Properly is by Deliza Rafferty
- I think this represents the final story. Deliza Rafferty is an erotic romance writer with some books to her name. Her site is at Dirty Dramas. And that reminds me, I neglected to remember that another of our entrants also hosts her own blog, Blue Eyed Gypsy. Blue Eyed Gypsy wrote First. As with the other stories, be sure and comment. Without your insights, writing is a lonely business.
Oh, the glory days…when I was a young rock chick, energetic, nubile and newly svelte after embarking on a health kick and losing a significant amount of weight. I had also at the time turned some kind of sexual corner in my life; it seemed overnight it took merely the right breeze to set my nether regions off on a pulsating rampage that wouldn’t subside until I did something about it. Prior I had what I liked to call “The Woman Switch,” where I had the capability of turning off my turn on as quickly as it started, mind-over-matter style.
Alas…no longer. My pussy had mysteriously become some ravenous, insatiable monster I didn’t know existed except in the frigid brain of my uber-Conservative, sex-hating, Bible-thumping, Rush-Limbaugh-worshipping mother, who warned me at an early age that girls that felt like this were unholy. I am convinced that if she’d ever experienced such desires at all she must’ve flipped off her “Woman Switch” as soon as she hit puberty and disconnected the wiring entirely.
I was – am – determined not to be my mother.
Enter internet chat rooms. Love@AOL. Live Universe. And a million other options I can’t even recall, where I chatted and had cyber-sex with faceless men I had no intention of meeting in person, who existed primarily for the purpose of getting me off with dirty words and imagined scenarios, making me feel a little slutty while not actually having to act on it. You see, I wasn’t the girl who sleeps around. But oh, how a part of me was dying to be.
His name was Ashleigh. Yes, Ashleigh. He came from a long line of uneducated Appalachian mountain folk who had managed to come down out of the hills and turn themselves into Southern gentlemen over the generations. Ashleigh was a family name and he was fiercely proud of it. Though he never went to college and didn’t have a fancy job, he was exceptionally intelligent, well-read, sensitive, a poet and musician like me, and we had endless fascinating IM conversations that would last hours.
He also enjoyed photographing women in the nude, went to fetish and BDSM shows and wrote for an underground fetish magazine.
He also looked like a young Robert Plant with dark hair. Hot. JesusfrigginChrist.
As is the nature of internet chatting between two single people, particularly when the conversations don’t even begin till midnight (musician’s hours), it doesn’t take long for things to turn toward carnal matters. He coaxed and coaxed me to come over. He wanted to take my picture. He thought I was beautiful. He was “concerned” that it had been so long since I’d been with a man. He thought I was scared to break out of my “good girl” mold and take a chance at really living. I said, “fucking isn’t necessarily living.” He said, “Then you haven’t been properly fucked.”
I knew it to be true.
Then he gave me his home address, his work address, his boss’ name, his sister’s name and her address and his social security number.
“Trust me,” he said. “You’re safe as can be.”
Damn it. I caved.
I emailed my best friend all the information he’d given me and wrote, “If you don’t hear from me by noon tomorrow, call the police.”
When I got there, it was already 3:30 a.m. and I almost got right back in the car and left. The house was entirely dark; not even a porch light on. Uber-creepy. He’d told me to come in the front door, which was always open, then walk past the set of winding stairs that led to the upstairs apartment and instead go straight back to his. It was pitch black in that little hallway leading to his door; I had to walk with my hand out in front of me, not even the outline of which was visible, feeling my way to the door. I cussed my stupid self out with every wary step. Fear knotted sickeningly in my stomach, the sound of my increasingly panicked breathing and thundering heart becoming absolutely deafening. If he was standing in the shadows with a meat clever, I’d never have known till it was too late.
What in God’s name was I doing?
I heard movement ahead, the barest sliver of pale light appeared, and before I could register what was happening I felt a hand enclose around my outstretched wrist and pull me forward, through the door I couldn’t see and into the apartment. I made a half yelp/half gasp of terror as I was pushed up against the wall and felt his body press up against me. He was not rough, but I was definitely not going anywhere.
This is it. I. am going. to die. I’m so sorry, Mommy! I love you!
I felt his lips rest against mine, but he did not kiss me. I felt his hands slip inside my heavy winter coat and slide up my torso. Like the slut that I was acting that night, I wore a simple sexy nightie underneath and nothing else, so when his thumbs brushed across my breasts and nothing separated them from my skin but a flimsy film of satin, my nipples swelled immediately, painfully to attention.
He said, “My God, you’re shaking.”
And I was. I was terrified. It was also winter and I had just come in from a 32 degree night in heels and bare legs.
“Are you cold or afraid?” he asked.
I had a difficult time forming words. I stammered, “A…a little of both, I think.”
“Embrace the fear,” he replied in a warm, baritone laced with Southern drawl. “This is what it feels like to be alive. I promise you’re safe.”
Then he kissed me and it was simultaneously so sincere and so thorough that not only did I want to believe him but I became so suddenly wet that I’d have sworn my pussy actually detonated.
I felt my purse slip off my arm to the floor as his hands slid my coat from my shoulders. When it too had landed in a heap on the floor, he pressed his chest against mine and I realized that he was completely naked. I felt his swollen cock against my belly and I could think of nothing to do but grasp his ass cheeks – nice and firm, I was delighted to find – and force his hips harder against me. He grunted a little, and responded by grinding up against my belly. One of his hands found it’s way into my hair while the other one slipped up my thigh and under my nightie. He tugged my head to the side and as his tongue found my ear (I had told him online weeks ago that my ears and neck were my erogenous zones). His fingers found my pussy. My legs spread involuntarily and I whimpered as he began deftly working my protruding, pulsating clit. The sensations were so intense – it had felt like a lifetime since a hand other than my own had been between my legs. I knew it was going to take absolutely nothing before I exploded all over his fingers.
“You’re so wet for me already…I can’t tell you how incredibly hot that is,” he whispered right before forcefully shoving his fingers into me and sinking his teeth a little too firmly into my neck. I gasped with surprise and cried out a bit, but he did not apologize. Instead he said, “Felt good, didn’t it?” and began suckling my neck as he fucked me with his fingers. I knew, if I lived through the night, that I was at least leaving with a hickey for the whole world to see.
I didn’t care. I was so lost in riding his hand like a bronco, desperate to reach my end. I felt the sensations in my pussy take a turn. My breath started to quicken and my legs started to shake. I was seconds away from ecstasy when suddenly he withdrew from me.
Nooooooooooo! my brain and body screamed. My vocal cords merely moaned with cutting disappointment.
He lifted me up and carried me just a few feet away, where he laid me down on what I thought at the time must’ve been the shortest couch ever made (turns out he didn’t own a couch; it was a mattress covered and surrounded by floor pillows). He made quick work of getting my nightie off of me and settling himself between my legs. I felt the smooth head of his cock, which I had yet to touch or see myself, nestled at the opening of my soaking cavern. It felt delicious and the walls of my tunnel clenched and released repeatedly in anticipation of receiving him. But I also got panicky and began to protest. I had never in my life had unprotected sex, not even with long term boyfriends I was sure were clean. Even though I was always on birth control, I was forever paranoid about coming from a long line of Fertile Myrtles, convinced the tiniest drip of semen would result in sextuplets. At the least.
“Wait…you’re not wearing anything,” I said.
Still I could not see him. I felt his long, curly hair whispering against my cheeks and shoulders. His skin felt indescribable against my own; the weight of his body crushing my breasts was an exquisite pressure. He smelled like Irish Spring and sandalwood. I was drunk with desire and therefore completely unconvincing in my protest.
He smiled against my lips before he kissed me lightly. “Take a chance,” he whispered. “Live.”
I knew I shouldn’t. He moved slightly in preparation to slide into me. I panicked again and clamped my thighs tight around his hips, stopping him.
“Wait!” I pleaded.
“I’m clean,” he said.
“How do I know you’re not lying?”
“Well…I guess you don’t.” I felt his thumb tenderly brush my bottom lip. Then he said, “But really…you do.”
I knew he wasn’t lying to me. I don’t know how, I just did. But it had still been a long time since I’d been with someone. The last time I’d been celibate for a length of time, getting back on the horse – so to speak – had been a terribly painful experience.
“I need you to be gentle and go slow. It’s been awhile, it may hurt.”
I felt him smile against my lips again. “Anything you want. I have no desire to hurt you if you don’t want to be hurt.”
If I don’t want to be…?
That train of thought melted away as he started kissing me again. I felt his hand carefully but insistently pry its way between us – I was still gripping his hips pretty tightly.
“Open up for me, honey,” he whispered. “It’s okay.”
Warily I released my vice grip on him and felt him position himself. I was still tense, dying to have him inside me but scared of the potential pain.
“Relax, love,” he said.
Then his fingers were there, inside me, stretching me gently. I moaned in appreciation and swiveled my hips. I thought I might come just from him doing that. Then when I felt the tip of his cock probing gently at the mouth of my pussy at the same time I thought I might go insane. A noise came from my throat that I didn’t recognize.
“Jesus, I love the sounds you make,” he said. “But if you keep making them, I’m not going to be able to control myself.”
I was surprised to hear myself giggle a bit. “Sorry. I’m just…it’s…” I could only sigh into his mouth.
“I know. It’s killing me not to dive right into you.”
Then I felt his fingers slide out and part of his member take their place. I could tell he was adequately endowed, not huge, but enough. However, I was terribly tight and it was a little more than uncomfortable. I caught my breath.
“Okay?” he asked.
“Hurts a little bit, not too bad,” I replied.
“Breathe into me,” he said. “Embrace it, like your fear. Pain is pleasure. Come on.”
I did as he said. With my every inhale, he exhaled into me and pushed himself gently, further in. When I exhaled into him, he withdrew a little. It burned, but I was getting so high off of sharing his breath that I was beginning not to care. When at last he was fully inside of me, he stilled himself. I was impaled, stretched to my limit, and I noticed it hurt quite a lot. I felt tears sting the back of my eyes.
“You okay?” he asked.
My voice broke. “It…hurts.”
He brought his hands up to my face as a tear escaped my eye. I don’t know how he saw it to brush it away, as it seemed my eyes would never adjust to the darkness, but he did. He kissed me tenderly.
“Feel it. Acknowledge it. You’re alive.” He began moving inside me ever so slightly, gradually withdrawing a little more and pushing a little deeper each time. At first it was painful and I found myself digging my nails into his back to cope with it. I felt him groan into my mouth when I did, but he didn’t relent. “It’s okay…just feel it. It’s good. Jesus, you feel so good.”
Finally – thankfully – the pain began to subside and an entirely new feeling started taking its place…the glorious sensation of skin on skin. His bare cock sliding in and out of me over and over, languorously, with nothing separating it from my honey-slicked walls – it was an epiphany. This was…so very different. This was natural…organic…pure…practically religious. This was carnal…dirty…and yes, absolutely unholy, just like my mother said. This was oh my fucking God.
I was alive indeed.
I buried one of my hands into his beautiful hair and gripped his shoulder with the other as I arched into him, desperate to have him deeper within me. I heard one of my heels rip a hole in the sheet beneath us. I cried out his name, something I’d never done before with anyone. I’d had plenty of sex in my life, with men I loved, even. But I had never experienced this. I’d never wanted so badly to melt into a person, to fuse with someone so completely, to envelope his very essence within my own. We were as close as two people could possibly ever get, but it still wasn’t close enough.
I wanted him to fuck my very soul.
When I thought I couldn’t take any more, yet another entirely new sensation overcame me. I’d heard of this mysterious G-spot thing before, but honestly I’d given up hope that it actually existed, as I’d never once had an orgasm with a man’s cock inside me without one of us stimulating my clit, too. However, without warning, with his hands still caressing my face, the explosion began racing through me like a back draft, from some deep corner of my womb that I wasn’t aware I had, and I began panting like a dog and cursing every deity of which I’d ever heard. Ashleigh growled my name, claimed my mouth with his and gripped one of my ass cheeks hard as he allowed himself to release with me. The cries and moans of our intense pleasure were lost in each others’ mouths as our bodies quaked together powerfully. We collapsed – spent, breathless, perhaps having seen God. At least I think I might have.
I lay there atop his chest as our breathing slowed, listening to his heartbeat gradually settle. I caressed his arm, he caressed my back. It seems we stayed that way for quite a liberal amount of time. Finally he spoke.
“You alright? How do you feel?” he asked.
I smiled and looked up at him. Finally, the sky had begun casting a hint of gray light as dawn approached. Enough came through the window to allow me to make out some of his facial features. I had seen pictures of him, certainly, but they didn’t do his kind eyes the justice they deserved.
I answered, “Alive, properly fucked and safe as can be.”