a couple of hours to figure out what to do: go stay with her best friend Teri until she could figure out what to do next.

So I had an extra passenger for the return drive. Actually, two. We didn't know it yet, but Kristin was pregnant. We would never know for sure if it was mine or her former manager's, but I was pretty sure it was mine. But all of that was in the future. For now, ignorance was bliss: the weekend seemed to be ending many times better than I had hoped.

She packed some clothes, grabbed her roses, climbed in the truck and we drove.

Along the way we stopped at a rest stop to pee. And then we fucked.

Unfucking Lauren

A few weeks before I met Kristin...I met Lauren.

Everyone knows who Lauren is.

We've all met Lauren at least once or twice in our lives.

Lauren is the one who, for one reason or another, if you woke up next to her one morning would cause you to scream at the top of your lungs, "OH DEAR GAWD WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I DONE?!?"

Lauren lived in the dorms, and somehow Jake and I ended up at a party in her suite. There were a lot of football players there, and of course a lot more drinking than the usual dorm parties I tended to go to, and it got really rowdy and a fight broke out and a neighbour called the police and the police came and...well, Jake and I saw what was coming and got out of there long before it got real ugly so I'm not really sure what happened after that.

That's what I remember, anyway.

But that's where my memory gets hazy because I don't remember Lauren leaving with us.

But then the plot thickened--the plot always seemed to thicken when Jake and I went drinking--and it appears we went to Jake's. And made a beer run along the way. And then we made another beer run late that night and when we returned we found we'd locked ourselves out of Jake's house and so we broke in and a neighbour called the police and the police came and...well, Jake and I should have stayed at the party.

But I do remember--and undoubtedly will for the rest of my life--waking up the next morning in Jake's bed with Lauren laying naked beside me. And that's when I screamed, "OH DEAR GAWD WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I DONE?!?"

OK, I didn't really scream, it was more of a soft, whispered thought in my head, it's just that it FELT like I screamed it due to the cheap-beer hangover. We were college students on very tight budgets, so Jake and I were always drinking cheap shit beer.

I looked under the covers and sure enough, we were both stark naked and there were obvious visual and olfactory signs of coitus.

Lauren stirred. I thought about slipping away while there was still time, I could have walked back to the dorms in about a half an hour. Or walked a few blocks and called a cab. But it was too late.

"Good morning!" The beast was awake. "Want to go again?" And...the beast was hungry. Fuck.

No way. I am NOT going to fuck her again. I am NOT. No way. Fuck. No.

And then I thought, "Why not?"

OK so let's stop right there because I can actually answer that. I can actually tell you why not: because if you do you may spend the rest of your life asking yourself on a fairly regular basis whether your penis is a force for evil and must be destroyed.

Let me repeat that just to be clear: when you wake up and she--that she...Lauren...the one you will regret having fucked for the rest of your life--is laying there beside you, do not let yourself ask, "Why not?"

Unless, of course, you are prepared to cut your penis off. Then by all means, go ahead.

But at the time I had not quite realised the depths to which my penis could and would periodically stoop in an effort to ruin my life...and as a result, I couldn't really come up with a reason why not. And I had a horrible headache.

So of course I said, "Sure." And then I did.

Physically, she wasn't a bad fuck. She was a little thick in the waist and ass for my taste, and she needed to bring her hairstyle into the current century, but she had great tits, and as soon as we were done she blew me until I got hard again and then let me have sloppy seconds thirds fuck her from behind.

And she made a pot of coffee for the three of us afterward.

But...no. Just no. Because after Jake dropped us off, she proceeded to spend the next several weeks bragging to everyone in the dorms that we'd slept together. "And did it three times! Three times!"

No. Wait. Scratch what I said before. Here's why not: because you can't unfuck a Lauren.

Byron Beheld

Victoria came into the kitchen. She looked a little disheveled, and I immediately knew she had done the first thing I'd asked of her. She pulled open the fridge, grabbed a beer and closed the door before leaning over and whispering in my ear, "Come watch, Byron. I'll pretend to be you." And then she left.

I waited about a minute and followed her to my bedroom. The door was ajar.

He was sitting at the bottom of the bed, nude, leaning back on his hands, Victoria standing in front of him. After a minute or two, probably to make sure I had had enough time to get to the door, she pulled her shirt over her head and quickly struggled out of her jeans--she was now completely naked--and knelt on the floor at his feet. She ran her hands up his thighs to his hips, leaned forward and took his limp cock into her mouth. After a few seconds of sucking and licking, she ran her hands up to his chest and pushed him back further until he was leaning on his elbows. Their eyes locked.

Within minutes he was stiff. He had a big cock, well above average though not huge, but Victoria was able to take him all the way to the hilt, sucking him slowly but fully into her mouth, then rotating her head backward and licking the entire length of his shaft before letting him fall from her lips. He was definitely enjoying every moment of it, moaning occasionally in pleasure and encouragement and smiling at her, his eyes never leaving her's even for a moment.

She sucked him slowly for quite some time, no doubt putting on a show for my benefit, but also because, as was obvious from watching her, she loved it. She alternated between sucking and licking him, and I knew she was preparing him for the main event rather than trying to make him cum.

She climbed up on the bed, straddling his cock while she licked all the way up his chest to his neck, and I heard her whisper in his ear for a moment. She then continued climbing forward past him, grabbed the headboard and pushed her hips back. He got up, took his position behind her, and I watched as he slowly--excruciatingly slowly--slid his long, hard cock into her cunt. He grabbed her hips and started fucking her.

He never once changed his tempo, even as he came. It was one slow, deep but gentle thrust after another, and they both moaned softly with each thrust. In fact, the only way I knew he had cum was that he pushed as deeply into her as he could then held himself there for about a minute; when I realised what was happening, I looked up at his face and it was obvious: his eyes were closed, his mouth half open, and he had the most peaceful look on his face. He looked beautiful.

He resumed slowly thrusting his cock in and out of her cunt a few more times and then stopped, pulled out, and fell back, his ass landing on his feet. I could see every inch of his cock, still erect and throbbing and glistening with her juices and his cum. Victoria collapsed onto her side, then rolled over and spread her legs. She reached out to him with her left hand, and he took it in his as she guided him forward until he was straddling her chest. She grabbed him around the waist and pulled him to her a little more, her head rising to meet him halfway as she took his cock all the way into her mouth, her right hand instinctively sliding between her thighs. She sucked him for several minutes while she fingered herself furiously to orgasm.

I quietly pulled the door closed and went for a walk.

Liz Reviz

Two weeks after Liz and I shared a bowl of popcorn and a yeast infection, we ran into each other in the kitchen.

"Yeast infection's gone," she said. "Come upstairs?" Teri must not have been around.

Liz was such a slut. I loved it.

"Cool." Kristin was at work and I hadn't gotten laid in a couple of days.

Warm, wet pussy beats stroking one out any day of the week.

Provided there's no Candida involved.

We went to Liz's room and fucked.

I went back that evening for sloppy seconds.

Sex and Popcorn

I lived in a dorm for the first couple years in college. It wasn't particularly large, so everyone knew everyone, including who was fucking whom. The relationships and sexual encounters were insane, actually. My friend Sally, for example, was fucking my best friend Jake--who lived in his own house off campus--and Sally's roommate, Liz, was fucking my girlfriend Kristin's best friend Teri, whose sister Val I fucked three times one night when the seven of us drank and smoked too much and my girlfriend fell asleep passed out. In retrospect we probably needed a "Fuck Board" in the common area so that we could better keep track of who was taken, and whom we could fuck without drama and consequence, although when my girlfriend woke up came to as I was banging Val for the third time I don't think she would have believed that I was confused about whom I could and could not fuck.

A few Fridays later Jake dropped by to see if I wanted to go hang out at his place and drink beer. I grabbed my jacket and we headed out. "I've got to stop and see Sally on the way, but it'll only take a few minutes," he said.

"Sure," I laughed. Yeah. Right. "Take your time, I'll go say hi to Liz."

The dorms consisted of two rooms separated by a tiny bathroom. We went into Sally's room, then I went through the bathroom into Liz's room, closing the door behind me. Liz was sitting on her bed leaning back against the headboard, eating popcorn and watching TV in a flannel robe. "Jake stopped by to fuck Sally before we head out for the weekend, so I thought I'd come say hello and watch TV with you until we no longer hear Sally squealing." She laughed. We had both heard Sally getting fucked before.

I sat down on the bottom of Liz's bed, grabbed a handful of popcorn, and we talked while we watched TV. Teri, Liz's lesbian girlfriend/lover, had already left for the weekend to visit her family. They had been together for only a few months, and it had been very on-again, off-again from the start. Everyone knew Liz was the problem: unlike Teri, she was not a lesbian, she was bisexual, and to be honest a bit of a slut, and while Teri did not object to Liz playing with a couple of the guys in the dorm, she was not entirely comfortable with it. So they fought. A lot. But then--at least so far--they always seemed to make up.

There was another asymmetry: Liz was a lot more attractive than Teri, and that added to the dynamic. Teri spent most of her time bottling up her feelings about Liz's sexual activity, hesitant to say anything because she was sure Liz would dump her for someone--male or female--more attractive. Then when the level of hurt got to be too much, Teri would explode, thus setting in motion the break-up she feared most. Sure, they always seemed to make up, but I don't think it's a good strategy if your goal is long-term stability and happiness. Teri should have understood that Liz's sexual encounters with guys was completely casual and satisfied a very different part of Liz than her relationship with Teri did.

It didn't take long for Sally to start squealing. We looked at each other, knowingly, and snickered. "Sounds like someone's having fun," I said.

"And making sure everyone else knows," Liz laughed, and returned her attention to the TV.

I had never fucked Liz before, though I was sure I could any time I wanted. Sure, our girlfriends were best friends, and had been since childhood, but neither one of us would have considered that a moral minefield, especially given that Teri, Val and Kristin were still speaking to each other and I had not woken up to find my severed penis laying on the pillow next to me. Yet, anyway.

The fact is, I had never really wanted to fuck Liz, because it would have been simply too easy and too casual. It would have been too meaningless. Fucking Liz would have been as meaningless as sitting on Liz's bed eating popcorn and watching TV while waiting for Jake to finish making Sally squeal. "And," I thought, "just as meaningful."

I repeated that in my head: "Fucking Liz would be no more and no less as meaningless as sitting on her bed eating popcorn and watching TV." I was right. Fucking her would have been no different from watching TV with her.

I grabbed some more popcorn, and looked her over from head to toe as I ate. Liz was relatively attractive, with short, light-brown hair, blue eyes, and a nice smile. She was a slightly thick in the middle, and her ass was a bit big for my taste, but she had nice hips and besides, as all of the boys--and most of the girls--in the dorms agreed, her DD tits more than made up for it. I looked her over again and decided to fuck her.

Besides, there's nothing on TV on Friday nights.

I wiped my hands on my jeans, turned, and just started untying her robe. "What are you doing?" she asked.

"I want to fuck," I said as I pushed her robe open, revealing her huge tits and light brown bush peeking out the sides of a red pair of panties. "Do you have any condoms?"

"You don't need them," she replied leaning forward, letting the robe drop off her shoulders and arms.

"Good," I thought, pulling her panties off and then dropping my jeans and shorts. She spread her legs, and I grabbed her behind the knees and pulled her away from the headboard to the center of the bed. She laid back flat, pulled her feet up to just below her ass and dropped her knees out to the side. Spread out before me was a rather large, swollen vulva, beautiful red labia and soft, pink flesh bursting out of a sparse patch of long, light brown hair.

I desperately wanted to go down on her. Her pussy looked delicious.

But I knew Sally's squealing wouldn't last forever--they'd been at it for about ten minutes--and I was afraid they'd finish while I was still eating Liz's pussy. So I decided to just fuck her instead. Besides, I could come back for more anytime I wanted. I pushed inside her, expecting her to be incredibly loose given the size of her vulva, but that wasn't the case.  She was wet enough initially that I was able to penetrate her almost completely with one thrust, and she got wetter as we fucked, but she was actually fairly tight. I knew I couldn't take too long, but I also knew Liz was wet and tight enough that I could hold off until we no longer heard Sally--maybe another ten minutes--and then cum. So I took my time, and we both got into it a bit.

Right on cue, Sally finished squealing about ten minutes later, and I increased the depth and ferocity of my thrusts until I exploded inside of Liz a couple of minutes later. Worried Jake would barge in at any moment, we quickly got dressed, went got back to our popcorn and TV, and waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

About twenty minutes after they--and we--finished, Sally started squealing again. I rolled my eyes before suddenly realising this was my chance. I reached over and untied Liz's robe. "Again?" she said.

"Yeah," I said, "but this time I want to go down on you."

"No way," she said, "you just came in me. I feel gross."

"I don't care!" I exclaimed, sounding almost desperate. "It wouldn't be the first time! You've got a beautiful pussy and I'm dying to sink my tongue in it."

"No way." She wasn't budging. "Look, I like fucking boys, but that's something I only do with Teri. At least for now. It's special."

"Ah. OK, I get it. That's sweet." I wondered if Teri got it, or if Teri even knew. I went to Plan B. "Then will you let me watch you touch yourself for a few minutes while I stroke myself? I'm not fully recovered yet, and I'd love to watch you finger that beautiful pussy."

She smiled. "I'll do better than that." She pulled open the drawer in her nightstand and pulled out a dildo. "You'll like this. Come here."

I took her spot, reclining against the headboard while she unbuttoned my jeans and pulled them off my hips. Then she turned around, straddling my legs facing my feet, and leaned forward onto her hands. Then she handed me the dildo. "Have at it!" I slid it into her cunt, and started fucking her with it right in front of my face. It took less than a minute of stroking for my cock to get rock hard.

When I'd had enough, she crawled down toward my feet, I got up and slid easily into her cunt from behind. She stroked her clit while I fucked her, slow but deep. I love the idea of sloppy seconds--especially if I wasn't the one who came before, so to speak--but the viscosity is typically different, and it often doesn't feel as nice. And doggy style doesn't make up for that.

She came quickly, but I continued fucking her until we heard Sally stop, and then again finished up quickly with deep, forceful thrusts. When I was done, I pulled out and wiped my cock on the inside of her thighs. Her pussy was a mess.

We got dressed, and Jake and Sally came in about five minutes later. Liz's room smelled like sex and popcorn--but mostly sex--and it was obvious what we'd been doing. Besides, Liz would tell Sally everything after we'd left, and I'd tell Jake.

Jake and I went and drank beer and hung out, and I did tell him everything: TV and popcorn, and how fucking Liz would be the same thing; wanting to eat her pussy but settling fot the dildo; and about sloppy seconds and fucking her doggy style.

The next morning I woke up itching like hell. Liz had given me a yeast infection. It was my first one. I spent the next two days airing it out to keep it dry, wearing nothing but a long T-shirt.

Good thing all I'd eaten the night before was popcorn.

White Chocolate Mocha Frap

Note to young girl girls wearing skirts: if you are going to sit across a small table from, and facing, me a man in a coffee shop while you read a book, sit with your legs crossed.

Otherwise, you will eventually flash me him. Or give me him an extended view of everything.

At least you were she was wearing panties. Size 8. White. And covered with roses. Like these: http://thumbnail.image.rakuten.co.jp/@0_gold/shirohato/img/1311941/1311941_2.jpg

Not that I noticed.

And by the way: Danielle Steel is not a writer. She's a dealer pushing trashy notions of romantic bullshit on the world's junkies. Get a real book by a real writer. I suggest this: http://www.amazon.com/New-Poems-Rainer-Maria-Rilke/dp/0865476128

It even has poems about roses. Like this: http://my_tapestry.tripod.com/inner_rose.html

Oh. And those white chocolate mocha fraps? They go straight to your thighs. Jus' sayin'.

Licking Victoria

Far and away the most significant part of losing--or perhaps I should say giving--my virginity to Victoria was not fucking a woman for the first time, but going down on a woman for the first time.

And the most significant part of going down on a woman for the first time was making her cum.

To be clear, I'm talking about the sense of power that comes from controlling a partner's sexual pleasure--in particular their sexual pleasure culminating in an orgasm--although when you do it once, and for the first time, it's nothing more than a sense of accomplishment; that sense of power can only derive from a repeated and consistent ability to bring a partner to climax. I eventually discovered this power, first with Victoria, and later with other women.

But the first time, when I was in the middle of giving my virginity and had almost no idea of what I was doing, I was simply happy to get through it and get the job done. Th.at night, it was only about the accomplishment

In retrospect, it doesn't seem like much of an accomplishment, but at the time, it seemed huge. I had just slid my fingers into her panties when she started whispering advice and guidance. It was then that I realised there was a big difference between fumbling around between a woman's thighs and labia, and fingering them pleasurably; and as the minutes wore on, I realised that difference involved an almost perfect combination of many factors: pressure, motion, speed and so forth. So it didn't surprise me when she eventually gave up and redirected me: "That feels nice, but what I really want is your mouth."

Then again, that wasn't exactly comforting. While I admit I had no experience pleasuring a woman with my fingers, I also had no experience pleasuring a woman with my mouth. A few years before, my parents had told me that when I was about six, they had caught the slightly older neighbour girls "playing doctor" with me in the backyard, and it apparently involved them--the patients--forcing me--the doctor--to treat some imaginary, undiagnosed medical condition between their legs by "kissing it to make it better." But I had no actual recollection of this, and even if I had, it surely would not have been adequate preparation for what Victoria wanted.

I knew to kiss my way down until I felt the soft lace of her panties against my lips, and felt her thighs part more than they had before. But at that point, I had to stall, continuing to kiss her hairy mons through her panties while stroking her thighs. Knowing I would quickly run out of time, but not knowing what to do next, I took a chance: I stopped kissing and looked at her until our eyes met, and said, "Tell me what to do." And she did. She told me exactly what she wanted, and exactly how to give that to her, and I did exactly what I was told. And after about 15 minutes she came. Hard.

The intensity of her orgasm shocked and aroused me simultaneously. I had stroked one out enough times to understand the pleasure of an orgasm, but Victoria's reaction was a different story altogether: she started concentrating intently, her breathing deepened, her muscles strained, she pulled me mouth hard against her vulva, her back arched, her hips rotated, her legs wrapped tightly around me...and then she convulsed and cried out as she came.

And I thought: I did that. I made her body react like that. I made her cry out. I made her cum. I made her feel that intensely good.

I made her feel in-fucking-tensely good.

And I loved it. I loved everything about it. I loved the smell and the taste and the texture of going down on a woman; I loved the way it made her feel, both as her sexual pleasure built as well as when she eventually orgasmed; I loved the way a woman's body reacts to an orgasm, physically, verbally, emotionally and so forth; and I loved how it made me feel afterward when she lay there trying to catch her breath.

I did that.

And I learned that not from fucking Victoria, but from licking Victoria.

A Comfortable Fantastic Fuck

I had a study group in college, eight of us in the same major who always seemed to end up in the same classes and eventually formed a study group. Mostly we just studied together about thirty hours a week, but a few of us hung out in the evenings or on weekends, usually hitting the bars or hosting our trademark screwdriver parties in a group member's dorm. The others typically had good reasons not to hang with us: Sabrina, for example, was married and typically spent her time outside of school with her husband, and Alex drove a cab in the city seven nights a week to pay for his education.

Annette also had a good reason not to hang with us: she had a high-school-sweetheart boyfriend "back home" she was committed to, even spending every other weekend out of town visiting him. She was also a bit shy and rather smart--one of the top students in most of our courses--and probably self-conscious about being a bit shy and rather smart. She also didn't drink as heavily as the rest of us, and, well, not drinking eliminates about 98% of a college student's social opportunities. But Annette was actually kind of sexy, in a Laura-Leighton-back-when-she-played-Sydney-on-Melrose-Place kind of way; she and Laura Leighton Sydney had almost identical faces and bodies, and the same red hair. Actually, Annette had brighter red hair...so obviously red it had to be real.

To this day, I don't know why I had never considered fucking her. I guess I would chalk it up to sexual attraction and desire being incredibly strange and complicated processes, but I also don't really recall thinking of her in sexual terms, possibly because she was in a committed relationship and, frankly, a little introverted.

One Friday afternoon, though, as we were packing up to head over to the bar--your typical college town bar, complete with cheap beer, loud music and way too many students--Annette asked if she could come. We were all a little surprised, but immediately invited her along. We got there early enough to grab a table, order burgers and start drinking before it got too busy. Annette was her usual quiet self, but she had a few beers and I noticed she was talking to people as the night wore on. I, however, spent most of the evening on a quest. One of our other classmates was there with some of her friends from work, and she had introduced me to all of them when I stopped by to say hello...including the tall, shapely brunette sitting next to her. For the next four hours, I bought her drinks and chatted her up--and even danced with her some, which I never, ever do except in the most extreme emergencies--in an ultimately unsuccessful attempt to get into her panties. When she and her coworkers decided to bail, I returned to our table to have a final beer before leaving for home...alone.

Annette saw me sit down, and came over to sit with me. "No go with the brunette, I take it?" she asked.

I laughed. "No. I guess not, but it was worth a try. They can't say no if you don't ask."

"And...what about your girlfriend?" She knew I was dating someone.

"She's not here," I said, not wanting to go into it any further.

"I see," she said. There was no judgement in her voice. "I guess you're not that serious, or else you wouldn't live two hours apart and see each other only a couple times a month."

"Ouch," I said, but then sudden realised she was talking about her and her boyfriend. "What happened?"

"He told me he liked me, but that he wanted to find someone better." I could hear the hurt in her voice.

"Ouch," I said again. "Those were his exact words? You're not paraphrasing?"

"Actually," she said, "his exact words were, 'I like you, you're sweet and you're smart and you're a comfortable fuck, but I want to find someone better.'" The hurt disappeared. She was angry now.

She stood. "I better get going now. It's late, and I've got to walk home."

I drained my beer, stood up and we walked out together. "You're right, it's late, I'll walk you home."

We talked all the way to her house, about a fifteen minute walk. As we got to her the door, she said, "Thanks for letting me come out tonight, and for walking me home. I've been pretty lonely since the break-up, and I haven't had anyone to talk to, so thanks for talking, too."

"It's my pleasure." I should have offered to kick her ex's ass.

She smiled, unlocked the door, and stepped in before stopping. She turned back to me, looking down at my feet, avoiding eye contact. "I'm really lonely."

"I know you are, Annette," I said. "I'm sorry, you deserve better than that. Any time you want to talk..."

"No," she said, still looking at my feet. "I don't want to talk. I mean..."

"What?" I asked. "Anything you want. Just tell me."

She looked up now. "Well...you struck out with the brunette...and you're going home alone...so...I thought maybe you'd like to come in...and...stay."

As the words trailed off her tongue I suddenly saw her. Naked. Up against the door she was now holding open. And me fucking her.

It's amazing how much your view of someone can change with only a few words.

"Well, my girlfriend isn't here I guess..." I stepped through the doorway. "And I hear you're a comfortable fuck..."

She turned around, almost laughing and about to say something, but I grabbed her around the waist, pulled her to me and kissed her. She pulled back, and looked me in the eye: "Find out for yourself."

I had never actually fucked a woman up against a door before, but I set out to make my previous vision come true. I pulled her knit turtleneck over her head and tossed it on the floor, then pushed her back against the door and we started working on each other's jeans while kissing like maniacs. She pushed my jeans down, and whispered, "Fuck me." But I had other ideas.

I dropped to my knees and buried my face in her crotch, grabbing her panties between my teeth and trying--unsuccessfully--to work them off while my hands reached down to help her step out of her pants. I reached up, yanked her panties off of her hips, and buried my face in the bright red hair covering her mons. She lifted her right leg and hooked it over my shoulder, giving me complete access to her pussy, and instinctively grabbed my head, steadying herself and pulling my mouth harder against her. She was already wet as I sucked her vulva into my mouth, and pushed my tongue deep inside her cunt. She gasped loudly and moaned, "OH GAWD!" as she held my head firmly and began grinding her pussy against my face. It was hot.

And then she came. Loud enough to wake the neighbourhood. And that was even hotter. It was really fucking hot. I stood up, grabbed her left thigh above the knee and pulled her leg up over my hip, and thrust my cock into her still trembling cunt. She wrapped her arms around my neck, French kissed my lips thickly coated with the slimy remnants of her orgasm, and we fucked.

For me, eating pussy is an incredibly intimate act whose pleasure--on my end--derives from a smorgasbord of sensory inputs: I love the visual stimulation from seeing pussy up close and personal, every minute anatomical detail laid out right before my eyes; feeling the coarseness of pubic hair matted against soft, vulvar skin; the sensation of my tongue gliding across slick labia wet with sticky arousal; the wonderful taste and smell, and change in taste and smell as the pH and viscosity of her juices respond to impending orgasm; and hearing a woman moan and feeling her writhe in building pleasure.

And most of all, I love how all of these combine to give me a sense of a woman's complete experience as she trembles against my mouth and beneath my hands.

And for me, eating Annette's pussy up against the door in her living room was the quintessential cunnilingus experience against which I have since compared every time I go down on a woman.

That's why I did something that I'd never even considered doing before, but have done many times since: I stopped fucking her just to go down on her again. "Turn around," I commanded. "I want to take you from behind." But as soon as she turned around, pushed her ass back and leaned forward, hands against the door, I again dropped to my knees, grabbed her hips and buried my face in her pussy.

"OH GAWD!" she cried again, pushing her ass back even harder against my face. "Jeezus. Don't fucking stop." I didn't. Wild horses and all that. It was too fucking hot to stop. I sucked and licked her as eagerly and hungrily as I've ever sucked or licked a woman, before or since, and when she came, it left me completely satisfied. I stood, thrust my cock in her trembling cunt again, and came instantly.

I didn't quite understand the orgasm-as-death metaphor yet, or the inherent violence that metaphor suggests, but in retrospect, that was the first time I felt like I was trying to hurt--or kill--a woman with sexual pleasure in order to bring us both to an orgasmic intensity neither of us had ever before achieved.

That night and the next morning, I went down on her three more times, and we fucked three more times--including a deliciously sexy repeat of me eating her pussy and fucking her from behind while standing in the shower--and it was overall one of the most satisfying sexual encounters of my life. But maybe her ex was right, at least in some sense: maybe Annette was "a comfortable fuck." I mean, fucking her was really nice, that is, I really liked the physical act of fucking her--she was soft and tight, but not overly so, and she got so perfectly wet and viscous that it felt absolutely wonderful being inside her and fucking her--but she didn't quite respond as intensely as she did when I went down on her.

But sex is about more than just fucking. It's about more than just penetration. Similar to the pleasure of eating pussy deriving from a smorgasbord of sensory inputs, the ultimate pleasure of sex derives from a huge smorgasbord of acts and emotions and feelings and experiences. And that's how Annette's ex was wrong. He just didn't look for and find the rest of the smorgasbord, and then he mistook his failure for her's and dumped her.

And he was also wrong about one more thing: he will never find someone better. The problem was him, not her. They dated for a few years, and yet in all that time he was never able to find in her what I found the first time I looked, and in a matter of minutes: Annette was smart and sweet, but she was not "a comfortable fuck." She was a fantastic fuck.

Fucking Victoria

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Fucking by Proxy

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