Taralee’s First Time Ch. 07

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Suddenly it was Thanksgiving. Pierre arrived back from college a day ahead of the family feast. I picked him at the bus station in the ’54 Ford wagon, the same one in whose wide back seat we’d given (and taken) each other’s maidenheads. So much had happened in between … those eleven months seemed like two lifetimes.

We could hardly keep our hands off each other as we embraced, our tongues twining and searching and tasting, ignoring the stares and titters of other passengers in the crowded station. Pierre threw his small suitcase in the back and we drove home to the empty house, since mom and dad were both at work and my sister and brother wouldn’t come till the day of. We raced up the stairs to the guest room at the far end of the hall from my parents’ bedroom and tore each other’s clothes off in a frenzy.

Pierre let out a wolf-whistle when he saw the heart I’d carved into my pubic hair — I hadn’t done it for him, actually, but I was turned on by how much he appreciated it. I fell back on the bed, my knees apart, and he kissed his way around both sides of the heart till he reached the point, and went to work on my swollen clit with his tongue. I was dripping in seconds. He reached up and caressed my breasts with soft hands, blowing gently on my clit which aroused me even more if that were possible.

“Fuck me. Please.” He obliged, sliding his gorgeous shaft into my welcoming cunt in one long, s-l-o-o-o-o-w thrust and holding still as he lay on me so we could feel our hearts beat in unison. Clasped together we rolled over on the bed.

On top, I adjusted the angle of my hips slightly so the thickest part of his penis pushed right against my G-spot … the pulsing of his veins was enough to ignite the fireworks of my first climax, and I gasped and shuddered as it rocked me even as we lay still. Moaning and panting to catch my breath, I pushed myself up with my arms so my erect nipples brushed his lips and tongue, and he began to swivel his hips ever so slowly, so his rigid member stirred the honeypot between my legs. I ground down on him, mashing my clitoris against his pubic bone again and again till I felt his muscles stiffen and his legs quiver and I scrunched my eyes closed and Oh! Again! Oh! NOW! and he jerked upwards again and again and again with a mighty groan.

I collapsed on top of him and he held me in his arms as involuntary tears of pleasure shook me. I felt him soften and slip out as I lay in bliss. Then my practical side kicked in and I tickled him till he got up so I could run the sheets to the basement washer, and get dinner ready for when mom and dad got home.

They were happy to have Pierre stay, but mom said he had to phone his folks (at that point, he was really on the outs with his mother) and at least wish them a happy Thanksgiving, even if he neglected to tell them he was only a few blocks from their apartment. He complied, but kept the call short and sweet.

After my folks went to bed, we crept quiet as mice to the basement. I was dressed like I did at school (with one small difference): white blouse with Peter Pan collar, one of the pretty bras mom bought me for senior year, Madras-plaid skirt, white socks and tennis shoes. When we embraced, Pierre’s hands slid down my back, gripped my ass, and discovered I wasn’t wearing panties … I bent over an old, dust-cover shrouded armchair with my feet wide apart, gripping the back tight as he plunged roughly into my cunt, pulled back so the head of his cock teased the lips of my vagina, then worked me into a lather. Our joined sex made wet sucking noises with each stroke and his balls slapped loudly against my clit.

Couldn’t have been more than three minutes before I felt his cock start to swell. I pushed back hard. He held my hips in a vise-like grip as he unloaded with shuddering spurts and my cunt clenched in rapid spasms and the fireworks came and my knees buckled and he held me like a rag doll and I loved being impaled on his young sword and I had to bite one fist hard to stop from yelling again and again and again how good it felt to have his weapon spurting deep inside me.

Panting, we chuckled as he unsheathed with a loud wet pop and rivulets of his hot jism ran down my legs.

“Step only where I do on the stairs, okay?”

He nodded, smiled, slid a hand to the wetness under my skirt and held it there as he crept behind me, skirting the creaks in the old staircase. With a silent kiss I sent him to the guest room and crept to my attic haven where I could hear the flying squirrels scratching in the attic, preparing for night flights down the darkened staircase.

In the morning before dawn I slipped into his bed, took his morning wood into my already lubricated vagina before he was half awake and brought him off as quietly as I could before cleaning up and heading down to the kitchen to help mom stuff the turkey.

The meal was a warm family affair, a crackling fire in the fireplace, my dad smiling benevolently down the long, stained-oak trestle table yalova escort at my mom and my sister, my brother and me. He offered a toast to our smiling guest before we tucked into the turkey with roast carrots and yams, mashed potatoes, crisp-steamed broccoli and crunchy green salad. Pierre basked in the warm feelings. Face glowing in the candlelight, he produced a bottle of fine French brandy (he must’ve saved for weeks to buy that, even at D.C.’s bargain prices) to sip with dessert: pies, pumpkin and mince and apple, with ice cream.

It was a long, long weekend of family, food and fun. Pierre and I romped in the woods behind our old house, once with Jess and a trio of the long-haired dachshunds her family bred. We held hands like high school lovers and our trysts beneath the trees turned into wild love-making interspersed with deep silences that communicated more than any words were able to do. But it all ended too soon.

Tuesday morning I drove him to the bus. Hugged him hard. He kissed me and turned away, eyes glittering. Uncertainty was in the air as I waved to the Greyhound, grinding through the D.C. traffic in a cloud of blue diesel smoke. Who knew what was coming down the pike?

Schoolwork was a bore, except for an English class with a wonderful old, wise teacher who had us reading carefully selected passages from Shakespeare that alternately heightened and dampened her class full of raging teenage hormones. I tried my best to concentrate on schoolwork, but life was too much of a rollercoaster. It was all I could do to hang on.

Homework was a daily burden. College was like a sword of Damocles hanging over me: Would I get early admission? Have to wait until spring? Get in at all? The tension was almost unbearable.

But a couple of nights a week I got to babysit the twins. I hadn’t learned much more about Virginia’s absence, but George’s house had begun to feel like a second home: warm, welcoming and safe. I looked forward to my time with the kids, who were less like little hellions now that they were used to me. Once they were in bed, I’d read them a story and they’d drop off to sleep. I’d move down the hall to George’s study and bury myself in my schoolbooks.

Some nights I was just too engrossed in a project or nervous about the next day’s test to respond with more than “Hi!” when George knocked softly on the door. But I was getting pretty randy and about a week after Pierre went back to college I changed into the silk maid’s outfit after a futile hour and a half trying to parse French sentences. When the knock came a few minutes later, I was more than ready. George’s Manhattan went right to my head and I sat on the mahogany desk, crossed my legs, flipped my hair and tipped my head to one side. My best imitation of a trollop’s come-on.

Not that George needed an invitation. He stood close, his strong arms around me. Scent of soap and powerful man. I melted. Holding my shoulders, he gently laid me down and pulled my ankles onto the desk. He took a deep breath when he saw the heart I’d shaved into my bush, then ever so slowly moved to one side.

I was wide open to the mirror, my cunt dripping with nervous anticipation. In the dark glass, I could see faint movement.

George knelt in front of the desk. His tongue gently, tantalizingly tweaked my clit. Again. And again. I groaned and clamped my knees together, clasping his ears between my thighs. Clenched my buttocks. Pushed up.

Another liquid lick. Eyes closed, fireworks exploded in the night sky of my mind.

The climax rocked me. Left me soaked and quivering. My knees relaxed and George stood up. Smiling.

Stepping to one side.

After I caught me breath, I lifted my head and stared at the mirror. I touched the rosebud at the top of my cunt, unsheathing it to full view of whoever was behind the dark glass.

“Now, George. Now.”

“You’re sure, Taralee?” The concerned lawyer. “This could change your life.”


A door creaked. In strode a very tall man. Thin. Shock of thick white hair. Craggy, tanned face, not exactly handsome but full of character. Memorable.

“Taralee, meet Eugene.

“Eugene, Taralee.”

“Delighted to meet yuh at last, young lady.” The slow southern drawl was warm, deep.

Suddenly I realized where I was. I clamped my knees together and tried to cover myself with the skimpy silk French maid’s outfit.

This was no longer a shadow behind one-way glass, it was a man, a rich and powerful man, I surmised. (I was sure I’d heard that baritone drawl before … where? Radio? TV?) Flesh and blood. Definitely flesh, I could see from the imposing tent in the front of his white terrycloth robe.

George, sensing my hesitation, took my hand in his. Warm, reassuring. His voice a caress.

“Taralee, nothing’s going to happen without your consent. Eugene has been my friend and mentor since I was your age. No one outside this room knows, or will ever know, what happens or doesn’t happen here.”

Eugene zonguldak escort smiled, bowed imperceptibly. “I am honored to have witnessed what I have these past weeks, young lady. You are a rare woman in your uninhibited enjoyment of your body. Should you decide to include me among your paramours, I would be delighted. If that is not your wish, I will leave immediately. The decision is yours …”

That deep, warm drawl thrummed in my belly. His smile was gentle. When he put his hand on my ankle it was light as a feather but burned like fire.

I relaxed.

Eugene stroked my left calf, ever so softly. George trailed his fingertips over my right forearm, barely touching my skin.

Suddenly I was ablaze. As aroused — no, more so — than I’d been before Eugene came in. I was literally panting. Grabbed the tie around Gene’s gown and pulled.

My God!

Pale skin, faintly sunburnt. Thin but muscular torso. Chest thatched with tight whorls of white hair. Narrow hips. Curly white pubic hair.

And the strangest penis I ever saw: it was the length and breadth of a dinner-table candle, the shiny purple head bulbous and slightly wider than the slim, pale shaft thickly netted with blue veins.

I gasped. Reached out. Touched it.

Hot! So hot … my fingers circled it. My whole palm closed over the head and a bit of the shaft.

I rubbed gently.

“Mmmmm. Young lady, you are a delight.”

The crooning Southern voice dripped of honeysuckle and magnolia. I pried my glance away from the peculiar penis and looked again at the man: tall, very tall; slender but muscular legs; wiry arms with wispy white hair; hard buttocks; heavy balls in a stretched sack; and that cock, its fiery head still encircled in my grasping fingers.

His hand stroked up my thigh, reached my dripping centre. Involuntarily my hand tightened on his cock and my knees spread wide. My buttocks lifted off the desk.

I presented myself to him, open for the taking.

“One moment, young lady …” He pulled something from the pocket of his robe, ripped it open, and fitted a rubber prophylactic over his long, thin erection. It must’ve been a special kind because it fit his slender cock snugly and unrolled most of the way down its nearly foot-long length.

I touched him again. His heat was barely lessened by the rubber. Its nubbly surface promised pleasures I’d yet to experience. The strange conformation of his rod —it was more rod-like than I ever imagined possible — distracted me briefly. I thought of Ken’s thick mushroom head: my fingers hadn’t come near closing around it.

Eugene bent over me, nibbling my ear. George continued to stroke my arm. The sensations jerked me back to the present as Eugene leaned forward, lightly brushing my parted lips with his, then rolled my left nipple between his teeth and tongue. Then my right. My heart was racing. He left a trail of kisses down my sternum, across my belly, to my heart-shaped bush. He inhaled deeply, appreciatively, then, exhaled, blowing my scent teasingly across my clit. Again. Again. Again.

I quivered with anticipation, pushing my hips upward. A single, barely perceptible lick brought me close to my climax, and I groaned when he stood up.

He looked down. A cherubic smile lit his craggy face. I gasped as that narrow, burning glans spread my labia and slid into my dripping cunt. I welcomed it, feeling the heat move up into me like red-hot iron.

Gently, inexorably, Eugene pushed. Further, further till the head lodged at my cervix. My muscles contracted, gripping his shaft tightly. He pulled partly out, thrust again, searching for rhythm. My eyes clenched shut to heighten the sensation, I could feel my juices running down my buttocks with every stroke as his heavy balls swung against my ass like a pendulum.

Then a new sensation: His finger. Softly, ever so softly, circling my anus. Probing gently.

I flinched and he stopped. Whispered. “You’ve never done this?” I nodded No.

He changed his angle of attack slightly and the head of his penis touched my G-spot. I gushed and sighed with pleasure. Relaxed as the finger, slick with my juices, slid in and out of my ass, keeping time with the friction of his cock on my G-spot.

His thumb brushed my clit. I groaned. His probing finger was relaxing my sphincter as the tension built up and my thighs began to vibrate.

“May I now take your nether virginity, young lady?” That voice, that mellifluous, well-known voice, overflowing with warmth. I nodded mutely. Yes. Please.

The slow rhythm of his thumb caressing my clit never stopped as I felt his long, thin penis pull out, my pussy lips grasping for a last kiss as the burning-hot head slid down an inch and pushed gently into my tight-puckered ass.

“Ow!” A moment of pain and it was inside. I could hardly breathe, the sensation was so new.

“Ow!” again, as he pulled out with a pop.

Yes, I thought, yes, yes, yes — I locked zonguldak escort my legs around his thin thighs and pushed toward him. Relaxed.

No pain this time. I lifted and pushed, pushed, pushed. Wanting more. That long, thin, hard cock was my only focus now. I was barely aware of his finger inside my cunt massaging my G-spot while the other kept time on my clit.

“Do it Eugene! Do it … Do me!!!”

Storm clouds gathered in the firmament of my mind. My knees jerked. My feet clenched. My thighs vibrated.

“NOWWWWW! Oh yes! Oh God yes! Oh yes, yes, yes, yes!!!”

Skyrockets burst as my climax overwhelmed me. I fainted.

I came to seconds later, limp on George’s leather-topped desk. Eugene was cradling my face in his big hands, smiling beatifically at me. I sighed and smiled up at him, sated with pleasure.

His hands moved down, gently caressing the swell of my breasts, the curve of my hips, the still-taught muscles of my legs, massaging my feet. I raised my head and looked over my sodden bush. His peculiar penis was still fully erect, tipped upwards, its fiery swollen head nearly bursting its sheath of clear rubber.

My juices gushed at the sight, dribbling warm wetness between my buttocks. Languid as I was, I could feel the returning heat building in me. A gentle touch from Eugene and I rolled over.

Crouched on the desk face-down, I felt his big hands on my waist, his burning, raging hard-on sliding up and down in the crack of my buttocks. He plunged into my drenched cunt, pulled out and rammed into my ass, thrusting time after time like a pile-driver gone berserk. At each stroke his heavy balls thudded into my wide-spread pussy, teasing my unsheathed clit and driving me closer and closer to another climax.

I felt him tense up. Redouble the speed of his thrusts. The thudding of his balls on my clit pounded in my head, lighting the fireworks’ fuse. One final mighty thrust … we exploded simultaneously in synchronous spasms. Collapsed breathless and spent. I felt his rigid rod soften, and relaxed my sphincter as it slipped free, the prophylactic filled with a tablespoon of milky fluid, my ass gaping from the punishment it had endured — nay, welcomed. Wholly.

My head between my forearms, still crouched on the mahogany desk, I inhaled deep breaths of our lovemaking. Eugene’s warmth cradled me as his breathing slowed. A warm hug. He stood slowly, reluctantly, peeling his hot skin from mine. Kissed along the sweat of my spine.

A last, light caress: my breasts, squashed against the slippery leather beneath me.

“You have honoured me, young lady, in a manner I shall never forget.” That deep, honeyed drawl drew an involuntary sob from me. “Alas, I must depart. To quote the Bard, ‘Parting is such sweet sorrow.'”

I shivered as his heat moved away, felt him cover me with his robe.

He was gone.

Moments later, a light touch on my shoulder: George.

Silence. No words. Just his breathing and mine. His warm palm under the rough terrycloth, calming me.

Nearby, a heavy, bass thunk: The door of a very expensive automobile closing. The quiet purr of a powerful engine and a flash of light on the bare, late-November branches outside. I peeked out the window: a long, low black car disappearing down the street.

George helped me wobble down the hall to the shower, steadied my hand as I stepped under the needles of steaming water. Wrapped me in a big, fluffy towel afterward.

“I … I have to go, George.” He smiled, hugged me wordlessly.

I dressed and hoisted my books. There was a crisp white envelope on top.

I didn’t look inside.

I glanced up from the street, saw him silhouetted in the window of his office. He watched me safely home.

I crept up the stairs, avoiding the creaky boards. Heard the rustle of a flying squirrel, getting ready for its nocturnal aerobatics. I was asleep when my head hit the pillow.

Next day was Friday. I took the day off school; frankly, my butt was sore. I didn’t dare think about last night; didn’t want the memory to gross me out — or make me horny. I waited for the postman: Still no college-entrance news. Did homework. Made dinner for my folks.

After a dreary, rainy weekend it was back to the daily grind at school. One or two girls were all smiles: they’d got early-acceptance letters from their colleges. That didn’t do much to lift my spirits.

The weather, teachers, crowded corridors — everything was getting under my skin.

Willie, the quarterback of the football team, bumped roughly into me in the hallway in front of my locker. I hissed at him as I felt his fingers shove a piece of paper down my tight polyester sweater. He grinned, his deep laugh dominant and assured. I shivered involuntarily.

My stomach churning, I fled to the girls’ washroom. Fished the crinkled paper out of my bra and flattened it out.

A drawing in soft pencil. Crude but anatomically correct: a long-haired girl in a short checked skirt, on her knees, sucking the enormous erection of the first of a row of guys, all holding their stiff cocks. Our football team. Me.

Scrawled underneath: “Meet us under the bleachers after Friday afternoon’s game, Taralee. We’ll show you a real good time.”

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