Fucking Catherine Corinne

I met my high school sweetheart Catherine in level five, when I was eleven. My family had just moved from the city to the country, so I ended up changing schools a month or two before the end of the school year. Catherine was the first girl I spotted when I was taken into my new class: she had a pretty face with dimples, long blonde hair, very blue eyes, and a wonderful--though shy--smile.

And, even then, at age 12, she had curves and a large pair of tits. In fact, she had the biggest tits in the class, not only that year but for a few years to come. I wanted to play with those tits from the moment I saw her.

We became boyfriend/girlfriend about a year later, and, with the exception of our second year of high school, we were together right up until a few weeks before we graduated.

And, eventually, I did get to play with those tits. I got to play with those tits quite a bit. And, as I thought, they were fucking spectacular: big and firm, and with small, soft nipples that responded perfectly to my fingertips and my tongue. And, to my surprise, Catherine loved having her nipples nibbled on.

And that's where the problem was: a good Catholic girl, over the years Catherine slowly let our blossoming sex life progress, but always only to a point...a point just shy of my cock penetrating her pussy.

It started, in fact, with me stroking her tits in the back seat of my car. Then she gave me full access, first with my hands, then with my mouth. When that got old, and I let her know in no uncertain terms that I wanted more, hands started finding their way into pants. Soon I was making her moan with my fingers, and then she started working her way up to giving me handjobs. At that point, I argued, it was time for us to consummate our many years together. I wanted her virginity. And I wanted to fuck her.

But she was a little too devoted to Jesus. Sure, she said, she wanted to fuck me, and she thought nothing would be more romantic than the two of us giving each other our virginity (she didn't know that I had given mine to Victoria a couple of years earlier) but she was convinced it was a sin that she would burn in Hell for later.

But, she said, she was pretty sure she could safely blow me while avoiding the fire and brimstone.

When I finished scratching my head, and wondering about the logic behind her thinking, I decided I could live with blowjobs while continuing my campaign to gain entry into her pussy.

It turned out, she learned very quickly to give great head. After she got past the surprise of having my cum explode into her mouth the first time, she always--always--swallowed, and by the third time she blew me, she had learned to deep throat me. After a couple of Friday and Saturday nights in the back seat, she was blowing me like a pro. And she really enjoyed it. She said so many times.

But Jesus--the Jesus who was just fine with her taking my cock all the way down her throat until a huge load of my cum exploded down her esophagus but was just waiting for my cock to push through her labia so that he could send her to Hell for eternity--continued to stand between me and Catherine's Holy Grail.

Eventually one Friday night my frustration turned into an argument, followed by a very long phone call that went late into the night. Somewhere around 1AM I drove to her house, parked way down at the end of the driveway, and walked up to her house. I tapped on her window, and she slid it open long enough to tell me to go away. I told her I was going to go sit in my car at the end of the driveway, and if she would like to talk about it, she could sneak out and join me.

Catherine's sister, Corinne, had heard me tapping at the window, and went into Catherine's room to find out what was going on. They talked for about fifteen minutes: Corinne took my side, telling Catherine that her reason for not fucking me was silly, and suggested Catherine start fucking me before someone else did, but Catherine didn't budge. Finally, Corinne told Catherine she should at least sneak out, meet me, and tell me to go home. Catherine refused, and told Corinne she should do it if she was so concerned about me.

And that's how Catherine's sister Corinne ended up in my car at 1:30AM one Friday night wearing nothing but a robe, panties and slippers.

Corinne related her entire conversation with Catherine to me, and ended by saying, "I told her if she didn't fuck you someone else would. And I told her that if I were her I would fuck you."

I looked at her, and said, "Really?"

"Of course," she said. "Who wouldn't?"

We both suddenly realised where we were, and the significant moral boundary we were in danger of crossing. After a solid minute of quiet contemplation, I decided to let her make the next move.

She did.

She slowly tugged the belt around her waist and pulled her robe open just enough that I could see her right breast and hip. I reached over and pulled her robe open the rest of the way. Corinne looked a lot like Catherine--face, dimples, hair, eyes, height, curves--but Corinne's tits were smaller. But I'm a hips and ass man, and Corinne had Catherine's hips and ass. And besides, smaller tits can be just as sexy as bigger tits--and Corinne's tits were all sorts of sexy.

Corinne climbed into the back seat, and then I joined her. She laid back, her robe falling open to reveal the body I now wanted more than Catherine's, and I ran my hands up her legs and thighs to her hips. She lifted her ass off the seat, and I slid her panties down and off. She pulled her knees up and then opened them to give me complete access. I leaned down and began kissing her soft, blonde hair, then slide my tongue between her labia and into her cunt. She tasted delicious. I could feel with my tongue that she was very tight, and only slightly wet, but she grabbed my head, closed her eyes, and began moaning as I licked and sucked her labia and clit. It did not take me long to bring her to a quiet, but intense, orgasm.

I continued licking her labia for several minutes until she calmed down, then I sat up and unbuttoned my jean and took them off. My cock was rock hard and throbbing, and I noticed Corinne staring at it. "You've got a big cock," she said. "Bigger than my boyfriend's. I'm not sure I can do this."

"Don't worry, it'll fit, and I'll be very gentle," I said, moving between her spread legs. She smiled as she grabbed my cock and guided the tip between her wet, hairy lips. As I worked it slowly into her cunt, she used her hand to make sure I didn't penetrate her too quickly. When I was half-way in, I laid down on her, she wrapped her legs around me, and we began fucking. At first it was a little unpleasant for her, but after a few minutes she relaxed and began to enjoy it more. I fucked her very slowly, not only trying to be gentle but also wanting it to last longer. But Corinne was was too tight, and I was way too worked up, for it to last long. After about five minutes I gushed inside her.

"Damn," I said. "I was hoping that would have lasted longer."

She smiled at me. "That's okay, let's do it again."

I love sloppy seconds.

We sat up, kissing and touching and making out until I started to get hard again. I squeezed her small but sexy tits, and rubbed and pinched her small, but rubbery, nipples. She leaned back, inviting me to kiss and suck on them, and I eagerly obliged. When she responded, I sucked harder, then began nibbling. Like her sister, Corinne loved having her nipples nibbled, so I gradually increased the intensity until I was pretty much biting them. She loved it.

She leaned down, took my cock into her mouth and sucked me for a few minutes. Then she sat up, straddled me, and worked herself down onto my cock. This time it lasted much longer, and Corinne touched herself as she fucked me as slowly as she could. After she came, and her back and legs started to tire, I laid her on her back and fucked her slowly and gently until I came inside her again. Then I collapsed on her for several minutes before she decided she should return to the house.

We kissed goodnight, silently agreeing never to tell another soul of our immoral transgression.

Many years later, when I ran across Corinne's photo on her company's web site, I wondered for a brief moment if she had ever told Catherine about what we had done. And I wondered if Jesus would see to it that we would both burn in Hell for eternity.

Either way, I don't care. Fucking Catherine Corinne was totally worth it.

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.