9 comments/ 119939 views/ 22 favorites Experience Ch. 01 By: Tegan0Kennedy Meet Tegan O'Kennedy, born to a well-off family and raised in a small religious town in New York State. The girl had always been told she was so beautiful that she could be an actress or a model... And really? She was. The young beauty stood at 5'8 with a deliciously full thirty-B inch bust, a twenty-two inch waist, and thirty-five inch hips. She was well known for her gorgeous long red hair, the freckles that covered her whole body, her gorgeously full pouty lips and light green-blue eyes. Those that knew fashion said she could be Cintia Dicker's twin. So, after living her whole life hearing nothing but compliments, the girl grew up a little vain and over-confident. She could date any boy she wanted, and she damn well did! Her friends never even protested how she stole their boyfriends, because she was well known as the girl about town who threw the hottest parties, had the best clothes, and drove the coolest car. Tegan wasn't used to hearing the word no, and she rarely did from anyone. Of course, this was not to say she was promiscuous. No, Tegan knew too many girls who had given it up to their boyfriends and then become pregnant, and she thought herself far too good to stay stuck in her little town. Early on in her life, her father had allowed her to take a few modeling jobs in the big city of New York, and Tegan had been instantly hooked. When the photographers and agencies began asking for more, however, he had pulled her out, and refused to allow her to take another job until she had finished high school. Well, she had graduated a month ago, shortly after her eighteenth birthday, and her graduation present had been a small apartment in a fashionable section of New York City. Tegan was delighted, and although her parents begged her to wait until the hot July weather passed, she piled up everything she owned, and headed to the Big Apple, determined, as so many teenage girls as vain and confident as she, to take a big bite and leave her mark. It didn't take her long to set up in the fashionable and fully furnished apartment, and within a few days, she'd also made appointments with every high-level modeling agency she could think of. She was hardly experienced, but she was convinced that didn't matter. After all, she was gorgeous... and that's all that mattered, right? Finally, it was here. The first day of the rest of her life... or so she told herself. Tegan dressed in a green sundress that matched her eyes by Marc Jacobs, worse the newest high-heeled sandals by Chanel, and carried a white Louis Vuitton bag. She allowed her gorgeous, thick red hair to cascade down to her mid-back, and wore only eye-makeup and a simple nude lipstick, as she was sure her freckles added to her beauty. Blowing herself a kiss in the mirror, and adjusting her heavenly full b-cup breasts inside the sundress, Tegan headed out into the world, sure she would return gainfully employed, sure to be flown out to some exotic shoot the next morning. The first three agencies had explained that while she was indeed a beautiful young woman, she lacked the experience to be taken on professionally. The fourth gave the same explanation, and added on that she was a little old and a little fat, although she was really neither. Tegan left the office in tears, and hurried to the nearest coffee shop to wail on her phone to her best friend about how dreadfully unfair it all was. As she hung up, still sniffling, Tegan was approached by Daniel Moreno. He was older, mid-thirties at least, tall with naturally tanned skin, gorgeous jet-black hair and brown eyes that could easily melt a young girl's heart. "Miss? I'm dreadfully sorry to interrupt..." His deep voice was sensuous with traces of a Spanish accent, "But I couldn't help overhearing. My name is Daniel Moreno, and I run a modeling agency, 'Moreno and Domínguez'." He held out his card and then took her hand, bending down to kiss the back lightly. "Oh? I wasn't aware I was being that loud..." Tegan sniffled out, her voice light but slightly whiney as she took his card. "Ah, but you have every right to be angry... after all, how can you gain experience if these agencies are not willing to hire you!" "Exactly! That is my point exactly-" Daniel cut her off, eager to get to the point, "Well I do not run as well known of an agency as those you have mentioned, but at my agency we specialize with working with young models. We can give you a year or so of experience, and then we sell your contract off to the agencies that you've mentioned." It was too good to be true, and that really should have been her first hint, but for all her confidence and vanity, Tegan was naive, especially when it came to the world of fashion. "Really?!" Her voice was excited, and Tegan sat up quickly, her breasts straining against the fabric of her sundress, the cool air inside the coffee shop having caused them to become erect. "Oh, that's wonderful Mr. Moreno! Can I... Can I set up an appointment right away? For tomorrow?" "Why wait until tomorrow? I have the rest of the afternoon free." Daniel's smile was seductively charming, "How about I give you a ride to the studio?" Tegan was all to quick to agree, and how much she was impressed with the suave older man only increased as he paid her tab and led her out to a fancy black town car. They headed to a slightly seedier part of the city, but Daniel was quick to assure the young lady that this section was highly popular, and all the bigger companies were eager to buy buildings here, as the street would soon be more famous than Soho. Grasping her arm firmly, Daniel led Tegan into a building with blacked out windows, and past a bored looking receptionist that greeted him respectfully to a large and almost empty back room. In one corner of the room, it looked as though there was an office, a desk flanked by filling cabinets and two black leather couches, as well as a small fridge and a water cooler. In the opposite corner, a camera was set up facing a lone black barstool, along with a computer and some complicated looking lighting. Daniel ushered Tegan over to the office area and sat her down on the couch. Opening up a new file folder with some blank forms inside of it, Daniel jotted down her full name, address, contact information, parents contact information, and so on. When he came to the next page in the folder, Daniel simply smiled and put his pen down. "Now Tegan, I'm going to have to take your measurements. Could you please stand up?" His charming smile was so assuring, Tegan did as she was told without question. Pulling a measuring tape out from a drawer, Daniel stood in front of the young girl, and pulled it around her breasts, rubbing his thumbs lightly against them so her nipples would harden again. Tegan pretended it was all innocent as she blushed and looked away. "Oh dear, this won't do at all." Pretending to be embarrassed, Daniel continued smiling. "To take an accurate measurement, I'm going to have to ask you to take this lovely dress off..." Tegan balked at the suggestion, and tried to stammer out that she didn't think it would be appropriate. Daniel simply shook his head, "You should know that I'd keep it all professional, of course. I mean I have a wife after all! If you aren't that committed to modeling Tegan... well, that's unfortunate. I don't think I'll be able to help you..." He trailed off and stepped away, looking disappointed before Tegan spoke up hurriedly. "I'm sorry, Mr. Moreno! I trust you! I'm so sorry, here..." She began to quickly pull off her dress, revealing cute little white panties, "It's just that I didn't wear a bra today..." "Understandable." Daniel's smooth smile was back, "It's alright to be nervous. Just keep the prize of a modeling contract in mind!" Tegan stood shivering in the air-conditioned room, her arms covering her freckled breasts, until Daniel instructed her to put her arms down. Tegan looked away, blushing hard and whimpering softly as Daniel's cold fingers brushed across her perky chest, her nipples rock hard to his touch. Shivering as his cold hands measured her waist, hips, and then the outside of her legs, Tegan was fully distracted and hardly noticing that Daniel would occasionally pause to write something down in her file. She snapped back to attention, however, when Daniel asked her to spread her legs slightly. Her simple protests were met with a disapproving stare, and Daniel sharply explained that he must measure her inseam. Parting her legs with a groan, Tegan stood still as she felt Daniel's cool hands travel up her left leg, pausing to dance along her now wet panty-covered slit, and then down her right leg. She simply prayed the older man didn't notice... but of course he did. Grinning, Daniel sat back down behind his desk, made a few more notes, and then produced a contract for the still mostly naked Tegan to sign, explaining that after she did so, he'd be taking a few sample photos. Eager to get what she now viewed as a rather embarrassing experience over with, Tegan signed quickly, not bothering to read the paper and then bent to pick up her dress. Standing, Daniel barked at her to leave it, hurriedly explaining that the pictures would mostly focus on her face anyway. Tegan finally recognized that this was perhaps was happening a bit too fast, and she again began to protest. Her protests were met with a sharp slap on her still panty-covered ass from Daniel. "Look, I'm your boss now, so you must do what I say or I WILL terminate your contract, and you won't be able to work in this town again!" Cowering under his disapproving glare, Tegan simply nodded and sniffled, whining internally about how unfair this all really was. Tegan struggled and stumbled to keep up with Daniel's long strides in her high-heeled shoes as he lead her quickly to the black stool in the opposite corner that sat in front of the camera. She barely caught herself when he used his harsh grip on her arm to fling her towards the stool. Sniveling, Tegan turned to face Daniel, rubbing the spot on her right upper arm where he had gripped too harshly. "Daniel, you hurt me..." Her voice was a high whine, and she sounded on the verge of tears. "I haven't given you permission to call me by my first name." Daniel snapped as he adjusted the camera and the lights, "I am your boss, and you should address me with respect." Glaring harshly at the young woman from behind his camera, "If you ever need to call me anything besides Mr. Moreno, call me sir." Before Tegan could snivel out something else, Daniel barked that she should compose herself immediately and pose so that he could begin taking pictures. Attempting to do as she was instructed, Tegan smiled lightly, and posed like she imagined high-class models would... Neck extended, hands on her hips, one leg slightly curved and so on. After snapping a few photos, Daniel checked how they were turning out on the computer attached to the camera. Shaking his head disappointedly, he stood with his hands on his hips, glaring at the young beauty. "Tegan, do you actually WANT to be a model?" Daniel's voice was harsh, and he looked almost angry. Tegan stammered out that she did, of course she did, more than anything. Appearing to be aggravated by her response, he stepped out from behind the camera and quickly walked over to her side, grasping her upper right arm again and dragging her over to the computer. Once they were facing the computer, Daniel would roughly grip Tegan by the back of her head and force her face towards the screen. "Do you honestly think that these pictures look like they were taken of someone who wants to be a model?" Daniel's voice sounded like it was shaking with rage. Tegan was openly crying now, sniffling as she tried to focus on the pictures. She stuttered out that she guessed they didn't, and Daniel yanked her head up, forcing her to face him. "Then why are you wasting my time? Give me one good reason not to go in there and tear up your contract right now, you good-for-nothing. Little. WHORE!" His last word was punctuated with a hard slap on her ass, and another hard tug on her hair. "Please!" Tegan was frightened beyond belief, and out of her element. She was not used to being spoken to in such a manner, and she was completely terrified. "No, please! I'm sorry! I'll do better next time-" "You think there's going to be a next time?" Furious now, Daniel dragged Tegan back over to the stool and threw her at it. "Pick that up!" His voice was now a roar. Sobbing, Tegan quickly righted the stool, gripping shakily at the seat. "Now sit on it and spread your fucking legs!" Hiccupping and still shaking, Tegan sat down on the stool as she was asked, hooking the heels of her sandals into the bottom rung and sitting with her legs slightly spread, keeping her hands on the seat of the stool to keep herself from falling backwards. "I told you to spread your fucking legs!" In an instant, Daniel was standing in front of Tegan, using one large hand to force her right knee out, and backhanding her hard with the other. Squealing with pain, Tegan attempted to shrink away. Daniel let out a snarl of fury before grabbing the back of her hair with one hand, the other keeping a death grip on her right knee, using his own leg to push her other knee out. Tegan was about to let out another cry of pain at having her legs pushed so far apart when Daniel hissed into her ear. "Don't you make another fucking sound, you little slut. Now you better keep your legs fucking spread, and do exactly what I say." Out of her mind with fear, Tegan simply whimpered out a 'yes sir' as she continued to quiver with fear. Satisfied with her answer, Daniel turned and walked back behind the camera. After adjusting a few things, he began to take pictures in rapid succession, using a bright flash, which only served to disorient Tegan more. "Now, keeping your left hand on the back of the stool, use your right hand to rub your pussy through your panties." When Tegan showed signs of hesitating, Daniel roared with fury that she should do what she was fucking told. Whimpering, Tegan looked away from the camera, her long, red hair cascading over one freckled breast as a shaky hand moved forwards, delicately tracing the outline of her slit through her white panties. "Now look at the fucking camera, you little whore. Good... Rub a little harder, Tegan, you dirty fucking slut. That's it..." Pops and bright flashes of light occasionally punctured his words as Daniel continued to take pictures. "I can see you getting wet... being treated like a little fuck toy turns you on, doesn't it? Pull your panties aside, I want to see your filthy little pussy. Look at that, it's hairless. You really are a little slut, aren't you Tegan? Good girls don't shave all the hair off of their twats, that's something that whores and prostitutes do. Rub your little clit, you dirty tramp. KEEP THOSE PANTIES OUT OF THE WAY. That's better. Put one finger up your dirty fucking snatch. Now two..." Although Tegan tried to force her mind elsewhere, her body was responding to the way that she was masturbating, and the way that Daniel was barking orders was only getting her hotter. The young beauty felt disgusted with herself as she began to rock her hips back and forth, and moans that she couldn't suppress escaped her lips. Suddenly, feeling like a speeding train hit her, Tegan's body was rocked with an orgasm. Screaming in pleasure as the camera continued to flash rapidly, she arched her back as she moved her fingers furiously in and out of her hot little pussy, her hips pumping hard, and her pussy juice leaking down her ass to the seat of the barstool, her white panties now soaked and see-through. When she finished cumming, Tegan slumped forwards, panting and shaking. Before she could compose herself, one of Daniel's strong hands was again wrapped in her luxuriously thick hair, yanking her forwards to again stare at the computer screen. The older man forced her to look at the pictures he had taken of her masturbating on the stool. "Look at yourself, you filthy fucking slut. I should show these pictures to your fucking parents, let them know what kind of whore their daughter has grown into." Tegan weakly tried to protest, insisting that she was a virgin and begging Daniel not to show her parents. Forcing the would-be model to her knees in front of him, Daniel kept and firm and painful grip on Tegan's hair as he looked disgustedly down at her. "You little tramp. There's not one good reason why I shouldn't show these to your parents, hell, there's not one good reason that I shouldn't spread these around and show everyone so no agency accidentally decides to represent such an indecent little nymphomaniac. But... I'll make you a deal. If you become my personal assistant for the length of the contract, and do as I tell you, I'll make sure these pictures are deleted in one year. If, however, you attempt to get out of it by running off or some such thing, I'll make sure your entire family and every modeling agency in the world sees you acting like a little whore." He paused for a moment. "As added incentive, if you do a good job as my assistant, I'll make sure you get a contract with the modeling agency of your choice. Do we have a deal?" Tegan's mind was buzzing as she momentarily forgot her current position and she thought of a contract with any modeling agency she wanted. It was like a dream come true. Gasping, she eagerly accepted. "Yes, Mr. Moreno! That... Sounds amazing! I'll be a good assistant Mr. Moreno, I swear. You'll have coffee every morning and-" As Tegan spoke, Daniel quickly undid his pants with one hand, keeping the other firmly entangled in Tegan's hair. He allowed his pants to drop, revealing his already hard cock. It was seven inches long, but incredibly thick, and bulging with veins. Before she could even finish her last sentence, he forced her head forwards, stuffing the head of his impressive cock in her open mouth. Whimpering and gagging with surprise, a panicked Tegan attempted to pull away, but Daniel pushed his hips forwards as he used his grip in her hair to move her head further down as well. Speaking loudly over the sound of the young woman gagging, Daniel told her to suck his cock, and warned that if he felt any teeth he'd beat the shit out of her. Tears streaked down Tegan's face as Daniel began to fuck her mouth, groaning with pleasure as he teased himself by pushing his head to the back of her throat, the feeling of her gag reflex adding another level of pleasure for the sadistic man. Both of his hands were tangled in her hair now, and her hands were on his thighs attempting to hold herself steady as Daniel began to force his big cock down her throat. Smiling down at Tegan's face, Daniel took in her pink lips stretched around his thick cock, the tears that had streaked her eye-makeup down her freckled cheeks, and the beads of sweat that remained on her forehead from the powerful orgasm she had given herself earlier. He groaned with pleasure again as he told Tegan about what a little whore she looked like as he fucked her face, ignoring her gagging and panicked breathing. Keeping one hand in her hair, he fumbled for the camera with the other, taking a few pictures of the crying Tegan, lips stretched around his cock, his full balls resting against her chin. Daniel let the camera drop as he neared his own orgasm, groaning loudly and pumping Tegan's head quickly back and forth on his cock. With a final triumphant shout, Daniel forced her mouth all the way down on his thick shaft, using both hands to hold her in place as he pumped stream after stream of cum down her throat. Tegan gagged hard, which caused some of the cum to rum up into her mouth, slipping out around his cock some of her own drool. After what felt like an eternity to the young woman, Daniel finally finished, pulling out his softening cock and bringing a good deal of cum and spit with it. Experience Ch. 01 I was not your ordinary kind of high-school geek. I didn't have the typical hallmarks that would get me voted "Least Likely To Lose His Virginity ... Ever" in the senior yearbook. I wasn't oversize or undersize, dressed fashionably enough, and had good personal hygiene. I wasn't into Star Trek or role-playing games. I wasn't in the marching band (and, consequently, didn't have any band-camp stories to bore my classmates with). I didn't have a weird family, wasn't very rich or very poor, and if you asked any of the other kids, they'd probably say I was fairly normal. But, make no mistake, I was an oddball. I was tall and skinny, grew my blond hair to the middle of my back at a time when the buzz-cut was king. I listened to heavy metal when it was no longer cool and the preferred genre was hip-hop, which I hated. Other guys lived for video games; I could take 'em or leave 'em. Other kids went to the movies, but I always preferred books, and the teenage sitcoms that were popular at the time held no interest for me. My grades were good enough to get me in to advanced-placement classes, but I didn't have the same attitude as the other nerds. I didn't work myself to death, stress myself out on purpose, didn't think being in A.P. classes made me somehow special, and, truth be told, didn't particularly enjoy schoolwork. My best subject wasn't science or math, but English, and yet, I didn't have the deadly-serious English-major mindset I would discover when I became one myself in college. If it was possible for a geek to be a class clown, I was it. I cracked jokes constantly. I turned oral reports into comedy routines. I genuinely enjoyed making people laugh, but also, as with most class clowns, I did it to cover up my own shyness. I was so good at it that, then and now, people who knew me only casually refused to believe that I WAS shy. I grew up without a constant male role model, but, with two sisters and lots of aunts, plenty of female ones. As a result, I didn't always relate well to guys my own age, being fairly indifferent to sports, and the typical locker-room talk about girls made me uncomfortable. I was gangbusters with the ladies, but only up to a point. I didn't know when to quit with the jokes and get serious and show another side of myself, or simply wasn't able to. My comedian persona was my shield; it attracted women, but also kept them at arm's length Occasionally, a girl would show real interest, but by that point, I was so convinced it would never happen, I completely missed it when it did. One time, a girl I was friendly with walked up before history class and asked, point-blank, if I had a girlfriend. I must've gaped at her, because she added, "I'm taking a survey." She wasn't holding a clipboard or a notepad, and didn't write anything down when I told her I was indeed unattached. "Sorry to disappoint you," I said. She grinned. "Oh, I'm real disappointed," she said. Golden opportunity. And I didn't do a goddamn thing about it. Somehow, I got roped into being the statistician for the girls' basketball team. The coach, Mr. Steffens, was a neighbor and a friend of my uncle's, so he knew me, and I think, wanted to help me. But I didn't give a shit about basketball, and none of the players really interested me in a sexual or romantic way. By that time, I had already just about given up on my own generation, and turned my attention to older women. My sisters' college friends, my mom's friends, a neighbor lady or two, and teachers. I could be comfortable around them, found it easier to talk to them, and could lust after them, safe in the knowledge that nothing would ever come of it. I had my favorites. There was Stephanie, my sister's busty blonde roommate from Tennessee. There was a hot but somewhat trashy redhead named Debbie down the street. There was Serena, the flirty brunette who trimmed my hair, and there was Ginger, my six-foot-tall dental hygienist. There was my big-titted Spanish teacher, Diane Burkhart, who got animated and talked with her hands a lot, causing a rather well-known jiggling phenomenon. But my favorite fantasy woman was Rita Distefano. Ah, Rita! She was my mom's friend, who had moved back into our area after her divorce, when I was a freshman. She was in her early 40's, and very attractive in a classy, low-key way. She stood an even five feet tall, with a trim figure and thick, curly black hair and big, dark eyes. Her nature was gentle, and she spoke in a soft, low-pitched voice, but I found I was often able to get her laughing long and loud, flashing big smiles, eyes sparkling. And she was an English teacher by trade (at another school), so we could talk about books. When I was having some trouble with trigonometry as a junior, notes coming in the mail saying I was in danger of failing, Rita offered to tutor me. I managed an A, just barely, because Rita was a great tutor, and because I very much wanted to please her. When I showed her my report card at the end of the year ("Feast yer big brown eyes on this!" I crowed), she got the biggest smile, put her arms around me, gave me a squeeze and a kiss on the neck (all she could reach, because I was too surprised to bend down). "I'm so proud of you," she murmured, and kissed me again. To say my blood was roaring after that little episode would be a gross understatement. And I figured Rita would probably find it pretty gross indeed if she knew, but even without the physical contact, she had become the star attraction in my sexual fantasies. For one thing, she was divorced, which made my fantasies more believable, made her seem somewhat more attainable than the married women I liked to entertain myself with. She and my mom were tight enough that I knew when she had the occasional boyfriend. Sometimes, of a Saturday night, I would wonder, is Rita having sex right now? What position? Is she climaxing this very minute? Is some guy coming inside my Rita--squirt, squirt, squirt!--right this second? I tried to picture it, some teacher or lawyer or accountant humping away on top of Rita's small body. Or maybe she would be on top, perched on his hips, riding a large cock. I wondered if I might somehow be able to watch. That was the absolute best I could hope for, I figured. But of course, what I really wanted was to be the lucky man myself. Then, after I'd finished masturbating, I'd sometimes give myself a vigorous noogie. "What the fuck are you doing, Kevin?" I'd ask myself. "You're nuts, pathetic, a moron, to be thinking like this! Pull your head out of your ass before you turn into a stalker or do something else to humiliate yourself. And DON'T, for Chrissake, say anything to Rita about it." And I'd be fine for a few days, get my rocks off thinking about Stephanie or Debbie or Serena or Ginger or Mrs. B. Sometimes, I'd think about Lisa Layton or Holly Porter, girls from school. But then, some afternoon, Rita would stop by to visit my mom, and I would find myself wandering out to the kitchen to say hi. Rita always seemed happy to see me, and would ask how school was going, what colleges I was applying for, and we'd talk about what books we were reading, what music we were listening to, and then she'd be right back in my fantasies. A couple times, Mom had to run off to a doctor's appointment or to get her hair done, and Rita made like she was leaving too, but ended up staying around and talking with me. It was the damnedest thing. So easy, so comfortable. When I got into conversations with girls at school, or on the back of the bus going to a basketball game, when I had run out of zingers and we'd start to actually TALK, I would get so nervous that I would tremble visibly. More than one girl asked if I was cold. How embarrassing! None of that with Rita. We talked about anything and everything, and the part that amazed me, even more than my own composure, was that Rita seemed to enjoy our talks as much as I did. I didn't get any more hugs, but sometimes, as she was getting ready to leave, I thought she might have wanted to. She usually settled for a pat on the shoulder. I never told her that I was lonely, but I think she could tell. As my senior year went by, it was beginning to seem like Rita was just as much my friend as she was my mom's. And I was coming out of my shell and flirting a little bit with her. She seemed flattered, would give me her big smile, squeeze my hand and say, "You're sweet ..." and sometimes hang on a little longer than normal. Her touch inflamed me. One day, I recounted a squabble Mom and I had gotten into earlier about my hair. She wanted me to cut it short, thought it was a phase I should have "outgrown" by now. I thought my long hair had become a part of me. Rita was in my corner; her attitudes were a bit more liberal than my mom's. "Maybe someday you'll decide it's time to cut it on your own," she said. "You'll know when the time is right. Besides," she said, reaching out and lightly stroking my hair, "it's beautiful." I blushed. "Well, it's me," was all I could think to say. Her fingers kept moving through my hair. "It sure is," she said. Touch me, please, touch me, I begged silently. But she took her hand back, and we went on as normal. A couple weeks later, I got up my nerve to try steering the conversation in a more sexual direction. We were talking about books again, just me and Rita in my living room, my mom off having her roots done (at 42, she'd been coloring her hair for several years). I mentioned I had been reading Stephen King's "The Stand," which got Rita going about what a classic it was. When she started to wind down, I said, "I'm about halfway through, but I got sidetracked last weekend. Found this book in Rachel's room," referring to my sister, who was away at college. I snickered to myself, using the extra two seconds to ready myself before taking the plunge. "Jackie Collins," I said. Rita looked startled for a second, and then a small, mischievous grin curled her lips. "I bet you DID get sidetracked," she said. I tried to grin back in a way I thought was sheepish, and not creepy and pervy. "Yeah," I said. "Purely for literary research purposes." Now Rita laughed. "You liar," she said, swatting my shoulder with evident fondness. "You just wanted to read the dirty parts." Which was of course true. The incident in question had actually occurred the previous summer, and not just days ago, like I was making out, but I had decided to alter a few small facts for my present needs. "No, really," I protested. "I was studying it in a scholarly way." "Really," Rita said skeptically. I crossed my heart, making her laugh again. "And what literary conclusions did you come to?" she asked. Was there an extra emphasis on the word "come?" "Uh," I said, and paused. Shit, now what? I hadn't thought this thing out very well. Then I blurted, "I think she writes sex scenes like a dude." I had no idea where this came from, it just popped into my head. But after I said it, I realized it was true. "People are always screaming and flailing around and knocking lamps off the bedside table," I went on, warming to my subject. "It just seems so overblown and unrealistic." Rita considered, and admitted that I had a point. "But," she said, "I guess it depends on how excited you get, how turned on you are." All right, I thought, now we're cookin' with gas! liquid propane, maybe, or lighter fluid. She could just as easily said something about the role of fantasy in fiction. "And then," I said, not sure I dared share one of my more favorite passages, "there's this part where the woman's on top, and it describes her 'riding him furiously, her breasts bobbing wildly.'" I made exaggerated juggling motions with my hands on front of my chest. I grinned, probably a bit maniacally, but inside, I felt like I was walking a tightrope, about to take a nosedive any second. One false step, and by the time I knew it, it would be too late. Rita burst out laughing, but then sobered and said, "Well, again, it depends. She could be pretty ... energetic." She seemed to be searching for the right words. "You know, when you're ... near the end ... things can get prewtty ... wild." She laughed again. "They wouldn't even have to be that big," she said. "The boobs, I mean." I thought I caught her glancing down at her own chest. Oh my God! Did that ever put an image in my mind: Rita on top of me, nearing orgasm, with her mouth open in some sound of ecstasy and her bare breasts bouncing. I suddenly felt I needed to lighten the mood. This was getting deeper than I'd expected, and I began to flounder toward shore. Some comic relief should do it. "And then there's one part, where she's doing this young English guy, and right when he, uh ..." Shit! Back in the deep water again. "When he's about to, you know, climax ..." Whew! Was that so tough? "He yells out ..." I put on a thick British accent. "Gorblimey! Oy'm comin' so fahst it's loik a bleedin' express train runnin' through me cock!" Oh my God! I just said "cock" in front of Rita! I was so busy doing the accent, I'd forgotten what I was actually saying. Now I'd blown it for sure! Rita threw back her head and laughed. "Oh my God!" she cried. "You are hilarious!" She laughed some more. "And you're right," she said when she'd calmed down again, "that is horrible dialogue. Just awful!" "I know it," I said. "I sure wouldn't be able to string that many words together at that moment, without a bunch of them being your name, or just 'Oh!'." Your name? Not "the girl's name," or "the name of the woman I'm with," but "your name?" Nice going, Kevin, you just can't find your way out of this one. But Rita was still chuckling and maybe missed it. Or maybe not. Somehow, the conversation found its way to safer territory. After a few more minutes, Rita grabbed my hand, in order to look at my watch. But I noticed her fingers wrapping around mine quite securely. "Oh, it's almost six o'clock!" she said. "Your mom'll be home any time now. If I'm still here, she'll think we were doing something naughty while she was gone." She winked and squeezed my hand, but didn't make a move to get up. "But we were discussing literature," I said, squeezing back, not wanting to let go, imagiing that same hand roaming my body. "We sure were, honey," she said, smiling at me, giving my hand another squeeze. "We sure were." This time she did stand up, pulling me with her. We walked to the door, still holding hands. Finally, she had to let go to put on her coat. "Keep reading that scholarly literature," she said, still smiling. She turned her shoulders to the left, then to the right, then left again, then right. Was she just getting her coat situated, or was she ... actually ... giving me a little boob-shake? With the coat, it was impossible to tell. I'm sure my own intentions were more obvious, as just the thought of her possibly jiggling her tits at me was causing some stirring in my jeans. But she was patting me on the arm and telling me bye, see you soon. As I rushed off to the bathroom to take care of some urgent business, I hoped it would be very soon indeed. Experience Ch. 01 Smirking down at her, he used her hair to clean off his cock and strode back to his desk, kicking his pants off from around his ankles as he went and barking that Tegan should follow him quickly, or else. To be continued... Experience Ch. 02 Chapter Two By the time I came back out of the bathroom, a few million sperm spinning toward the water-treatment plant behind me, I had already begun to feel embarrassed. The high was wearing off. I had just engaged Rita Distefano, my 40-something crush, in a highly-charged discussion about sex scenes in books. At the time, it had seemed to go famously, better than I might've hoped. But now that I'd shot my load, alone in the bathroom, I began to take a different view. The image that had been burning up my brain when I closed the door--Rita riding me like a mechanical bull--was now replaced with one of her driving away, laughing pityingly at poor Kevin and his thinly-disguised attempt to get his rocks off by getting her into a conversation about "breasts bobbing wildly." It was pathetic, really. Borderline harassment. Maybe I didn't know her so well after all. It was insane, what I'd done. What I needed to do was quit fixating on a woman who was a year and a half older than my own mother, get my head on straight. Just because she talked to me, didn't mean she wanted to take me to bed. I would be deluding myself to think otherwise. Why would a grown woman with a career and a life of her own want to go messing around with some 18-year-old, long-haired misfit? No reason, none at all. And so, in a state of embarrassed, post-orgasmic gloom, I trudged off to my room. Over the next few days, I anticipated Rita's next appearance with a mixtuure of dread and, in spite of myself, eagerness. Hope burns eternal, after all, and so did my hormones. I couldn't forget the way she'd laughed, the feeling of herb hand in mine, the way she didn't let go until she absolutely had to, and the little wriggle of her shoulders. The devil on my other shoulder had woken up and begun to yell back at the angel on the other side. "You know, when you're ... near the end ... things can get pretty ... wild." Just how wild, Rita? How wild do things get for you? So it was with mixed feelings, early the next week, that I heard the doorbell ring at 4:30 in the afternoon. I was in my room, reading the latest issue of Metal Maniacs, thinking how the Korn and Marilyn Manson fans who constituted the headbanger crowd at school would surely shit their pants at some of this stuff coming out of Europe ... then I heard Rita's voice out in the living room, and my mom laughing. I put down my magazine. Go out there. You can't go out there. Go OUT there, dammit! I was used to waiting in my room for a little while. I never wanted to go bounding out there like a neglected puppy, begging for a pat on the head. I'd let fifteen or twenty minutes go by before wandering out there. But today, it was torture. Don't go out there, you blew it. You have to go out there. You laid the foundation last time. Finally, I got disgusted with myself. You're acting like a chump, Kevin, a blue-ribbon chump! She's in her 40's, and you're acting like she sits behind you in chemistry class. Go out there and act like a normal human being. If you need an escape, just say you need to take Dennis his homemwork assignment, because you do. So I moseyed on out to the kitchen, where the ladies were having a cup of coffee. I headed for the cookie jar, pretending not to notice them. "What're you doing up there, mister!" Mom said, mock-stern. I turned around, half a cookie already in my mouth. "Who, me?" I said, through a mouthful. Rita broke into a smile as soon as our eyes met. "Well, it's the great literary scholar," she said, and winked at me. I couldn't hold back a grin, my lips tight to keep from displaying semi-chewed cookie. I hoped she wasn't making fun of me, but sensed that all was well. We shot the shit for a few minutes, and then I casually fetched my jacket. "I gotta go take the homework assignment over to Dennis Jarecki's house," I said. Dennis Jarecki was this sort-of friend of mine. He was a computer genius and science whiz, but also a lazy pothead. Our conversations tended to be bizarre and convoluted, but somehow, we always seemed to be thrust together. Dennis had bronchitis this week, wouldn't be in until at least Thursday. It couldn't have come at a worse time for him, because he was in the middle of one of his periodic mad scrambles, trying to get his shit together academically before the end of the end of the third marking period. I grabbed the folder with the day's homework and headed for the door. Rita pushed back her bchair. "I gotta go, Janet," she said, putting on her own coat. "Gotta pick the boys up at my mom's. Wait up, Kevin!" I hung near the door while Rita and my mom said their goodbyes. As we walked toward our respective cars, all I could think to say was, "Cold out, isn't it?" Nice opener, Mr. Smooth! "How's The Stand coming?" she asked. "It scared the living shit out of me last night," I said, truthfully. "It's awesome!" "You know," she said thoughtfully, "they made a mini-series out of it a few years ago. I taped it when it came on. Would you like to see it sometime?" "Sure," I said, even though I couldn't see how a mini-series could possibly measure up to the book. "Tell you what," Rita said, her hand on my arm. "Why don't you drop by this weekend. I'll see if I can find those tapes, and we can watch them together." Oh, wow! "You sure you don't mind?" I asked. "Not at all," she said. "Matt and Danny go with their dad this weekend, and I've got nothing to do. I could use the company." Was this exactly what it seemed, a friendly invitation to watch a shitty TV adaptation of a great book? Or was there more to this? Was her hand moving slightly, stroking my arm just a little bit? GO FOR IT! screamed the devil on my shoulder. The angel was silent. "Well, if you're sure you can stand me for the evening," I said, reverting to my usual armor of self-deprecation. Again, that smile. "Oh, I think I can tough it out," she said, squeezing my arm. "Why don't you come by after dinner? I'll even make you popcorn if you want." "Say no more!" I boomed, perhaps a little too loudly. "I'm there!" I turned it over and over in my mind, all the way to Dennis's and back, and over the next few days. What did it mean? Was it just my overactive imagination? Whatever it was, I was determined not to miss it. I was going to Rita's on Saturday evening, with a full tank and all sails set. To make sure I was ready for whatever was in store, it somehow came into my head to avoid masturbating beyond Wednesday night. And so, the fateful evening arrived. Just after 7:30, I was cruising through Rita's neighborhood, a nice subdivision populated by teachers, low-ranking lawyers, the odd corporate assistant vice-president or two. The radio in my crappy little Dodge was on the classic rock station, which just then happened to be playing Boston's "Let Me Take You Homme Tonight." I took that as a good sign. I had told Mom I was going riding around with Dennis. I wasn't sure why I had lied, since Rita was her friend too, and going over to watch The Stand seemed perfectly innocent. But somehow, since Rita had invited me outside of Mom's hearing, and since she didn't appear to know about it, I decided to err on the side of discretion. Anyway, Dennis and I did some hanging out occasionally, so it wasn't like I COULDN'T be doing that now. Instead, I was taking the curving driveway all the way to the end, behind the house. I was walking back around to the front of the house, climbing the front steps, and ringing the doorbell. I was freshly showered, full of food that wouldn't give me gas (or worse, the runs), primed and ready for action, if indeed action was called for. Rita answered the door, wearing jeans and a thin, green sweater. "Hi, Kevin!" she almost sang, extending a hand, hooking my sleeve, tugging me into the house. She slipped an arm around me and ushered me into the living room. She pointed me to the couch, and then went fussing around the room, picking up random objects that didn't seem to be out of place to begin with, while engaging me in small talk. Is she nervous, too? Finally, she came and plopped down next to me on the couch. "I have to tell you," she said apologetically, "I never could find those tapes. I've looked everywhere. I'm sorry." I had almost forgotten what I was supposed to be there for. "Oh, that's okay," I said. "It probably wouldn't have lived up to the book anyway." Rita nodded, and agreed that this was usually the case. We tossed around a few examples. "I'm glad you're here all the same," she said. "Me, too," I said, feeling myself blushing. She got up to get herself a glass of wine, offered me one. I passed, afraid I wouldn't like it, and wanting to keep a clear head. When she came back, she seemed to sit a little closer than she had before. "You know," she said, sipping her wine, "I don't get out as much as you might think. We teachers have as much homework as you guys do, you know. And I've got the boys." Her sons were about ten and eight, I guessed, still young enough to need their mom to take them places and help them do stuff. "I don't have the time, but also," she continued, staring into her glass, swirling the wine absently, "I don't have the patience to go out and try to meet ... men. There was a time, when I was divorced. I guess you could say I went a little bit man-crazy. Not anymore. I just don't want the aggravation of it." I wasn't sure what to say. As friendly as I had become with her, and as well as I thought I got on with older women, I wasn't used to them confiding in me like this. So I fell back on humor. "But a woman has needs," I said, with a crooked grin. I immediately regretted it. It sounded like I was making fun of her. "Yes, she does," she said. "And I've found I really enjoy your company." She paused, then playfully swatted my knee. "You smartass!" I chortled, relieved she hadn't taken it the wrong way. She continued more seriously, laying her hand on mine. "I look forward to our talks, I think of you as a friend. And lately ..." she trailed off. I remembered to breathe. I smiled encouragingly at her. Go on, go on! "Maybe I shouldn't ..." she said. She took a deep breath, squeezed my hand. "I guess I should just say it," she said, and looked straight at me. "I want you to be my lover." There was silence for a couple seconds. I couldn't hardly believe it, waiting for the lights to flash on and somebody to yell, "Surprise, asshole!" Rita went on, her words coming in a rush. "You don't have to do anything. I'll understand. I should never have ... you probably think ..." She started to pull her hand back, but I held on. "I want to," I interrupted. She looked at me, torn. "Maybe you should think about it," she said, uncertainly. "I have thought about it," I said. "I've thought about it ever since you moved back. I'm comfortable with you. I can talk to you. You're my friend as much as my mom's friend. I always hope she has to go somewhere when you stop by, so I can have you to myself for a while. And I think you're beautiful." This was NOT the way I normally talked. But I had to convince her, keep her from changing her mind. "Well," she said, gulping down the last of her wine. "I appreciate that, Kevin. You don't know how much. And it makes me so happy you feel the same way I do." She brushed some of her curly hair away from her face with her free hand, still clutching my hand with the other one. "But we've got to have an understanding." I had been expecting something like this. "I won't tell a soul," I said. "It's not so much that," she said. "We're not doing anything wrong. You're eighteen, and I'm not your teacher, and never have been. We both want this, and we're not breaking any laws. But ... there's a need for ..." she paused. "Discretion?" I asked. It had been the word on my mind when I'd told Mom I was going cruising with Dennis Jarecki. "Yes, discretion." She squeezed my hand, now winding her fingers through mine. It was more than a friendly hand-holding, and it was starting to turn me on. I hoped this conversation could wrap up soon. "Discretion," she repeated. "Nobody needs to know about what we have." "It'd cause an uproar," I said. "Complicate things unnecessarily." Another squeeze. "Exactly!" she said. "I don't want you to feel like what we're doing is wrong, but you know how it is, especially in a small town, and having the job that I have." "I understand completely," I said. There had been a rash of teacher/student sex scandals at area high schools recently, and this was in the days when Mary Kay LeTorneau was still a frequent punchline on late-night TV. A sensitive issue, in other words. "I know you would, sweetie," Rita said. She gazed at me for a moment. "Sweetie, are you sure this is what you want?" she asked softly, almost pleadingly. Oh God, stop asking this! How can I convince you? I slipped my free arm around her. "Rita," I said, "I've been waiting for this, I don't know how long." She continued her intense gaze a few seconds more. Finally and abruptly, she stood up, pulling me with her. "Let's go," she said. Halfway down the hall, still holding hands, it almost seemed like she was skipping. Then we were practically running into her bedroom, Rita closing the door behind us. Then she turned to me. "Get over here," she said fiercely, wrapping both arms around me and holding me tightly. I gave as good as I got. Somehow, despite the nearly twelve-inch difference in height, she turned her face up to me and our lips met. Hers were soft and warm, and when, after about half a minute, they parted and I felt her tongue flicker against my lips, I felt a thrill shoot through my loins. It wasn't my first kiss, but it wasn't too far removed. Still, I didn't have my usual sense of not knowing what the hell I was doing. I swirled my tongue around hers, lightly tapped her lips with my tongue until she let me in. We finally had to come up for air, and Rita broke away. "Hot in here," she panted, already pulling off her sweater. The bra underneath was black lace, as were the panties when she lowered her jeans. I was so busy watching her undress, I was startled when she wagged a finger at me. "You too," she said. "You have to do this, too, you know." I immediately began shucking out of my clothes. She folded hers over a chair, neatly, while I let mine fall where they might. At last, we faced each other in the soft, golden light cast by her bedside lamp. I was finally getting to see Rita naked. She was five feet tall, trim but not skinny (maybe 115? what did I know about judging women's weight?), everything nicely proportioned. Her curly black hair came just below her shoulders, and the rest of her was all olive skin. Her breasts were round and fairly firm, a 34B I guessed (correctly, I later discovered), and she had beautiful, wide, light-brown nipples that seemed to stare at me invitingly. Her stomach was slightly rounded, her hips pleasingly full, and as she pirouetted for me, I saw she had a nice, neat butt. Her legs, well, what could you say, she was five feet tall, but still, they were toned and smooth-looking. And--I hardly dared look at it too long--she had a neat, black landing strip down the middle of the mound between her thighs. And there I stood, 125 pounds spread over almost six feet of me, my thick blond hair reaching the middle of my back, my face--well, I'd always been told I was good-looking, but what did I know? Obviously, I was naturally very skinny, but had a bit of muscle from my occasional, brief flirtations with weight-lifting. As for my own equipment, I had read in one of the Cosmopolitan magazines I swiped from my sisters that most men fell somewhere between five and seven inches in length, and from four and a half to five and a half inches in girth. One day deciding to lay the matter to rest, I had discovered that, when fully erect, I was smack in the middle on both counts. Rita and I stared at each other's nakedness for a few seconds, and then both grinned and laughed nervously. "Wow," she said, "what a hunk." "You're beautiful," I said. I bet we both thought the other was just being nice, but it didn't matter. She stepped toward me and held out her hand. "Come here, baby," she murmured. We were on her bed then, on our sides, kissing feverishly, our hands roaming each other's bodies. I stroked her thighs, her bottom, her back, her sides, her belly, skirting around her boobs, although I couldn't stop glancing down at those nipples. She rubbed my chest, ran her hands over my thighs, lightly patted my ass, and then began stroking my stomach, working her way down. We were locking lips the whole while. My fingers found one of her nipples. Her body trembled, mine too. It felt large; not unrealistic "big as a half-dollar, sticking out a full inch" crap I'd heard guys say, but large all the same. I playfully gave a gentle pinch. Rita gasped, and her hand skipped the last couple inches of my lower belly, her fingers wrapping around my cock. Which was fully erect, throbbing almost painfully. "Oh, Rita," I moaned. "Mmmm-hmmmm," she murmured and began to stroke, very slowly, her hand soft and warm on my shaft.. I was just starting to explore the moist folds of skin buried in that landing strip, when she pulled her bface away from mine. "Baby," she said, short of breath, "you're really hard, I think we better get to it." Here it was, the main event. Rita rolled onto her back, and I crouched above her, her hand guiding my cock toward her, its tip already glistening with liquid. It was finally happening. I just didn't realize it was going to happen quite so soon. As the tip of my cock neared its destination, my head spun and I felt my body flush. "Rita!" I gasped. "Oh God! Oh ..." I was so pent-up after three days of abstinence, that I didn't even feel myself spurt. Instead, my cock simply began gushing. "Oh!" Rita said sharply, as I came. "Oh, Kevin!" She sounded surprised, but almost a little excited, too. It was one of those orgasms you have after you don't beat off for a few days, where you come so hard, and then your dick almost immediately starts deflating. "I'm so sorry, Rita," I whispered, out of breath and mortified. I could have kicked myself, if my legs weren't trembling so much. I had come all up her thigh and across her belly, my softening cock still spasming in her fingers, delivering a few last drops. I had blown it. Rita would be disgusted and call the whole thing off. So much for a full tank! "I'm sorry," I whispered again. She put a hand on the back of my neck, brought my face down to hers and kissed me gently. "It's okay, honey," she whispered. I collasped onto my back. Rita fetched a tissue from the bedside table, and mopped up the worst of my cum from herself. Then she reached over and gently wiped off my limp penis, even that a strangely sensual gesture. Then she stood up carefully. "I'll be right back," she said, heading for her bathroom. She closed the door, leaving me to dwell on the sorry details. It had felt so good, but I had just been too excited. It was over. I didn't make the grade. The bathroom door opened after a few minutes, and Rita walked back into the bedroom, still stark naked, her boobs nodding lightly as she moved. She was smiling again. "I'll be right back," she said again, heading for the door to the hall. Over her shoulder, she said, "Promise." This time, she came back with two glasses of wine. "I think you better have one, sweetie," she said, handing it to me. "It'll help you relax." I didn't have the heart to ask if she happened to have a couple Silver Bullets instead. "Sorry about that," I said again, as I sipped. "I'm really sorry." Rita hopped back onto the bed next to me, propped herself up against the headboard. "God, I'm so turned on," she sighed. Experience Ch. 02 "Really?" I asked. She had to be having fun with me, or humoring me at best. "Yes!" she said, emphatically. "A woman likes to feel desired, like her man can't resist her. And anyway ..." she hesitated. "I like that stuff. I like to watch it come out." This was news to me. I had always figured women thought semen was disgusting and degrading. I had seen my share of porn movies, but was smart enough to realize that they bore little resemblance to real life. "And the best part?" Rita said, setting her glass on the nightstand. She rolled toward me and put her hands on my thighs, laid her head on my chest and smiled up at me. "This time, you'll be able to last a lot longer." The wine was having its effect. I wasn't a big drinker in those days, and being skinny, one glass of red was enough to get a pleasant warmth flowing through my body. The alcohol was aided and abetted by the sight of a naked Rita next to me, and the feel of her kissing my chest and running hands over my thighs. Every so often, her fingers would get near my crotch, and I could feel myself waking up down there. Rita raised herself up on one hand, leaning down to kiss me on the mouth. I tasted the wine on her lips. "Feeling better?" she asked teasingly. She fluttered her fingertips lightly against my balls and the base of my shaft. I caught my breath. "Oh yeah," I whispered, my hips flexing involuntarily. "Aha!" she said, and tickled me there again, then let her fingers crawl up the underside of my cock. I kissed her more forcefully, and she said, "I think you are!" She repeated the move, this time finishing with a quick little tickle on my tip, making me gasp. "You like that?" she asked playfully, tickling it again. I reached up and cupped her dangling left breast in my hand. I could feel her nipple, half-erect and growing against my palm, as I ran my fingers over her smooth flesh. When I reached the slightly wrinkly skin of her areola (nowhere near as big as a saucer, if you're keeping score at home), I gave up the subtle approach and went for her nipple. As I teased and tweaked, Rita's breath began to come shorter. She had my cock in a loose fist now, stroking strongly. "That feels good," I mumbled, kissing my way down her neck to the tops of her breasts. My hands had moved down to caress her butt. As my mouth closed around her nipple, I thought, holy shit, I'm sucking on Rita's tits! I made some happy mmm-mmm sounds as I sucked, feeling her hips begin shifting against me, flicking her nipple with my tongue. She reached down with her free hand and caught my wrist, drawing it between her thighs. I had almost forgotten, but with her gentle reminder, I began stroking her mound, exploring the petals of her sex with my fingers. Her whole body quivered slightly when I located her clit and began massaging it. "Am I doing okay?" I asked, raising my head from her boobs. She brushed some hair out of my face. "You're doing great," she said firmly. "You can use a little more pressure if you want, you won't hurt me." I did, working my finger in a small circle over her clit. Her hips were moving almost in sync. "What about me," she asked. "How'm I doing?" She was using long strokes, going all the way to the base, then letting her fingers come up over the head of my cock, not just stopping at the ridge like I did when I masturbated. "I love it," I said, "and I love these, too." I latched on to her other nipple. I couldn't tell if she laughed or gasped. I could feel her getting wetter. Then she touched my cheek. "Not so hard," she said. I immediately let go, embarrassed. "Sorry," I muttered, "I got a little carried away." She put her hand on the back of my head, brought my mouth back to her bbreast. "They love the attention, but be gentle." I did my best, spinning my tongue around her nipple, only sucking lightly. But it wasn't very long before her body trembled again, a small moan coming from her, and she rolled away from me, onto her back. "Come on!" she panted, but I was already between her spread legs. She pressed the head of my cock against her swollen lips, rubbing it around in her juices a bit, and then I began to push against her. "Oh, Rita," I gasped, as the head popped into her. "Keep going," she grunted, her eyes half closed, still holding my shaft in her hand. I kept going. Push, pause, push, pause, as my cock disappeared into her, an inch at a time. When I was all the way in except for the last inch, she took her hand away, put them both on my back, and hooked her legs around my hips. One last push, and there I was, balanced on my hands, my cock pulsing, buried inside her. "Go slow," she whispered, and began to rock her hips. I followed her lead, thrusting slowly, taking my cues from the pressure of her legs around me. I was caught up in the movements and sensations. The smell of her hair and skin, the sight of her spread out on the bed beneath me, the sounds of our heavy breathing and her bedsprings creaking slightly with our rhythm, the reality of her body against mine. I could feel her hands on my back, her heels against my ass, the firmness of her tits and the dampness of her nipples against my chest. But most of all, it was the feeling of my cock, which felt impossibly hard, sliding in and out of her twat, which seemed delightfully wet and slippery now that I was inside. My own greased-up hand? Hot, wet washcloth? Apple pie? Hell no, nothing compared to the feeling. Not that I ever actually fucked a pie. Rita began to moan softly, deep in her throat, and I quickened the pace a little. She didn't stop me. The room seemed to fill with a gauzy, pink haze, and I had stopped thinking rationally, just moving with her. "Just like that, baby," she murmured, "just like that." Soon I was moaning with her, through closed lips. The pace was steadily picking up, our breathing getting faster. Then, after several minutes, Rita began to buck against me, her thighs tightening around my waist. Her lips parted, turning her mmmm's into oh!'s. I pumped harder, matching her. "Oh, Rita!" I gasped. "Oh, Rita!" "Don't stop, honey, don't stop!" she suddenly called out, bucking harder beneath me. I felt that delicious, tickly sensation in my balls, felt myself getting close, and called out, "Oh, God, Rita, I can't stop, I'm gonna come!" even as my ears filled with her rising moan. She was squeezing me with her hands, her thighs, and of course her vagina. I pumped full-speed, yelling out, "I'm coming! Ritaaaaa--OH!" Her name turned into an emphatic grunt as I exploded inside her, my cock spurting wildly, her pussy contracting around me. She sounded like she was either laughing or sobbing, or both. Then I was collapsed on top of her, our hips still moving reflexively, my cock still stroking into her, but much more gently. Our lips locked in a long, intense kiss. I broke free, as we coasted to a stop. I felt like I was in shock. I seemed to be looking down on the two of us tangled up on the bed. My mind reeled. Total sensory overload, my circuits jammed, just beginning to come back online. I had just had sex! With Rita! I had just come inside of Rita! Rita's vagina was full of my sperm! All that pumping and moaning and squeezing and squirting? That was me! And Rita! All those Saturday nights imagining what she was doing, and now WE had done it! Rita was rubbing my back, crooning softly to me. "That was amazing," she whispered. "YOU are amazing." "So are you, Rita," I whispered back. I nuzzled my face in her hair. She stretched her legs out, causing my penis--it was now back to being a penis again--to slip free. "Wow!" I sighed, finally catching my breath. I rolled onto my side, but she didn't let go of me entirely. "That was amazing," she said again. Then, "Kevin? Be honest with me, okay? Was that your first time?" What was the right answer here? "Well," I said, "technically, yeah." "Are you serious?" she said. "I never went all the way before tonight," I confessed. "That'vs what I thought at first," she said. "You seemed a little timid at first. But then I wasn't so sure." She winked, then asked, . "How far?" "Well ... I've had a blow job once." It wasn't my favorite memory. It had been the previous summer, when I'd been a counselor at a camp for disabled kids in the Poconos. It had been with another counselor, named Beth. The night after the campers had gone home, and we'd all stayed to clean up. A bunch of us had gotten high on some lousy weed somebody'd brought. I wasn't especially attracted to Beth, who was going for the vampire look, a bad case of preacher's-kid disease, always trying to prove what a bad girl she was. I was stoned enough to let her. It wasn't especially enjoyable, and I had decided it didn't really count. "Awww," Rita said when I told her the story. She patted my ass. "You weren't attracted to her, but you know what I think? I think you didn't enjoy it because you didn't feel a connection with her. She wasn't somebody you cared about." "Maybe so," I said. "That's something a lot of people don't learn until they're much older," she said. "It shows you've got character." She gave me a big, smacking kiss. "And now I've got to use the bathroom," she said, hopping up. She wobbled a little, her legs still a bit unsteady. "Don't you go anywhere," she said, before she closed the door. I lay back against the pillows, still not quite able to believe what just happened. Even driving over here, hoping for the best, it had seemed, realistically, slightly beyond impossible that I would ever get to have sex with Rita. And now, here I was, lying in her bed, freshly laid and already starting to want her again. The bathroom door opened, and Rita emerged once again, gloriously naked and smiling. "How're you doing?" she sang, coming over and putting a hand on my shoulder. "I'm floating," I said. She laughed and gave me a kiss. "You're sweet." Suddenly, I thought of something. Something important, something that sent a brief but very sharp bolt of panic through me. "Rita," I said, clutching her hand, "was I supposed to have used a condom back there? It's a little late now, I know, but I wasn't exactly thinking with my big head." She laughed and put her arm around me. "If you had needed to use one, I would have let you know, hon," she said. "I know you didn't come over here expecting this to happen, so I wouldn't have expected you to come prepared." "Are you sure?" I asked, still a bit worried. She stroked my hair. "I had my tubes tied after Danny was born," she said. "I'm ready for everything you can throw at me." As somebody who'd gotten an A in health class, I shouldn't have been so easily convinced. But this was already more than I cared to discuss such a buzz-kill topic. She summed up for me. "I trust you," she said, "and I want you to trust me." "Oh, I do," I said, giving her a big squeeze. "But right now, I gotta pee." When I came out of the bathroom, she was still sitting where I'd left her. She motioned me over and put her arms around me again. "Do you think you're up to another round?" she asked between kisses. "I know I am," I said, "or I will be soon." She stroked my thigh. "I think between the two of us, we should be able to make that happen." We kissed some more. Then I thought of something else. "Rita," I said, "remember last week, when we got talking about Jackie Collins?" "I sure do," she said, knowingly. "When you were putting your coat on to leave ... did you shake your boobs at me?" She looked blank for a minute, then that mischievous smile touched her face. "Hmmmm," she said, pretending to think about it. "Maybe I did." She shimmied her shoulders, making her breasts jiggle from side to side. "Oh, there you go," I said appreciatively. They weren't big, but they fit her perfectly, and they sure were cute, with those big, brown nipples. She saw my expression, and did it again, laughing. "You really like those, don't you?" she teased. "I really do," I said. "Somebody else does, too." I was starting to get hard again. She laughed and reached out with one finger. "I see you," she cooed, lightly tapping my cock. She shook her tits again, slower this time, and my cock sprang to attention. "Boinnnng!" I said. We fell back on the bed together, laughing, our hands everywhere, mouths working against each other, tongues dancing. Since I'd just been outed as a boob-lover, I was all over her tits. "Mmmm, Rita," I murmured, "I love these nipples." I couldn't keep my fingers off them. "Mmm, and they like you," she said. I slid down and took one into my mouth again, remembering to be gentle. She stroked my hair with one hand, and my cock with the other. A couple minutes later, she was on her back, with me next to her. I was reaching across with my opposite hand, resting my wrist on her crotch, my middle finger sliding between her lips. I found her clit and began working it again as I had before, only this time I was in a better position. Around and around and around my finger went, and Rita moved her hips against me, pressing herself into my hand. I went clockwise, and then switched to counterclockwise, just to throw her off. "Ooooh, that's good," she moaned, so I kept it up. I experimented with different amounts of pressure and where I applied it, listening to her sharp gasps and little moans, feeling her getting wetter, her juices covering my fingers. "Baby, keep doing that," she mumbled, her eyes closed. I worked my finger faster, feeling her body quiver next to me. "Please, I'm almost there!" she gasped. I bore down relentlessly, and she shivered harder. "Yyyyeeeessss!" she moaned through clenched teeth, and then broke into a flurry of rapid panting. Her hips squirming on the bed, nectar leaking from her. "Oh my God!" she said, finally. She reached down and pushed my hand away. "Oh my God!" she said again, catching her breath. "You," she said, "have a gift." I was a little surprised myself. I dimly recalled hearing or reading something about using a circular motion, but tonight, I just did what felt right, and took my cues from her. I told her as much. "Well," she said, rolling against me, giving me a big, wet kiss, "you sure got that figured out in a hurry." My hands closed over her butt and I drew her to me, but she gently pushed me onto my back. "And now, it's time for you to have a little treat," she said, as she began kissing down my body. My neck, my chest--her tongue gliding over each nipple--down over my stomach. Her hands had been stroking the insides of my thighs, her fingers grazing my balls or the base of my shaft, but now she took my cock in her hand again, just holding it, squeezing lightly as her mouth continued to get nearer. When I felt her breath on me, I said, "Rita, I want to be inside you again." "You will," she promised. "I'll just give you a little bit of this." She began placing light kisses up the underside of my cock, all the way up to the ridge, and then back down. Then she went back up with her lips parted, her tongue swirling. Then she took the head of my cock into her mouth, running her tongue all around it, making me moan. She began to suck lightly, just the head at first, then working her mouth down. She didn't take me all the way into her mouth, but I could've cared less. It felt amazing, much better than the miserable experience with Beth. And Rita made the sexiest sounds as she sucked, little murmurs like it tasted good, and that wet "Ffffop!" when she got to the tip. "You like it?" she asked, that glint in her eye like she knew damn well I did. "Oh, Rita," was all I could say, and then she went down again, going a little faster this time. When she came up for air again, she said, "Are you ready?" "I want a little more of that first," I said, "it feels so good." She smiled. "A little more? Okay ..." And down she went again, seeming to double up on her sexy sounds. When she pulled her mouth off me this time, a drop of semen glistened on her lower lip. She put out her tongue and licked at it. "I think you're ready now," she said. She was right, and I lost no time in climbing on top of her. This time, slick with her saliva as it was, my cock slid more quickly into her pussy, and I began stroking right away. I tried to go slow, but the best I could manage was medium, and Rita seemed to be of a like mind. "You're so hard!" she gasped at one point. "And you're so wet!" I puffed. We'd been rocking along for a couple minutes, sometimes kissing, but mostly watching each other's faces. Then Rita said, "Look down." "Wha--?" I started, and then looked down and saw her boobs wobbling on her chest with our movements, nipples pouting. "Oh, wow!" She laughed. "I ... thought you'd ... like that," she managed. I proved her right by continuing to gaze down at her breasts, and by picking up the pace a bit. "Am I going too fast?" I asked. "No, no! Just like this!" No more talk, just heavy breathing and squeaking springs, and now a soft, squishy sound from where we were joied. Rita began moaning, digging her fingers into my back, without using her nails. I sensed it wouldn't be long for either of us. "Baby," she said urgently, "I'm getting close. Pinch my nipples!" Uh ... how? I was holding myself up on my forearms. I tried to think of a way. "Please," she whimpered, "pinch my nipples!" Somehow, I shifted my weight onto my elbows enough to swing my hands inward. I took each nipple between thumb and forefinger and squeezed lightly. Rita let out a loud moan and heaved against me. I kept doing it, and she yelled out, "I'm coming!" It was the first time I had ever heard Rita raise her voice. Her tone, her nipples between my fingers, the way she was moving, her twat squeezing me as she came ... it was all getting to be too much for me. I began pounding into her, chanting her name with each thrust: "Rita! Rita! Rita! Rita!" Talk about a bleedin' express train runnin' through me cock! I came with a wordless shout of ecstasy, muffling it in her hair as I released inside her. She held me tight and moved with me until I was done. I pulled back and we looked at each other in the sudden silence, and then we burst out laughing. "This is crazy!" she said. "I can't believe it!" I said. Steam wisped out of her cortch, and my cum trickled down her thigh, but she didn't move. We snuggled for a bit, kissing and telling each other how great it had been. She would say, "We've got to get up," but wouldn't make a move to do so. Finally, she looked at the clock. "Sweetie," she said, "it's almost 10:30. I'd love to do this all night long, but you probably better be getting home. Your mom will be expecting you." Right back to reality. It was quietly crushing. But she was right. I half-stood, but didn't want to let go of her. "Please tell me I get to come over and do that again," I said. "Oh, you know you do," she said. "The boys go with their dad every other weekend, and I want you over here. We've got some exploring to do." My cock gave a feeble twitch at the thought, but for real, it was done for the time being. She let me clean up first, saying she was going to get a shower and go to bed after I left. The thought of it made me sad; I wanted to stay. When I came out, she had a robe on, but not tied. "I was going to ask if you had fun tonight," she said as she hugged me, "but I know you did." We kissed. "I hope I wasn't too awful," I said, already feeling myself slide back into my usual pose. "Kevin McFarland, you stop that!" she said with surprising heat, not joking. "I just had the best night I've had in a long time." She softened, kissed me again. "And you know it," she said. "I'm sorry," I said sheepishly. She pinched my butt playfully. "And remember, it's our little secret." She put a finger to her lips. Then, just before I turned away, she held her robe open, giving her boobs another shake for me. "That's to keep you until next time," she said. Experience Ch. 02 But I was starting to come down as I drove away. Having my biggest fantasy come true should've felt great, but now that I was on my way home, I wasn't so sure. No doubt, the sex had been wonderful, and I wanted more. And, as Rita had said, we weren't doing anything wrong. But I still felt a little as if I had misjudged the depth of a swimming pool. A little mixed-up, you could say. And I was also ravenous. I stopped by Wendy's for a burger and a Frosty, using the time to get my head clear and on straight again. I hoped Mom would be in bed when I got home. I was afraid the whole thing would be written on my face. The radio was still on the classic-rock station. They were doing Dee Snider's new House Of Hair show. Up until tonight, this had been the highlight of my week, which now seemed funny and a little pathetic. The song was "Into The Fire" by Dokken: "The flames draw near, they're tellin' me to stay ..." Luckily, Mom was in bed when I came in the house. I tapped lightly on her door. "Kevin?" she called drowsily. "It's me," I said, opening the door a crack. "Did you have a good time?" she asked. What a question! "Ah, you know," I said, "same ol' Dennis." "Well, thanks for checking in," she said. "Good night." I said the same, and headed off to my room, suddenly tired myself. What have you done, Kevin? I thought as I drifted off to sleep.