Innocence lost

We were friends in school. Neither a platonic relationship nor schoolboy crush, it was a boy and girl relationship we maintained over the intervening years.

We went different ways. She started work earlier, got married, and had her Gold credit card in pretty quick time. I was just back from graduate school, and planning to get married. The years of tertiary education marked the key difference between our chosen paths.

The humid evening found us reminiscing in the confines of the Japanese car, strategically parked at a darkened section of the university compound, a short distance from the residence of my bride to be. A security guard used to patrol the car park with a torch light, but the pest was not around that night. She was talking down to me like a big sister, giving me tips on the world. Even in the car seat, she was taller than I, a distinction I had deemed incompatible for a future together.

Casual talk revolved around old friends and classmates. I did not ask about her marriage or spouse, who was the brother of a friend. The time together was supposed to be our first private moment, and maybe last, as I was getting married the next month. Running out of topics, our communication somehow drifted to roaming hands. We petted and our lips met.

When she shot out her tongue into my mouth, I sucked greedily on it. Reciprocating her forwardness, my own twirled with hers, intertwined in the wet cavity of her mouth. Encouraged, I reached into her neckline to cup her covered breast, and chanced the firm stub of her nipple. She undid her top, to afford me full visual and tactile access of her naked mammaries, unencumbered by cloth and garment. It was dark on that moonless night, but the brown dimpled aeroles stood out against the smooth flesh of her substantial breasts, framing the arrogant protrusion of her erect teats. As I explored the naked contours of her bosom for the first time, she volunteered that the left one had a blind nipple. I took it into my mouth, tonguing the teat, sucking it, biting it, chewing it, wallowing in the pro-offered breast delicacy. Since she initiated the intimacy, it dawned on me further liberties were available.

I unbuckled my belt, and in the awkward position behind the steering wheel, managed to pull my pants down to my thighs. Still naked from the waist up, she slided down into the seat well below the glove compartment to attend to her evening's objective between my legs.

As she palmed my genitals in her hand, she asked if I was ever sick in my childhood. Later I would learn her comment was a question on the detumescent state of my penis. Whatever state it was, it was no deterrent to her applying her mouth to the task.

She sucked on it.

I had never envisaged my penis could be in any orifice other than a female vagina. But she was using her tongue and lips to tease my tool into a new pleasurable discovery. Her cheeks filled and hollowed with each vacuuming suction, and drew exciting blood flow to the apex of my sex. Her administrations brought a flush to her cheeks, and her breasts rubbed against my left thigh, nipples hardening from the stimulating friction.

Quite quickly, without any exertion on my part, the seminal discharge spurted forth. She drank it all without releasing the penis from her ravenous mouth, feeding matter-of-factly on the viscuous, milky fluid. When she did free the flaccid organ from her voracious lips, a stray pearly drop glistened on the shrinking glans head from the available light. I watched in amazement as she licked up that last remnant of my semen with one fell swoop. She flicked her tongue across her lips, as if she was wiping the leftover of an ice cream treat.

Returning to her seat, she sat naked with her twin orbs perched resplendently on her slim torso, dress carelessly crunched about her waist. She was flaunting her tantalizing assets, now swollen with the exertions of her accomplishment. A perversion of the Chesire cat, the last lingering sight was not a toothy smile, but a pair of petulant breasts.

The significance of her audacity was apparent only in the later years. I had written her my impending marriage, and she must have planned to feast first on my ejaculate.

Mission accomplished

She had telephoned me on various occasions whenever she was in town, but each time I declined to meet as I found no basis for doing so. But this time, there was an excuse to see the new apartment. And it would be conveniently vacant.

She was sitting primly on the living room sofa while I rummaged in the fridge for some beverage. There was no cause to open the bottle of wine, so I settled for coke. We started to feel comfortable, but she gave no clue why she wanted to meet. An attractive lass, in an empty house with a virile man, a sheer waste of an afternoon if nothing develops. Indeed a no brainer.

"Come see the rest of the apartment," I invited. We ascended the steps to the next level, which had three rooms. Two were not used at all, and only the bedroom was functionally, if not spartanly, furnished. Once inside, we
fell into each other's arms. It was not a passionate embrace, but it was, suffice to say, a perpendicular representation of a horizontal desire.

I kissed her easily parted lips, tasting her volunteered tongue. Nudging the door slowly shut with my left leg, I started to undress. In silence, she watched me remove my shirt, then my pants, and then my boxer shorts. I hugged her again, this time with my naked body, my tumescent staff poking rudely into her belly. Hands roving behind her back, down the spine to her buttocks, I teased the crack between her cheeks, and probed the puckered anal orifice. She shied away at the contact. When I reached for her, she dashed into the attached bathroom, and locked it from within.

Fortunately there were some hairpins on the dresser, and equipped thus, I approached her hiding place. When I opened the toilet door, she was wiping her privates with tissue, panties rolled somewhere down her thigh. One leg was raised on the toilet seat, exposing the succulent labia folds, her dark pubic hair a stark contrast to the rest of her fair body. Obviously she was no sun worshipper. Since I had seen her naked pubes, surely there was no more pretense to be shy.

I literally dragged her out to the bedroom proper. After pulling off her underwear, I whipped her dress over her head. She clamped protective arms over her brassiere, the only stitch of clothing on her now. The half cups overflowed with the soft flesh of her pliant breasts. She was no dainty flower prime for plucking, a hapless virgin about to face a fate worst than death, but a nubile female who had hungered after the hot meat between my legs. Guiding her by her hips, I steered her backwards towards the bed. My fully aroused erection brushed against her in the awkward dance, smearing her stomach with the precoital cum. When she was seated at the edge of the bed, the fully extended shaft was pointing directly at her inviting cleavage, emphasized by the mechanics of the push up bra. I took that garment off in a jiffy, and pressed the flesh of her twin breasts together, sandwiching my tool like two fresh buns. I rolled the delicious meat around my hot shaft, working the hardening prick.

Roughly pushing her backwards flat on her back, I spread her legs open to expose her privates. An index finger entered the crevice to test the textures inside, and sample the new sensory experience. She protested the prick of my careless finger nails, and I readjusted my exploratory touches. I followed the initial invasion with two more fingers, attempting to stretch the limits of her elasticity, but the insertion proved uncomfortable for her. As compensation, I worked her clitoral region, until the lubricating juices signalled her readiness. Replacing the preparatory fingers, my penis entered her vagina with one swift lunge.

I held her by her hips, with her legs wrapped about my waist, as I bent over to shove and grind into her pelvis. Her breasts were quivering like jelly cups on her chest, as my vigorous efforts slammed her body into the springy mattress. The globes of flesh tossed roughly like boats on a rough sea. Next I fell full body on her perspiring torso, flattening those pillowy breasts, and rotated her about, still connected with my tool, so she was lying on top. I made her ride me, with the dangling breasts swaying and flipping about, her nipples brushing against my chest with each excruciating contact. Lifting her waist slightly above my pelvis with my hands, I asked her to look down at the visible penile shaft rooted in her vagina. She gazed between our bellies to view the cylinder of flesh joining our bodies, disappearing and appearing into sight with each reciprocating thrust. I then sat up, legs swung over the edge of the bed, so she was now sitting on my hips, my stiff penis firmly anchored in her crack. In her squatting position, she took over the intiative to slide up and down my elongated tool, slapping my thighs loudly with her buttocks at each descend. Her long hair went flying as she bucked, a wild mare galloping at a furious pace. "Oh, my god!" she moaned aloud to no one in particular.

The reflection in the mirror framed our wild coupling, and through it I could see her fleshy buttocks bounce in rythmn with her swinging breasts. She was obviously enjoying herself, catching the occasional glance in the mirror to revel in the erotic image of her own abandon. But I had to interrupt her to avoid climaxing in that position.

Reluctantly, she got off, thinking that I had discharged my load. But the assuring sight of the still erect tool being eased from her vaginal portal told her more was to come. I made her kneel on the bed, sticking her well cushioned posterior into the air. Spreading her cheeks wide, I teased her anal orifice first, threatening to ravish her virgin hole there, before burying the penile shaft deeply into the now familiar vaginal sleeve. Stroking her langurously thus, I reached under to squeeze her dangling breasts and tweak her elongated nipples, all the while enjoying the voyeuristic spectacle in the all seeing mirror. With her head between her supporting arms, she had a front row view of my penis plunging in and out of her dripping vulva lips, my swinging scrotum mimicking her swaying boobies. I pleasured her for an eternity, taking in the delicious lubricity and heat of her welcoming tunnel of love. So it was standing up in that position, that I finally ejaculated inside her, filling her vagina with my load of seminal fluid, and completing to fruition our very first intercourse.

Selfishly, I had not thought of her own orgasm throughout the exertions. But the reddish blush that spread from the upper slopes of her breasts confirmed that she had indeed climaxed. Curiously, I asked if her body always reacted like that after sex, but she merely smiled. I traced the extent of the afterglow, running an inquisitive finger over the contours of each breast. "You should have seen them when I was expecting," she boasted, "They were much bigger."

"Anything bigger than a mouthful is wasteful," was my retort.

Locked in embrace

She sat in the car like a deaf mute. If silence was deemed consent, her quiet was confirming acquiscence to the liaison ahead. Eyes focussed intently into the infinity, she barely stole a glance my way. It would appear I was merely a taxi driver, ferrying her to her private carnal engagement.

As I closed the car door, she alighted from the passenger side without assistance. She followed a couple of paces behind as we headed for the apartment. It was just past noon, and the neighborhood was deserted, with barely a stray passerby in sight. Housewives busied themselves in the kitchens, after packing off the kids to school.

In the hallway, she weakened in her resolve, and I had to hold her by the arm to guide her upstairs to the bedroom.

The room was carpeted, and ceiling high drapes softened one wall. The split unit airconditioner hissed a cool 25 degrees as the thermostat cut in. There was even a scented candle, diffusing French Lavendar perfume, to add to the ambience. The big mirror at the dressing table looked over the satin sheets of the large bed.

When I reached to embrace her, she collapsed to the floor, and curled up against the bedside table. An importune change of heart. I tried to pull her up, to facilitate the removal of her knee high dress, but she squatted down again, drawing up legs protectively to her chest.

Impatience and anxiousness prompted me to stripped completely in an instant, standing nude directly in front of her, eye level at my family jewels. She muttered meekly, "You're not ready."

I glanced down at my manhood. The relaxed organ was dwarfed by the large scrotum, the holding bag for the the testicles, and a very tactile sphere of sensitive veins and tissue. Apparently in no hurry to do duty, the limp rod of flesh and blood was lying dormant. It appeared my desire for her body proved to be more cerebral than physical. Why else was my erotic ambition not manifest in that penile state?

"Make it ready," I commanded her.

She reached tentatively between my legs with both hands. One palmed and massaged the testes through the loose skin of the scrotum, and the other rolled the love cylinder with thumb and index finger. Within seconds, her familiar touch worked the instrument to a more impressive length and girth, requiring all four fingers to curl round the shaft for her grip. The exercise coaxed her out of her reticence, and she started to use her tongue to lick the sensitive undersides of the balls and tease the glans head peeking out from the foreskin. As the erection mechanics angled the uncircumcised penis upwards, she engulfed it with one swoop of her head. Her tongue snaked to ream and lap the hot shaft inside the warm cavity of her mouth, and her cheeks filled with the expanding tool. She was at her element, though where she acquired the skills is a mystery I chose not to query.

It was not my idea to be fellated to conclusion. I stood her up willingly now, for me to unclasped her buttons and pull the dress over her head. My nose nuzzled her breasts and teats as I removed her brassiere, savoring the sensual scent. The sheer panties were rolled down to expose the nether set of lips, moist with her awakening desire. The erotically charged atmosphere was having the predicted effect on her. I laid her nude body gently on the bed.

Starting from her thighs, from just above her smooth kneecaps, I traced a wet tongue up the insides of her legs. She trembled slightly when I contacted her vaginal mound, and sucked greedily on the swollen labia majora. Leaving the clitoris for the moment, I ventured past the belly button, skimmed the fluttering stomach, and worked up the underside slope of one breast. I dwelled on that breast, feasting on the succulent flesh, ringing the aerole, and then licked the nipple bud to extended state. The symmmetry of her twin set was marred by the nipple on the left. It was larger and flatter, like a crushed chocolate strawberry. I lavished it undiscriminately with the sucking mouth, and attempted to wolf down the whole breast meat. She was whimpering silently, stirred by the exquisite arousal of the sensual pampering. I was worshipping her like an art student appreciating the contours of a Grecian torso at the Louvre. Seduced by the curves, the soft shapes, the texture of the pliant flesh that palpitated at the touch of my exploring fingers. My eyes scanned and probed her intimate highlights, burning at the sight of her elusive clitoris, the butterfly wings of her labia, her protuberant breasts, her impertinent nipples, trying to etch the images permanently into the photographic plates of my mind. She openly declared the intimate secrets of her feminine flesh to me, and I revelled in the embrace of her sexual proximity, knowing that the allure will never survive the scathing light of the outside world, outside this private haven of hedonism.

But she was not an inflated manniquin with a cut out for simulated copulation. She was a hot blooded female with a latent fire of sexual appetite, thirsting to be quenched with the violence of spurting penetration. Much as I would have liked to just lie content next to her naked body, I had a masculine role to fulfill. It would be selfish to be satiated with her nude presence, while she pined for satisfaction.

I spread her legs delicately and used my index finger to check the lubricity of her vagina. She raised her legs as I guided my penis into her puckered opening. She sighed audibly when the head went in after encountering some initial resistance, a speed bump on the road to nirvana, followed slowly by the rest of the hot red shaft which was eased in gently. The myraid ridges of tiny muscles inside her vaginal cavern were like live screw threads that pulled my penile shaft inside with a thousand secret fingers. I marveled at the geometry of the fit. My uniquely shaped sword was being returned to a scabbard customed fashioned by an expert craftsman. Had I known we were such a good physical match, our male and female parts, I would have paid her more than the cursory attention I did years ago. The reflection in the mirror showed off the symmetry of our intelocked bodies in profile, with my partially withdrawn shaft visibly embedded in her slit. In that missionary position, I covered the whole length of her body with mine, with the only protruding appendage of my anatomy parked neatly in her special recess designed to receive it. Her squashed breasts molded against my chest, teats tickling mine. I began to labour luxuriously, grinding my pelvis against hers. My strokes were paced leisurely, I wanted to indulge in the delicious friction of her inner flesh gripping my invading shaft. Looking at the sensual tableaux like a third party voyeur, I graduated my strokes to a rapid crescendo and then plunged my erupting tool to the very depths of her at the last climactic moment. My throbbing penis and her contracting vagina moved as one, a rhythmic ebb tide as the intoxicating wave of sensuality swept over us. We remained joined at the pubis for a long luxuriant moment, the sexual union fused us as one, body and mind.

Reluctantly, I eased my spent penis out of her drenched tunnel, slick with the comingled juices of our mutual discharges. A sliver of semen trickled out from between the inner labia, already enfolding like a withdrawing flower to hide her pleasure orifice. My penis still glistened from her feminine secretions, and I pulled her hand over to cup my genitalia affectionately.

In that tender moment, I mentally declared my love for her. It was not the love that will withstand the scrutiny of a cynical world, it was one that sublimates beyond the contractual obligations that society demands. Yet it was not a illicit union of two primal animals drawn together simply by torrid lust. It was the ultimate sensual communion of two sexual beings priviledged by chance and opportunity to celebrate life as a pair, and the epitome sensory pleasure that life can bestow on a man and a woman.

Her body silently affirmed the victory by blushing a deep crimson red from the tops of her heaving breasts to the flush of her cheeks. This unique reaction of her body chemistry alone would have been sufficient for me as testament of our sexual compatibility. But within the context of our cultural background and mores, it would have been impossible for us to discover what nature had planned ahead for us. Pre-marital sex existed then only within the covers of pulp literature, or semen stained paper backs of horny schoolboys. Without this revelation, she was just another plain jane of a female specimen, which I easily recommended to another interested party, who married her.