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By *est-couple OP Man
over a year ago
Southwick (near Trowbridge) |
One thing leads to another
I was always a quiet and modest girl. When I was a sixth former I always dressed demurely and kept myself primly quiet: after all, as an enquirer was once told, ‘She doesn’t have a boyfriend: she’s got A Levels!’ Of course – as you have probably already guessed – temptation was to come when I arrived at university and found myself, for the first time, in a mixed college hall!
In a way, I realised how much I stood out when I go there, just as we were unpacking our kit. All the other girls looked so confident, and their clothes were, well, just so fashionable and fun. Mine were dowdy and looked decades out of date: woolly cardigans over cotton blouses, heavy mid-calf skirts, American Tan tights, sensible shoes. They were so 1982 – the year I matriculated at university; I was more like 1952, still in post-war austerity. Making a mental note of all I had seen I fled to the city centre and blew a fortune in Top Shop, a place I had noted from a bag carried by one of the girls on my floor. What a change from having clothes bought for you by your mother. Out went brown and cream and ecru, and in came jewel-like blues and reds and pinks. I admired myself in the mirror as I left the shop – white piecrust collar blouse, knee-length blue skirt, pale Dior tights and blue ballet pumps: very Princess Diana. My dowdy clothes were dumped unceremoniously in the bin outside. I felt confident, new, ready for adventure.
Well, the effect of my confidence was excellent. I chatted with girls and boys alike as if I was someone else, or an actress playing the part of the person I wanted to be. And, on my first night out – the Freshers’ Disco on the evening I bought my clothes – I received my first kiss from a lovely boy whose lips touched mine with butterfly delicacy before his tongue penetrated my mouth and made me swoon silently into orgasm. I came again, this time, more obviously, as he nibbled the lobe of my unpierced ear and fondled my ample breasts. Innocent eighteen-year old that I was, I took his invitation to his room for coffee literally, and was pleasantly surprised to discover that coffee was a euphemism for long tonguey kisses, the languorous caress of his hands on my nylon-encased legs, and the roaming of his fingers into places where only my own hands had strayed. By the end of the evening, Graham had skilfully extracted my tender breasts from both bra and blouse, and kissed and sucked them until I came, gasping for air. An, yes, there was more. His fingers had teased my virgin slit and scarce-tested clitoris through my tights and panties, making me cum even more and soaking my most private space more than I ever could have imagined… and I had handled his naked cock, bringing that hard engine of pleasure to a fruitfulness that saw his hot sperm jet into the air and soak my calves and ankle with its torrent of liquid love. Did I sleep with him that night, allow him to strip me naked and steal that precious jewel which I had been told was for my husband alone? No – not on that night at least.
It could hardly happen, could it? His cock was floppy and useless and I was unsatisfied. As it refused to obey his commands or my desire, I kissed Graham goodnight and made an exit from his room, climbing to mine on the first floor. As I was halfway up the stairs I heard a voice calling my name at the level of my ankle, and found another one of the other boys there, who I didn’t know. He remarked that he could see that I’d had some fun at the disco. I asked him how he knew. In reply, he reached his had through the stair rail and caressed my nyloned ankle. I looked down – and there was Graham’s seed, a tribute to what I found I could instinctively do with my hands. I laughed it off and scampered upstairs, knowing that for the first time in my life I was desirable – and desired!
The consummation of my growing lust came around three days later. Graham had become rather coy – he seemed to think his manliness had been compromised – but I finally persuaded him to take me back to his room. My lust had been growing since that first encounter, and I had brought myself to orgasm so many times I had gained a wonderful expertise in the possession of my own body. After all, if I could do such wonderful things to him, I could surely do the same to myself. I was desperate to find out, though, what he could do to me if my panties and tights were not present. With the two of us well lubricated by two bottles of Don Cortez, we embraced and I let him slowly seduce me out of my clothes. After a luxurious thirty minutes of teasing and caressing, I had him stripped to his boxers and he had me on nothing but my Dior tights - and the pallor of these made it very clear that I had not worn my pants beneath them, my luxuriant red bush marking the centre of the target which I hoped his dart would penetrate.
What came next surprised me, for having fondled each other through our final remnants of clothing, he laid me back on his single bed and caressed my hot and soaking vagina with his eager tongue through my tights. My God, I came on the spot, and his tongue just kept playing there, and as each orgasm subsided he brought me to another. I desperately wanted to be naked for my lover, but he again shocked me, his strong hands ripping apart the gusset of my expensive (and only) pair of fashionable pale tights, so that his tongue had direct and unstoppable access to my virgin slit. I rippled into another three orgasms, and as I came down from ecstasy, saw Graham slip his boxers off and stand naked and erect between my thighs. My attempts to roll down my ruined tights were futile as he positioned the destroyer of my treasured virginity at the naked opening of my womanhood and eased its engorged purple past my aroused outer lips. I was coming again when I realised that he didn’t know that I was a virgin, and before I could tell him to be gentle I felt his glans, enormous and unyielding, impact upon my hymen. Before he himself had realised what he was doing, what a change he was making on the life of a girl he had known but three days, he had taken my maidenhead and his full length had lodged itself within my soaking vagina. My God, in one thrust he had made a woman of me, not an honest one – in my mind, suddenly, I was THAT sort of girl, easy, a slut, a whore, damaged goods, a loose woman: my next move would surely be to a brothel – but a woman whose body is just one mass of pleasure and lust. He thrust and thrust into me, and though the cliché is that a woman never enjoys her first time, it’s not true: I enjoyed every piston move of that delicious cock, I rippled with sexual pleasure as his body sporadically placed weight upon my engorged clitoris, my mind moved to a state of abandonment where, from that moment, my vagina became a pussy or even a cunt and his penis became a cock. I was aroused and opened up, a creature of desire who was still in the process of forming her own joyous sexual being.
I suddenly fell into full consciousness when Graham asked me urgently whether I was on the Pill. Of course, I wasn’t, and he was naked inside me and clearly, as two eighteen-year olds, we were both almost certainly very fertile as well as very horny. With remarkable self-control, and at a point at which I was entering another orgasm at the thought of the danger I was in from an unplanned conception, he withdrew his engorged cock and I watched with fascination as it spasmed, its single eye opening to project jet after jet of potent, creamy sperm as far as my quivering breasts on its first pulse, and then across the crotch of my ruined tight on its second and third. The fourth jet subsided onto my scarlet bush, exposed by the ripping of my tights. I had been truly seduced. I was a virgin no more, and my sexual curiosity had been wonderfully awaked.
What on earth, I wondered, was to become of me? Would you like to know? x
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