Four writers for the price of one blog
The First Time • Hard & Fast
An erotica quickie by Redbud
You were still new to me.
I never tire of watching you. When I first meet you, I don’t want to be obvious. I look at your breasts when we think you won’t notice. I imagine lifting, peeling back, or parting the fabric that covers them. I imagine what your nipples must be like. Are they pink or red? How will you react when I pinch them? Will you arch? Will your eyes flutter when I take them in my mouth. Are you sensual? Will you be sensual with me? My cock is hard.
I watch you when you walk.
I want to see your hips, the arch of your back, your legs – everything that is promisingly sexual about you. I imagine you, all of you, as my cocks enters you. What will you look like? How will you smell? What noises will you make as my cock first parts and fills you.
But I always have to hide what we do.
Only my cock gives me away.
But you’re my girlfriend now, and when one’s young and new to sex and relationships, having a girlfriend is, like everything at that age, enlightenment.
I don’t have to hide the way I look at you. I don’t have to pretend that I’m not hard. I don’t have to hide what you do to my body. As you dress for the party, I watch everything you do. I look at your tits as you cover them. As you bend over to put on your high heels, I stand behind you, press the ridge of my cock’s underside against the divide of your ass, and I hold you by your hips. You stand and smile at me, putting on one earing and then another.
I feel free. I feel masculine. You let me reveal my sexual-self, and that acceptance makes me want to with a feverish urgency.
“We don’t have much time,” you say.
“I can’t help it.” I run my hands up your waists and lightly over your breasts as you put on one earring and than the next. Your movements are achingly feminine. It’s too much to believe that there is a woman who wants me to be what I’ve always hidden.
You’re wearing a black tube skirt.
Jesus. The skirt displays your young womanhood like a red flag. I see everything – your hips, your breasts, your ass, your legs. The hem of your skirt hints at the V, the nothing that is everything between your legs, and the pleasure.
A young woman’s short skirt is an allegory.
Her skirt tells us about the beauty of her legs. Her skirt tells us that there is more beauty than her legs. Her skirt is short. Her skirt would like to show us if we were the right man. Her skirt makes a promise and is not like pants. Her skirt tells us that if we are the right man, the skirt will reveal the woman if she opens her legs. Her skirt tells us, if we are the right man, that she is ready to be taken. Her skirt tells us that she desirous.
And then you do something I don’t expect. You squat on the balls of your high heel shoes, knees and thighs together. You take my cock in your hand – I see sparkling fingernails. I smell your perfume. You look up at me, your dark eyebrows arched, your long brunette hair pulled back and tucked over your ears – and you take my cock between your lips.
It’s almost too much.
The beautiful young woman, perfectly dressed, perfectly made up, slender and flawless, with a cock in her mouth. I want to fuck you – hard. Why? I think I know. You embody the carnality beneath civility that all men imagine when they gaze at you.
Your lips move back and forth.
It won’t take long. I will spurt in your mouth; and will you swallow me? Will you carry my cum in your stomach like a secret under the flat waist of your dress? Will the taste of cum be in your mouth as socialize?
You stop. You smile at me mischievously. You stand and give my cock a last stroke.
“It’s time to go,” you murmur and kiss me. I taste myself on your lips.
I force my cock into my pants and tuck my shirt in.
I follow you out of our flat and to the car. Everything you wear, tonight, is an allegory. Your high heel shoes tell me how you will arch when you are taken from behind. They tell me that you are young and flexible and strong. They tell me you are grown up. You are ready for a cock. They tell me how your breasts will heave and strain forward as you are fucked.
I open the door for you.
I don’t always. In fact, I never do. But tonight you are like my possession.
It’s night. We drive. I almost run a red light. It’s begun to rain. The streets are black and give back the city lights in blurry smudges. People walk the sidewalks with their heads down, some with newspapers over their shoulders.
I see couples holding hands. My mind is so addled with desire, for you, that I imagine what these couples will do when they go home and shed their wet clothes. I feel the light weight of your hand and fingers on my thigh.
The rain eases as we arrive.
There aren’t any other cars. I glance at you. You shrug.
We both climb out. The air smells of rain on cooling concrete. Our friend’s porch light is on. I put my hand lightly on your ass as we walk up the sidewalk to the porch. I want to put it on your pussy. We don’t knock. When we step into the house, our friend is on the way out.
“You’re early,” she says.
We didn’t mean to be.
Then she says, “I’ll be right back. I need to get Salsa. All our old stuff was spoiled.”
“Is anybody else here?” I ask.
“No,” she says. “I’ll be back in five. Just make yourself at home.”
She hurries out the door.
You’ve already walked into the dark living room. You’re bending over a crate full of CDs. “Let’s put on some music,” you say. But I’m lost.
My heart is pounding. My face is flushed. You’re bent over, knees together and slightly to the side. I move behind you. I take your hair in one hand and left your skirt to your waist. “Grab the crate!” I say. You gasp with surprise. I don’t give you a choice. I push you forward as I part your legs with my knees. You grab the crate to keep your balance.
You’re my girlfriend.
I want you. Now.
I’m hard as hell. Your skirt is tight around your hips and I yank down your panties. You’re not stopping me. I aim my cock and I’m filling your slender belly fast and hard from behind. You’re wet. No, you’re soaked. My width slides into your belly effortlessly. You moan with the sudden fullness. I’ve lifted your head. One of your hands is behind you, on my hip. The other is on the create. “Fuck!” I say aloud.
You’re crying out with every thrust. I’ve never felt so big or as long. I feel like I’m going to come out of your mouth.
You push yourself upright, but your back is still arched, my cock is still moving frantically in and out of your body. You turn. “Fuck me,” you say. Then you’re kissing me. Lips and teeth meet. Our eagerness is unpracticed. I taste blood, “Owe!” you say, but just as quickly your grunting with the cock inside you. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I savor your high-pitched breath as I thrust up in your belly as deeply as I can.
We’re kissing again.
Then I’m out of you. You’ve turned to face me.
My cock is slippery with the inside of you. It’s cold. I need it inside you. I push you backwards until you’re half seated on the back of a couch. You spread your slender legs, then I’m inside you again. We can’t stop kissing, biting, licking as our bodies, as if they were like a second pair of lovers, move with their own dark kiss and embracements. I kiss and lick your lips, your belly darkly kisses and licks my cock.
Your breath catches.
Your fingers tightly grip my arms. Your breath stops each time you contract around my cock. Your teeth are at my neck. Then your arms are quickly around my back, tugging and pulling me more deeply into your belly as if your orgasm wanted to be filled by own release. Now. Right now! You’re ready. You bit my neck.
The living room fills with light.
You push me off.
No! But it’s the light of a car. I pull you to the living room window. Someone has turned in the driveway. We know them. They’re across the street but it’s pouring again. I push you against the glass of the window. I move behind you. Your hands are flat against the glass. They’re waiting for the rain to stop. My cock aches with fullness and readiness. I kick your ankles apart and we both watch the car across the street as I enter your belly again.
Isn’t this what I wanted to do the first time a met you?
You arch. Is this what you wanted too, the first time we met? “I’m going to come again!” you say. “Quick!”
Hearing you is what makes me come. I thrust upward and hold myself there as I spurt inside you – under the tight concealment of your tube skirt and flat abdomen. Are you grunting with each spurt or are you coming again? I don’t know. My body convulses. I stare at nothing. Until my body finishes I’ve lost control. No. I lost control before we left for the party. It’s the first time. I didn’t know I could be like this. I didn’t know sex could be like this. I didn’t know the body’s desires could do this to us.
It’s because of you.
We see them getting out of the car.
I withdraw. I’m wet with you and still hard.
You push down your dress. I could say that I’m relieved but I’m not. I’ll watch you all night. I’ll know that just above the hem of your skirt, barely concealed, will be the mixed release of our lovemaking. It will be like the first time we met; but this time,when I look at the sway of your hips, your ass and your flat belly, I’ll know the my heat and moistness already fills you, moves inside you languidly, and makes your entryway slippery.
We share a secret.
You’re mine. I’m yours.
I won’t remember anything about the party.
“Is my lip bleeding?” you ask. I touch your lips tenderly. I look. I kiss you imagining what I will do to you once we’re alone again.
You return my kiss. “Let’s go home early,” you say.
September 30 2010