I stood talking with Susan outside her dormitory, the shadows of the building stretching long and dark around us. I could feel my pulse hammering in my throat, a frantic rhythm that had been building all evening. Third date! Three whole dates, and I was still stranded in this purgatory of wanting her—wanting more than I feared she’d ever let me have. I leaned in, desperate for a kiss, for something to break the tension coiling inside me. My lips brushed the edge of hers before she pushed me away, her hands firm against my chest.

“Don’t rush me, please,” she said, her voice steady, as cool as ever.

I stepped back, swallowing hard. “What’s the matter? I like you very much, Susan. It’s our third date.” My words sounded whiny even to me, but I couldn’t help it. The frustration was a living thing, clawing at my insides.

“I like you too,” she said, and there was a softness in her tone that made my chest ache.

“You let me kiss you last week,” I pressed, clinging to that memory—her lips, soft and yielding for one fleeting moment.

“And twice this week!” she countered sternly, reminding me of the quick kisses in my car a few days earlier. They were so brief I had forgotten them.

“If I could kiss you once last week, and twice on Monday, I should be able to kiss you at least four times tonight.” It made sense to me, a kind of progression of affection I’d been tallying in my head. One kiss last time, two tonight, four tonight if I played it right. I stared at her, waiting for an answer, but she just looked at me, silent, her expression unreadable.

“Well?” I prompted, my voice cracking a little.

“You’re the only boy I know that I can talk to,” she said, changing the conversation, and it felt like a deflection, a sidestep away from what I wanted.

“I can’t see you being quiet for any guy,” I said, trying to keep the conversation on track, to nudge it back toward us—toward what I desperately needed from her.

“No, not quiet, exactly,” she said, her brow furrowing slightly. “But if you know somebody’s not going to approve of what you are…”

“Whatever that is,” I cut in, impatient.

“Whatever that is,” she echoed. “Well, you just don’t tell him. I mean, if I like a boy and I want him to keep liking me, and I’m brighter than he is, I have to not show it or I’ll lose him, so it’s hard.”

I frowned, trying to follow her. Was she saying that she was smarter than me? “Well, I wouldn’t want anyone overly bright,” I replied.

“Yeah, but you wouldn’t feel threatened,” she said, and there was a flicker of something in her eyes—challenge, maybe, or hope.

“I might be bothered—a little,” I admitted, shifting my weight from one foot to the other.

“I don’t think you would nearly as much as some people,” she said, and then she kept going, her words spilling out like she’d been holding them back. “Now, for instance, someday I want to write novels. Not now, but you know, later on, when I have something to say. Now, that doesn’t threaten you, does it?”

“No…” I hesitated. “Maybe a little.” But I wasn’t thinking about her novels. I was thinking about her mouth, the way it moved as she spoke, the way it had felt against mine that one time. I leaned in again, clumsy and eager, and kissed her. My lips mashed against hers, too hard, too hungry, as I pressed her back against the trunk of a tree.

“Don’t press so hard,” she said, pulling back slightly.

I tried again, softer this time, following her lead. Her lips were warm, pliant, and she guided me, teaching me with a patience that made my head spin. The kiss deepened, grew passionate, and I felt a surge of triumph. At last she was letting me in!

“See, it’s better when it’s gentle,” she murmured, her breath warm against my cheek.

“See?” she repeated, and I realized I was grinning like an idiot, drunk on the taste of her.

Emboldened, I slid my hand up, resting it on her breast. The fabric of her blouse was thin, and I could feel the curve beneath it, the faint outline of her bra. My fingers trembled.

“Sandy, please take your hand off my breast,” she said, her voice sharp now, cutting through the haze.

“Why?” I asked, not moving, not wanting to lose this.

“'Cause I want you to.”

I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. My hand fumbled with her blouse, undoing a button, slipping inside to touch her over her bra, aching to touch bare skin. Her left breast was small, firm, and I pressed my palm against it, not daring to breathe.

“How can it be any fun for you if you know I don’t want it?” she asked, and there was a tremor in her voice—anger, maybe, or something else.

“I didn’t say it was fun,” I muttered, my face burning. It wasn’t about fun. It was about need, about proving something—to her, to myself.

“Then why is your hand where it is?”

“Because, the way we’re going, by this time, I should be feeling you up,” I said, the words tumbling out, raw and clumsy but honest. Three dates. Three chances to get somewhere, anywhere, and I was still stuck at the starting line.

“I don’t feel that way about you, Sandy,” she said, and it hit me like a punch.

“I feel that way about you,” I shot back, my voice tight.

“Well, you want me to feel something for you too, don’t you?”

“I thought you liked me,” I said, and it sounded pathetic, a plea I hadn’t meant to make.

“I do like you,” she said, softer now, “but I like you for other reasons.”

“So…” I trailed off, grasping for something to hold on to.

“So… if we went any further, there wouldn’t be those reasons anymore,” she said, and she took my hand, gently but firmly, and moved it off her breast. Maybe I was stupid - I didn't know what she was saying.

“Well, we might have something else, though,” I said, desperate to keep the possibility alive.

“What?”

“Something else,” I said, lamely, and then the truth slipped out, unbidden. “You’re the first girl I’ve ever done that to, Susan.”

She blinked, surprised. “I didn’t know that.”

“It doesn’t show?” I asked, half-hoping she’d say no, half-dreading it.

“No,” she said, and there was a tenderness in her voice that caught me off guard.

“Well, it’s something we both have to go through, I guess,” I said, trying to sound casual, but my heart was pounding so loudly I was sure she could hear it.

She looked at me for a long moment, then took my hand and placed it firmly back on her breast. I froze, hardly believing it. My fingers brushed the fabric again, and then, fuelled by a reckless surge of want, I undid more buttons and pulled her blouse open wider, then tugged her bra up. Both breasts were now free—small, pointed, with long, erect nipples that stood out starkly against her pale skin. The sight was too beautiful for words. I stared, enthralled. My hand found her left breast again, skin on skin this time, the nipple hard under my palm, and she inhaled sharply, her chest rising under my touch.

“Susan, are you a virgin?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

She nodded, shyly, and it sent a jolt through me. We were the same, then—both fumbling through this, both aching for something we didn’t fully understand.

“What do I do with my other hand?” I asked, dazed, overwhelmed.

She smiled—a small, secret smile—and took my other hand, guiding it to her right breast. I fondled her, my excitement spiralling, my palms sweaty against her skin. She was breathing harder now, her cool facade cracking, revealing a heat I hadn’t expected.

“What are you gonna do with your hands?” I asked, surprising myself with my boldness.

She didn’t answer. Instead, she reached down, her fingers brushing against my waist, and then—God help me—she unzipped my trousers! My whole body tensed, a rush of heat flooding me, and I thought, this is it, this is finally it!

Her fingers lingered at the zipper, and then, with a soft tug, Susan pulled it down fully. The sound of it—sharp and metallic in the quiet night—sent a shiver racing up my spine. My trousers gaped open, and I felt the cool air hit me, but it was nothing compared to the heat of her hand as she reached inside. My cock was straining, caught awkwardly in the tight cotton of my underpants, and I gasped when her fingers brushed against it, fumbling through the fabric.

“Help me,” she whispered, her voice low and urgent, almost lost in the rustle of leaves overhead.

My hands shook as I fumbled with my belt, all thumbs in my haste. I yanked it open, shoved my trousers and underpants down in one clumsy motion, and there it was—free, fully erect, jutting out into the space between us. I could hardly look at her, fearful of her reaction, but I could see her gaze was firmly on my rampant cock.

Then she reached out and touched me, her fingertips light as a feather, tracing the length of it—up, down, exploring. My breath caught, emitting a gasp I couldn’t control. Susan hesitated, then wrapped her fingers around the shaft, her grip tentative but warm, and my heart slammed against my ribs so hard I thought it might burst. I’d never done this—never had a girl’s hand on my cock like this—and the reality of it was overwhelming, a dizzying rush that made my knees weak.

“Susan,” I managed, my voice a croak, barely audible.

She didn’t say anything, but her hand started moving—slowly, uncertainly, sliding up and down. I looked at her then, really looked at her. Her blouse was still open, her bra pushed up, her beautiful breasts bare in the dim light. I reached out, my hands trembling, and touched them again, my thumbs brushing over her nipples. They were stiffening, and she let out a soft, shaky moan that sent a fresh wave of heat through me.

“Is this… okay?” she asked, her voice small, almost shy, her hand pausing mid-motion.

“Yeah,” I said, too fast, too eager. Her hand moving up and down was perfect – Susan seemed to know exactly how to do it. “God, yeah, it’s—it’s more than okay.” I swallowed, trying to steady myself. “Is it… for you?”

She nodded, her eyes flicking up to meet mine for a second before dropping back down to study what was in her hand. “It’s strange,” she murmured. “It feels strange, but… good strange.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I let my hands answer instead, caressing her breasts, feeling the way her nipples crinkled into hard nubs under my touch. Her skin was soft, warm, and I could feel her heartbeat under my fingers, quickening as her hand moved on me again—smoother now, finding a wonderful rhythm. My head tipped back, a groan slipping out before I could stop it, and I wondered how long I could last like this, with her touching me, the rhythmic tugging of her hand driving me towards ecstasy.

 “You’re so hard,” she said, almost to herself, her fingers tightening slightly around me.

“It’s you,” I blurted out, my face burning. “It’s because of you.”

She smiled—a quick, fleeting thing—and it was like a spark igniting something inside her. Her hand sped up, just a little, and my idiot reaction was to squeeze her breasts harder, making her wince. I eased off, my thumbs circling her nipples, desperate to give her something back, to make her feel even a fraction of what she was doing to me. Her breathing was louder now, uneven, her cool mask slipping further away with every second.

“Susan, I—” I started, but the words caught in my throat. I wanted to tell her how much I wanted her, how I’d been aching for this, for her, for weeks—years, maybe, if you counted all the lonely nights I’d spent imagining a moment like this. But I couldn’t say it. Not yet.

“What?” she asked, her hand slowing again, her eyes searching mine.

“I’ve never… I mean, this is…” I trailed off, helpless, and she seemed to understand.

“Me neither,” she whispered, and there was a vulnerability in her voice that made my chest tighten. “But I want to do it - with you.”

That was it—the edge I’d been teetering on. My hands slid from her breasts to her shoulders, pulling her closer, and I kissed her again, our mouths wide open this time, wet and passionate. Her hand kept moving, driving me higher, closer to the climax that I ached for but did not want to come too soon.

The way she returned my kisses - her rapid hand movement on my cock, and the urgency of her soft moans, told me the time was right. My hand dropped from her shoulder, fumbling down to the hem of her skirt. I hesitated, my fingers brushing the fabric, expecting her to stop me—but she didn’t. Instead, I heard a sharp intake of breath, a sound that shot straight through me, urging me on.

I slid my hand under her skirt, the cotton brushing against my knuckles as I moved higher. Her thighs were warm, trembling slightly, and then my fingers found her panties—soft, stretched tight over the swell of her mound. I could feel the heat radiating through the thin fabric. I fumbled, clumsy and unsure, my fingertips pressing awkwardly against her, searching for a way in.

“Sandy,” she whispered, and before I could apologize or pull back, she moved—swift, decisive. She let go of my cock, which was timely – I was so very close to coming! Her hands darted under her skirt, and in one fluid motion, she tugged her panties down, letting them fall to the grass at her feet. She stepped out of them and leaned back against the rough trunk of the tree, her thighs parted, her pelvis tilted upwards, inviting me to continue, clear as anything, and I stared at her, dumbstruck, my mouth dry.

“Touch me,” she said softly, her voice trembling with something—nervousness, desire, maybe both—and I reached for her, my hand shaking as it slid between her thighs.

And there it was—my first touch of her, my first pussy, and it was better than anything I’d ever imagined. The lips were soft, so soft, like velvet kissed by dew, warm and yielding under my fingertips. I stroked them gently, marvelling at the texture, and then I felt it—the slick moisture between them, a secret she was letting me uncover. She moaned, a low, throaty sound that vibrated through me, and my fingers slipped further, parting her lips and dipping between them.

It felt incredible—warm, wet, slippery with her arousal, a silken heat that coated my fingertips as I explored her. I dipped lower, and found her opening, a succulent, pulsing warmth that seemed to draw my fingertip in, and I was delirious, lost in the feel of her. I slid one finger inside, slow and careful. Soft walls clung to my finger, slippery and alive, pulsing faintly around my touch. Her thighs parted wider, and Susan was trembling now, her breathing came fast and ragged, matching the frantic thudding of my own heart.

“Oh,” she gasped, her head tipping back against the tree, her eyes half-closed, and I watched her, mesmerized, as my finger moved deeper. She was so wet, making every movement effortless, and at times I could feel her tighten around me, a subtle clench that sent a jolt of pure joy through my body. I inserted a second finger, and Susan whimpered as I pushed both fingers deep into her. My thumb brushed upward, grazing something small and firm—a little nub that made her hips jerk—and she moaned again, louder this time, her hands gripping the bark behind her.

“Susan,” I breathed, my voice hoarse, barely recognizable. “You feel… God, you feel so good.” I didn’t know how to describe it—the plush, syrupy warmth of her, the way her body seemed to melt into my touch, inviting me deeper. My fingers curled slightly, exploring the soft, wet heat inside her, and she arched against the tree, her breasts rising with every shallow breath, her nipples stark and hard in the cool air. She had completely forsaken my cock, but I did not care. Fingering her pussy was so exciting that I hardly noticed that she clung to her skirt with both hands, gripping the fabric tightly.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, and that was joy to my ears. My other hand still rested on her breast, kneading gently, rolling her nipple between finger and thumb – it seemed to be even firmer and longer now. The incredible, intoxicating feel of her pussy, soft and warm and so alive, dripping with her wetness, was driving me wild. I moved my fingers in and out, slow at first, then faster as her moans grew sharper, her thighs quivering against my wrist. Susan seemed to like it faster; she arched her lower back, opening to me, her body answering every touch, and I was lost in the sheer, raw miracle of this moment.

Susan's shoulders were pressed back against the tree, trembling under my touch; her breath was coming in sharp little gasps now, and I wanted—needed—to make her feel more, to match the wildfire she’d ignited in me.

"Susan," I gasped, "am I doing it right?"

“Yes, yes," she moaned, her voice husky, urgent. Then she reached down and found my thumb and guided it upwards, pressing it against that small, firm nub I’d found before. “Here—touch me here.”

Her clit. That’s what it was, I realized, my mind spinning as she showed me, her fingers guiding my thumb in small circles over the little button. “Softly,” she murmured, “and steady—circles, like this.”

She moved my thumb in a slow, deliberate swirl, and I felt it—how it swelled slightly under the pressure, how her whole body tensed as the pleasure melted into her. She took her hand away and I mimicked her, circling gently, my fingers still buried inside her, sliding in that slick, silken tunnel. She moaned, louder this time, her hips bucking against my hand, and I stared at her, awestruck, as she writhed—her cool, intellectual shell cracked wide open, revealing a wild, wanton creature beneath.

“God,” she gasped, her head tipping back, her throat exposed. “Just like that, Sandy—oh, God, yes.”

I was getting the hang of it, finding a rhythm—thumb circling her clit, two fingers plunging into her wet warmth, feeling her pulse around me. It was like she was sucking me into her. Her moans were sharper now, almost desperate, and she suddenly fumbled for my cock and grabbed it - her grip on it tightened, and she tugged fast and urgently, as if she was trying to intensify her own pleasure. It was too much—the sound of her, the feel of her pussy clutching at my fingers, soft and slippery and so alive, the way her thighs quivered against my wrist. I felt a pressure building I couldn’t stop, and I gasped, trying to warn her.

“Susan, I’m—Oh God!” My voice broke, frantic, but it was too late. The pleasure hit me like a tidal wave, crashing through every nerve, and I cried out, a raw, ecstatic shout that echoed in the dark. I came hard, my cock pulsing in her hand, semen spilling out in hot, reckless spurts. I looked down to watch it splashing against her thighs, streaks of white catching the faint light, and she gasped, startled, her eyes widening as she felt the warmth hit her skin. The thrill of shooting my sperm over her thighs, onto her bare skin, was incredible! I looked at it coating her; Susan did not seem to care, she was too far gone in her ecstasy.

My legs trembled, nearly giving out, and I grabbed the tree behind her for support, my breath ragged. It was mind-blowing—shattering—better than anything I’d ever managed alone in the dark of my room. Her hand kept moving, slower now, milking me through it, drawing out every shuddering pulse until I was spent, my cock twitching in her hand. I groaned, half-dazed, as the last of my sperm dripped onto the grass between us.

For a fleeting second, as her fingers squeezed me gently, a thought flickered through my haze—has she done this before? The way she kept going, confident even through my climax, made me wonder. How did she know how to ease off after I came? When the tip of my cock became unbearably sensitive? But then she looked at me, her face flushed, her lips parted, and I saw the same raw wonder in her eyes that I felt. No, she hadn’t. This was new for her too.

“Sandy,” she breathed, her voice shaky, her thighs glistening with my opalescent ejaculation. She let go of me, her hand hovering uncertainly, and I surveyed the mess I’d made—thick sperm clung to her thighs in abundance. I didn't think I had ever come that much before. She didn’t pull away, though, and she did not flinch. Instead, she leaned into me, her forehead resting against my shoulder, and I felt her trembling too, caught in the aftershocks of what we’d done.

The world slowly came back into focus, my breath steadying as the tremors faded from my legs. Susan’s hand slipped away from my cock, her fingers brushing my skin one last time as she let go, leaving me sensitive and softening in the cool night air. But my hand was still between her thighs, my fingers still inside her, surrounded by that incredible, slippery warmth. She hadn’t come—I was fairly sure, even through the fog of my own release. Her breathing was fast, her body tense, but she hadn’t shattered like I had. I couldn’t leave her there, unfinished.

"Susan, did you come?" I asked, just to be sure.

She shook her head. "Nearly," she whispered.

I started moving again, sliding my fingers in and out of her, slow and deliberate, my thumb finding her clit and circling it the way she’d shown me. I looked into her eyes, dark and glassy in the dim light, and whispered, “I want you to come as well.”

“You don’t have to,” she said, her voice soft, almost hesitant, like she was giving me an out.

“I want to,” I insisted, my tone firm despite the tremor in it. This wasn’t just about me anymore—it was about her, about us, about proving I could give her something too. I focused on her, watching her face, feeling the way her body responded as I moved. Her lips parted, and those lovely little moans slipped out again, soft at first, then growing sharper, needier. I pressed my thumb a little harder, kept the rhythm steady, and asked, “Am I doing it right?”

“Yes,” she breathed, her voice catching. “You are—just like that.” She tilted her pelvis upward, lifting her skirt up to her hips, tucking the hem under her belt, giving me better access. I was enjoying looking at her exposed crotch, the soft blonde hair that I had not seen before, when she slid her arms around my shoulders, pulling me closer, and I could feel her trembling, her breath hot against my neck.

I kept going, my fingers plunging deep, my thumb swirling over her clit, and she started to shudder—small, involuntary jerks at first, then stronger, her whole body tightening around me. Her face contorted, eyes squeezing shut, mouth falling open, and I watched, mesmerized, as she came. It was beautiful—raw and unguarded, her features twisting in a way that was almost too much to bear. I felt her clench around my fingers, tight and pulsing, a rhythmic grip that pulled me deeper into her heat. A spurt of wetness flooded my hand, slick and warm; it gushed into my palm as Susan clung to me, her moans breaking into a quiet, shuddering cry.

We clung together, her arms tight around my neck, my free hand gripping her waist, holding her up as her legs quaked. My semen was still on her thighs, more watery now and sliding down her legs, mingling with the juices that she had just emitted, as messy, glorious proof of what we’d done. It must have looked ridiculous—her skirt hiked up, my trousers half-down, both of us smeared and dishevelled against that tree—but to me, it was heaven. Pure, delirious heaven. Her body pressed against mine, soft and spent, her breath slowing as she buried her face in my shoulder.

I eased my fingers out of her, reluctantly, feeling the last flutter of her inner muscles as I withdrew. She sighed, a small, contented sound, and I brought my hand up, dripping with fluid, not sure what to do with it. Susan didn’t seem to care—she didn’t pull away from the mess or the closeness. We just stood there, clinging together, the night wrapping around us like a secret.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

A few months had passed since that first night by the tree, and since then we’d been at it constantly—stealing moments wherever we could. It had taken a lot of coaxing to get that first handjob from Susan, but after that she was unstoppable. I like to think that my 'two fingers and thumb' technique was the key. Against walls in dark corners of campus, tangled up in the cramped backseat of my car, in darkened movie theatres, sprawled across the narrow bed in my room. Always the same—two fingers in her pussy, thumb on her clit, while her hand worked its magic on my cock. Susan seemed to like the sight and feel of my sperm shooting onto her bare skin, and I anointed her thighs quite happily.  In reality I suspect it was just that Susan was an intensely sexual person, and she just needed unlocking.  But after many wonderful orgasms from her hand, I found that it wasn’t enough anymore. I wanted more. I wanted her, all of her, in a way we hadn’t yet dared.

We were in my bedroom now, the door locked, the blinds drawn tight. The air smelled faintly of sweat and the cheap cologne I’d splashed on earlier, hoping it might sway her. We’d been making out for what felt like hours, her blouse unbuttoned, bra removed, my shirt and trousers long gone. I was hard—achingly hard, with my balls starting to hurt—pressing myself against her as we kissed, my hands roaming her thighs, coaxing her legs apart. I’d even dug a condom out of my drawer earlier that I had had for months, leaving it on the nightstand like a silent plea. I had persuaded her to take her skirt off, and now I shifted my hips, nudging my cock between her legs, up against her pussy, feeling the heat of her through her panties which she refused to remove.

“Sandy, stop,” she murmured, her voice firm but breathless, her hands pushing against my chest.

“Please, Susan,” I said, my voice desperate and pleading. “Let me—just this once. I’ve got the condom right there. We can be careful.”

She shook her head, pulling back to sit up, her blouse falling open to reveal the beautiful curve of her breasts, and her hard nipples. “No, I’m not doing that.”

“Why not?” I pressed, sitting up too, my hands still on her thighs, unwilling to let go completely. “We’ve done handjobs so many times. I want you so badly, Susan—you have no idea. I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“I’m not ready,” she said, her tone sharp now, her eyes narrowing. “I’ve told you that.”

“But we always do this,” I said, frustration spilling out, my voice rising. “Handjobs are great, but why can’t we take it further? It’s been months. Don’t you want it too?”

She sighed, running a hand through her hair, her expression softening just a fraction. “It’s not about not wanting you, Sandy. It’s about me. I’m not ready for that. Not yet.”

I slumped back against the headboard, crossing my arms, a sulk settling over me like a cloud. “It’s always ‘not yet.’ I don’t get it. You’re fine with handjobs— it's the next stage – why is it so different?”

She looked at me for a long moment, her lips pursed, like she was weighing something. Then she shifted closer, her hand resting on my chest, her touch gentler now. “I’m not saying never, okay? Just… not yet."

She looked down at my cock. It was painfully hard, and the head was swollen to its maximum extent, gleaming and coloured an angry purplish red.

"My God," she whispered, "look at you. It looks ready to burst!"

Susan studied my anguished cock, a pensive look on her face.

"But… maybe…” She trailed off, her eyes flicking momentarily up to my face. She paused, appearing to be struggling with a weighty decision.

"My friend Jenny says she…"

“Says what?” I asked, my sulk fading into curiosity, my pulse quickening at the shift in her tone.

Susan didn’t answer with words. Instead, she pushed me back, her hands firm on my shoulders until I was flat on the mattress, staring up at her. My breath caught as she knelt between my thighs, her fingers brushing my hips. She reached for my cock, wrapping her hand around it, holding it upright, rigid and throbbing in her grip. I swallowed hard, my mouth dry, watching her every move. She had a strange look on her face, making me think that I wasn't going to get just another handjob.

“Susan, what did Jenny—” I started, but the words died as she lowered her head, her hair falling forward over my belly. My mind exploded as the realization hit me. She’s going to—oh God, will she? Is she really going to—

“Sandy,” she said softly, and I felt her warm breath on the tip of my cock, as her lips hovered just above me. “I want to make you feel good. But… I've never done it before… tell me if I do it wrong, okay?”

“Please,” I managed, my voice a strangled whisper, my hands grabbing the sheets. “Please, yes—anything.”

She glanced up at me, a small, nervous smile tugging at her lips, and then she dipped lower, her breath on the tip of my cock again. My whole body tensed, every nerve screaming in anticipation, and I thought I might come right then, before she even started.

I lay there, propped up on my elbows, my heart hammering as Susan hovered over me, her hand still wrapped around my cock, holding it upright like a sceptre. Her lips were so close now, her breath hot and teasing against the tip, and I could barely think straight. She looked up at me, her eyes wide with a mix of nerves and determination, and then she parted her lips, lowering her head inch by agonizing inch. The first touch of her lips—soft, warm, tentative—sent a jolt through me, and I gasped, my hips twitching upward instinctively. She parted her lips and took just the tip of the head between them, and I felt the point of her tongue dart against the slit.

She froze, pulling back slightly, her lips glistening with a drop of my moisture. “Is that okay?” she asked, her voice small, uncertain. “I’ve never… I don’t know if I’m doing it right.”

“It’s perfect,” I rasped, my throat tight with need. “God, Susan, it’s so good—just keep going. Please.” The fact that she wasn’t an expert, that this was new for her too, flooded me with relief. I’d have hated the thought of her doing this with someone else, some other guy teaching her what she was learning with me now. This was ours, raw and unpolished, and that made it even hotter.

She nodded, a shy smile flickering across her face, and then she leaned down again, confidence growing. Her lips slid completely over the head of my cock, enveloping me in a wet, velvet heat that made my eyes roll back. She didn’t take me deep—not yet—just sucked gently, her tongue brushing the underside in hesitant, exploratory flicks. I groaned, loud and unrestrained, my hands digging into the sheets as she found her rhythm. Her head bobbed slowly, awkwardly at first, her teeth grazing me once—enough to make me flinch—but she adjusted quickly, softening her mouth, learning as she went. She lifted her mouth from me.

“Like this?” she murmured.

“Yes,” I panted, staring down at her, transfixed. “Exactly like that—fuck, Susan, you’re amazing.” And she was. Her hair spilled over her shoulders, brushing my thighs as she moved, and her blouse hung open, her breasts swaying with every dip of her head. They bobbed delightfully, small and pointed, her nipples hard little peaks that danced in time with her sucking. I couldn’t look away—her mouth stretched around me, her cheeks hollowing slightly as she drew me in, her breasts jiggling in a way that was almost too much to handle. It was sexy and beautiful, and I was transported, lost in a heaven I had fantasised about for years.

She grew bolder, taking me deeper, her lips sliding halfway down my shaft before pulling back, her tongue swirling over the tip like she was tasting me, testing what I liked. Her hand stayed at the base, squeezing gently, and the combination—wet mouth, firm grip—had me trembling, my balls tightening with every slick, sloppy stroke. I could hear it too, the soft, wet sounds of her sucking, mingling with her little hums of effort, and it drove me wild.

Had her friend Jenny told her how to do this? Jenny was a stunning girl, and the thought of the pair of them talking about sex that explicitly was intensely exciting.

“Susan,” I gasped, my voice cracking as the pressure built; I could feel that the inevitable was about to happen.

 “I can’t—I’m gonna… You should stop if—” I tried to warn her, to give her an out, but she didn’t pull away. Her eyes flicked up to mine, dark and steady, and she just kept going, her mouth working me faster, her tongue pressing harder against me. It was like she wanted it, and that realization—her willingness, her hunger—broke me.

I couldn’t hold back. My head tipped back, a guttural cry tearing from my throat as I came, hard and unstoppable. My cock pulsed in her mouth, and spurted thick, hot jets, and she didn’t flinch. I watched my cock bucking as I shot my sperm into dear Susan's willing mouth, and it was the most incredible sight. She sucked me through it, her lips sealed tight, her throat working as she swallowed—sweet, innocent Susan was swallowing my sperm like it was the most natural thing in the world! The sensation was mind-blowing, a lightning strike of pleasure that ripped through every nerve, more intense than anything I’d ever felt. My legs shook, my hips quivered as I spurted into her mouth, wave after wave, until I was empty, wrung out, and gasping for air.

She pulled off slowly, a thin string of spit and cum connecting her lips to me for a fleeting second before it broke. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, her face flushed, her breath uneven. I stared at her, dazed, my chest heaving, still reeling from the sight of her—hair mussed, lips wet, breasts still bare and bobbing slightly as she sat back on her heels.

“Was that… okay?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, a nervous edge to it.

“Okay?” I croaked, half-laughing, half-stunned. “Susan, that was—fuck, that was spectacular. I’ve never… nothing’s ever been like that.” I reached for her, pulling her down beside me, my arms wrapping around her as I buried my face in her hair. She nestled against me, warm and soft, and I could smell my sperm on her breath, mingled with her scent. It was messy, primal, perfect—my first blowjob, etched into my memory forever, and it was hers, all hers.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Another month had slipped by, and we’d pushed every boundary but the last one. Having sucked my cock, Susan had to let me return the favour and let me taste her—really taste her—sprawled out on my bed with her thighs trembling around my head as I learned to stick my tongue deep into her, and lick her clit, teasing it with soft, swirling strokes while my fingers—two as usual—curled inside her, coaxing sweet, shuddering orgasms from her. She’d come against my mouth again and again, her moans filling the room, her hands tangled in my hair. We’d done everything—hands, mouths, every inch explored, even the famous 69 position—everything except that final step. I still ached for it, a deep, gnawing want that never went away.

Now we were on my bed again, the late afternoon light filtering through the blinds, casting soft stripes across her skin. Susan was completely naked this time, her clothes shed in a slow, deliberate tease that left me breathless. She looked ravishing—her slim frame stretched out beside me, her small breasts rising with each breath, nipples taut and pink, her hips curving gently into the shadowed dip between her thighs. Her hair fanned across the pillow, a dark halo, and her eyes glinted with something new—something bold. I was naked too, my cock already hard, pressing against her hip as we kissed, deep and hungry.

I shifted, my hands sliding down her body, guiding her thighs apart as I nudged my cock between them. I braced for the usual—her hands pushing me back, her soft but firm “not yet”—but it didn’t come. She didn’t stop me. Her legs parted wider, her breath pausing, and I froze, the tip of me brushing the warm, wet heat of her. I looked up, searching her face, my heart pounding so loud I could hear it. “Are you sure?” I whispered, my voice rough, almost pleading.

“Yes,” she said, clear and definite, her eyes locked on mine. No hesitation, no doubt—just yes. My chest tightened, a rush of heat flooding me, and I fumbled for the condom on the nightstand, my fingers clumsy with nerves. I tore the packet open, nearly dropping it, and tried to roll it on, but my hands were all thumbs, shaking as I stretched the latex over myself.

“Here,” she murmured, sitting up, her fingers brushing mine as she took over. She was nimbler, steadier, guiding the condom down my shaft with a focus that made my breath catch. Her touch was light but sure, and when it was on, she looked up at me, a small, nervous smile tugging at her lips. “Ready?”

“Yeah,” I breathed, pulling her back down, positioning myself between her legs. She lay beneath me, her body open, inviting, and I pressed forward, the head of my cock nudging against her entrance. She was wet—slippery and warm from our earlier teasing—and I pushed in, slow and careful, feeling her tightness at first, and then she gradually yielded and let me in. She gasped, her hands gripping my shoulders, and I stopped, terrified I’d hurt her.

“You okay?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“Yes,” she whispered, her nails digging into my skin. “Keep going—it’s good.”

I did, inching deeper, and oh God, it was incredible—her pussy enveloping me, soft and tight and so fucking wet, a silken grip that sucked me in. I groaned, low and guttural, as I sank all the way, buried to the hilt, our hips flush together. She moaned too, a sound that vibrated through me, and I felt her clench around me, a pulse of heat that made my head spin. This was it—everything I’d hoped for, dreamed of, jerked off to countless times in the dark—and more. So much more.

I started moving, clumsy at first, my thrusts shallow and uneven as I found a rhythm. Her legs wrapped around me, pulling me closer, and I could feel every inch of her—soft walls rippling around my cock, wet with her arousal, drawing me deeper with every stroke. “Susan,” I gasped, my face buried in her neck, breathing in the sweet, musky scent of her skin. “You feel—so fucking good.”

“So do you,” she panted, her voice breaking as she rocked her hips up to meet mine. Her breasts pressed against my chest, nipples grazing me with every thrust, and I reached down, cupping one, thumbing the hard peak until she whimpered. Our bodies slapped together, a wet, rhythmic sound that filled the room, primal and perfect. She was tight, so tight, but she willingly opened to me, her thighs trembling, her breath hot against my ear.

I shifted, angling deeper, and she cried out, her hands sliding to my back, nails raking me as I hit something inside her that made her arch. “There—right there,” she gasped, and I did it again, harder, watching her face twist with pleasure, her lips parted, eyes half-shut. My cock throbbed inside her, the condom dulling nothing—this was raw, electric, the slick friction driving me wild.

“I’m close,” I warned, my voice strained, the pressure building fast, a molten coil tightening in my gut. “Susan, I—”

“Me too,” she moaned, her hands clutching me, her hips grinding against mine. I thrust faster, desperate, chasing it, and then she shattered—her pussy clamping down on me, pulsing hard as she came, a flood of wetness soaking us both. Her cry was sharp, beautiful, her body bucking beneath me, and it tipped me over the edge. I thrust into her one last time, burying myself deep as I came, a blinding, wrenching orgasm that tore through me. I spurted into the condom, thick and hot, my cock jerking inside her as wave after wave of pleasure ripped me apart. I shouted her name, my vision blurring, my whole body shaking with the force of it.

We collapsed together, panting, sweaty, tangled in each other. I stayed inside her a moment longer, feeling her soften around me, her breath slowing against my cheek. When I finally pulled out, the condom slick and heavy, I rolled onto my back, pulling her against me. She curled into my side, her naked skin warm and damp, her head resting on my chest.

“Was it… what you wanted?” she asked, her voice soft, vulnerable.

“More,” I said, still catching my breath, my hand stroking her hair. “So much more than I ever dreamed.” And it was—losing my virginity to dear Susan, feeling her lose hers to me, was a searing, perfect ecstasy that burned itself into my soul. It was better than everything I’d hoped for!

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Weeks after that first time, Susan and I couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Every touch, every kiss, fuelled this insatiable fire between us, but there was one thing we hadn’t dared yet—going bare, feeling each other with nothing in the way. It started as a late-night whisper, tangled in my sheets, her head on my chest as she talked about her cycle. She’d been tracking it, meticulous as ever, flipping through a little notebook she kept in her bag. “There’s a window,” she’d said, her voice low, a mix of nerves and excitement. “Right after my period—low risk. We could… if you want.”

If I wanted? I’d been dreaming of it, the thought of her raw and open, no latex dulling the heat of her. We picked a night—soon after her last bleed, a Tuesday, the safest spot according to her calculations—and now here we were, back in my room, both tense with excitement. The blinds were shut tight, the lamp casting a warm glow over her naked body as she stretched out on my bed. She was stunning—her skin flushed, her breasts soft and inviting, her thighs parted just enough to show the dark, damp curls between them. I stripped down fast, my cock already hard, twitching at the sight of her.

“You’re sure about this?” I asked, kneeling between her legs, my hands trembling as they skimmed her hips. My voice was rough, thick with want.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes locked on mine, steady and sure. “I want to feel you—all of you.” She reached for me, her fingers brushing my length, guiding me closer, and I groaned at the contact, her touch igniting me.

No fumbling with a condom this time—just us, bare and ready. I leaned over her, kissing her deep, tasting the heat of her mouth as I pressed myself against her entrance. She was slippery and wet despite very little foreplay, and I nudged forward, the tip of my cock pressing between her lips. The first touch of her—skin on skin, no barrier—was electric, a jolt that made me gasp into her mouth. I pushed in, slow and deliberate, and oh God, it was like nothing else—her pussy so hot and silken, parting for me, enveloping me in a tight, wet embrace that felt alive, pulsing around me.

“Susan,” I moaned, my voice breaking as I sank deeper, inch by inch, feeling every ripple, every soft fold of her. Without the condom, it was exquisite—her heat searing me, her juices coating me, a velvet grip that sucked me in. She was tighter than I’d ever felt, or maybe it just seemed that way - the sensation unmuted, pure and overwhelming. I buried myself to the hilt, my hips flush against hers, and she arched beneath me, her nails digging into my back, a sharp little sting that only heightened it all.

“You feel—so good,” she gasped, her legs wrapping around me, pulling me deeper. “So deep!”

I started moving, slow at first, savouring every slide—out, then in, her walls clinging to me, slippery and tightly clinging. It was intoxicating, the wet friction, the way she arched her back beneath me, soft and pliant, every thrust sending a shiver up my spine. Her breasts bounced with each motion, nipples brushing my chest, and I dipped my head to suck one into my mouth, tasting the salt of her skin as I thrust into her. Susan moaned, loud and unrestrained, her hips lifting to meet me, and the sound drove me harder, faster.

Her pussy was a furnace, molten and alive, gripping me with every stroke, and I could feel everything—the subtle tremors inside her, the flood of her wetness as she got closer, even the way her clit swelled against my crotch when I pressed deep. “Don't stop,” she whimpered, her hands clutching my shoulders, her thighs trembling. “Oh God—don’t stop—please!”

I didn’t. I couldn’t. I thrust as deep as I could, my cock bare and throbbing, the sensation of her hot, wet flesh on my cock pushing me to the edge. My balls tightened, the pressure building fast, a primal urge roaring through me. “I’m gonna come,” I warned, my voice hoarse, my rhythm faltering as I fought to hold on. “Susan, I—”

“Do it,” she breathed, her eyes wild, her body arching into mine. “Come in me—I want to feel it!”

That was it. I slammed into her, hard and deep, and let go. The orgasm hit me with incredible intensity in a blinding, gut-wrenching wave that ripped through me as I came—unhindered, unfiltered—spurting hot and thick into her with total freedom. It was mind-blowing, the feel of ejaculating inside her, my cock pulsing with every jet, flooding her with warmth. I could feel it—my semen pumping through my cock into her, her pussy clenching around me, milking me dry, no barrier to dull the wet, messy rush of it. I cried out, a raw, animal sound, my hips jerking as I emptied myself, the sensation so intense my vision blurred, my whole body shaking.

She came too, right then, her walls clenching around me, a tight, rhythmic squeeze that drew out my climax as she shattered. Her cry mingled with mine, her body bucking beneath me, and I felt her flood around me, her juices soaking my crotch, a wonderful hot mess spilling between us. We clung together, sweaty and trembling, riding it out—her nails raking my back, my hands gripping her shoulders, our breaths ragged and loud in the quiet room.

When it finally ebbed, I collapsed onto her, still deep inside, feeling the last flutters of her around me. Susan wrapped her arms around me, her chest heaving, and I pressed my forehead to hers, dazed, euphoric. “That was…” I started, but words failed me.

“Everything,” she finished, her voice soft, her lips brushing mine. And it was—raw, messy, perfect, the ultimate surrender of our bodies to each other. No condom, no holding back—just us, bare and unbound, and it was the best experience of my life!