Initiation

So, I stop at the Stansbury after work, for a beer, as usual, and, as soon as my eyes get used to the dark, I see David What's-His-Name sitting at a table with two chicks. He's waving—beckoning me. Well, I do a quick survey of the pub first, but, seeing no one else of interest, I nod and wander over to join them.

"Hey, Dave," I say, extending my hand. He's a friend of a friend—someone I've met from time to time at social gatherings—an acquaintance more than a friend.

"Join us?" Dave suggests, indicating the empty chair. I suspect Dave wants someone to catch the attention of his girlfriend's friend, so he can do a little 'grab and tickle'. I figure I might as well give the guy a break.

So, after a quick visual assessment of his table-mates, I slide onto a seat, fixing my gaze on the young friend. "And who," I ask, smoothly, "are your lovely companions?" Really, only one is lovely, as far as I'm concerned—the younger of the two. The other, I suspect—correctly it turns out—is Dave's date. However, Dave's introductions are interrupted as the waitress appears and I order a beer.

Now, while my full name is Dominick, and I'm Nick to all my buddies and club-mates, I always introduce myself to the ladies as Dom. So, before Dave can present me as Nick, I rise again and offer my hand to the young one with googly eyes. "Hi, I'm Dom."

"Glenda," she whispers, sputtering awkwardly—although in a kind of endearing way—with a delightfully fresh naïveté, while clasping my hand in hers.

"Enchanted!" I purr, giving her hand a good shake. I deduce, innately, that she's single—single, and just a tiny bit out of her depth.

I go through the same routine with Dave's squeeze, but, for some reason, I immediately forget her name. I suspect that she's a bit of a floozy, and expect that Dave is going to get laid tonight. I quickly turn my attention back to Glenda, assessing her potential as a conquest.

She is young and cute, and I'm amused at how she unabashedly ogles me with wide eyes and flushed cheeks. Hey, the girl's got taste. After all, I'm a buff and burly twenty-seven year-old construction worker, as well as a serious rugby player.

As we chat, I find out that she's twenty-two, unattached, and newly moved into her own apartment, fresh into the city from her up-country home. She works as a waitress in an up-scale greasy-spoon—don't they all start out as waitresses? We talk quietly, just the two of us, exchanging trivia, and I notice that she gradually has become more focused—hyper-attentive, as it were. I've seen these signs before. I know she is attracted, becoming enamoured, for I can detect her innate appreciation. And who can blame her: all modesty aside, I am quite the hunk—a quintessential specimen of the male of the species, even if I do say so myself.

And, soon, I have her hanging on my every word, figuratively drooling on me. Yes, I can feel her gooey gaze dripping all over me. So, what's I guy to do? I ask you. Being somewhat experienced in these things, I come to suspect that she is probably quite submissive. Initially she'd moved a chair for me, cleared a space, moved a coaster over, all naturally—automatically.

In fact, I have the idea, call it gut-feeling, call it intuition, that she is exactly the ideal combination of responsive and compliant. As I mull this thought over, I realize that, sooner or later, someone is surely going to exploit that situation—exploit her; and it might as well be me.

As we converse amicably her eyes stay glued to mine. She is obviously quite smitten, one could even say 'ga-ga!' Playing it up, I flirt with her shamelessly—almost histrionically, dropping loads of innuendo. Eventually, when I finish up my drink, and stand to leave, I hesitate, like I've just thought of something else—sort of Columbo-esque. "Hey," I ask, smooth as hell, giving her my winningest smile, "can I have your phone number? Maybe call you sometime?"

"Uh, yeah, sure. That'd be—nice—uh, great." She reels off her number as I enter it in my phone, then adds, with a wistful grin, "Yeah, call me any time."

"I will," I assure her, and after nodding to Dave and his girl, I give Glenda a meaning-laden wink, before moving off.

After a few days—why not let her simmer a bit, eh?—I call her up. It's a long call. Not so urgent over the phone. Pretty much like any other getting-to-know-you, first date conversation, we chat about everything, ourselves especially. I learn a lot about her; her taste in music among it all. So, we make a date for a drink and some live music. Now, I have a good memory for details, trivia that may be useful one day, so, remembering a band she mentioned, I managed to get tickets. It is a local indie band called Tomorrow Today, playing at an intimate cocktail-lounge venue. Though not exactly my taste in music, it's not too bad, and the evening goes very well, with Glenda snuggling into my shoulder for the whole second set.

In the car on the way home we detour into a park and stop the car to engage in some protracted necking. While voraciously sucking face, to which she responds in kind, I get my hands up under her clothes, then into her bra. She has lovely firm boobs—barely more than a handful, with, it feels like, small areolas. She doesn't protest, as I set to pinching and twisting her perky, and, apparently, sensitive nipples. Instead, she starts to get fired up, moaning into my mouth and swiveling her shoulders, adding to the pressures and sensations being generated through my manipulations. Seizing the moment, I trail the fingers of one hand down over her flat tummy, slipping them under her waistband, into her pants while continuing to bother both her tits with the other hand, sliding back and forth, between. But, it doesn't take more than a few minutes of twiddling her through the thin material of her panties, to bring her to an explosive orgasm.

On the way home, she feebly protests. "Never done anything like that before." And when I stop outside her apartment, we engage in another quick bout of tonsil-hockey, before she bounces out of the car, and, with a sheepish grin and a coy, "Call me, okay?" she disappears into the lobby.

I smile as I pull away from the curb. "Not to worry," I mutter under my breath, "I'll call."

Our second date is to an amateur comedy night at the Slavic Cultural Centre, where we have a few drinks. Unfortunately, the night's talent is kinda ho-hum, so, we leave part way through, and end up finding a quiet place down by the beach to park. The engine has barely stopped before I have her boobs bare. I rear back for just a sec, to admire the luscious sight, then, with hands framing them, lunge forward suck a nipple fully into my mouth. Glenda immediately begins to 'ooooh' and 'aaaah'. Soon her breath is hitching in little sob-like hiccups as I bat and swirl her swollen buds with my tongue. It's almost as if I could carry her to climax by just munching her tits, but that would be too simple.

In a slow, unthreatening way I inch one hand down across her abdomen, reaching tentatively, until, ducking beneath her panty-waist, my fingertips acquire her pussy. I can feel the heat emanating from her moist lips, settling in her trimmed bush. Once again, it is not long before, playing her like an instrument, I bring her to a whimpering, quivering, overwhelming orgasm.

As she comes off her virtually supernatural high, I convince her to return the favour as it were. She begins by fishing out my wood, which has been cramped and straining since shortly after we parked. She puts her small hand around me, as if assessing my girth, then begins to stroke me up and down. As the need for lubrication becomes evident she licks her own palm, before continuing. Soon, she has tongued her other hand to run it, too, up and down my still stiffening rod. With both hands working in tandem, she leans in to lick at her hands, keeping them wet and slick. "You can achieve the same effect," I suggest, "by licking me, instead, y'know." Leaning in, she looks at me up through her lashes as she extends her tongue, spreading her saliva between her pumping hands.

Through slow, patient coaxing, in due course, I convince her to take my cockhead into her mouth. By this time my shaft is trembling within her stroking grip, and it only takes a few sucks, her rounded lips pulling over my plum's flange, for my trembling to turn to jolting. "Stay with it," I tell her, as my own climax explodes out of my balls, splashing into her mouth and overflowing over the corners of her lips.

"Wow!" I gasp, my breath heaving. "Not bad. Not bad." Looking down at her face, I think she couldn't really look any better—cum running down her chin, her eyes seeking approval. "You done good, kid."

Glenda beams with the compliment. "Really? I've never done anything like that before."

"You're not a virgin still, are you?" I ask, incredulously

"No," she mumbles embarrassedly. "But not far off," she admits.

Well, she did pretty good, considering her inexperience. And I'm starting to suspect that I can use that lack of experience. It'll all be new to her. From the look in her eyes, the humble seeking of approval, I think she might be game to try just about anything I suggest. That'll be worth finding out. It certainly bears looking into. "Yeah," I think, beginning to scheme. "I might just give it a go."

When we eventually arrive back at her place, I walk her to her door, where we engage in a rough, protracted goodnight kiss—pawing each other once more. She asks me, in a dreamy, but unsure voice, "D'ya wanna come in?"

Much to her surprise—I can read it in her face—I decline. Hey, it's just like sport-fishing, I'll give her a bit of line, and play with her a bit, before I set the hook.

We talk several times during the week, but, letting her simmer a little, I make excuses for not being able to see her until Tuesday. "Sorry. I'm busy all weekend. Previous engagements, and all. Just can't get out of them." So, our third date is dinner at a Lebanese restaurant to which we can, conveniently, walk from her apartment. The dinner is great, with lots of shared plates, lots of touching of hands, and lots of revealing chatter. After dinner we meander back to her pad. Glenda is snuggled so tight against my shoulder that I can feel her emanating heat and detect her vibrating anticipation. By design we haven't had too much to drink; just enough to make her happy, but not enough to make her even really tipsy.

As we kiss at her doorway, she nervously, tentatively, invites me in, again. This time I accept. "Sure," I say, sounding like I didn't expect it. "For a quick nightcap, or whatever." However, we are making out, playing tonsil-hockey before the door is even closed. It is rough and urgent. She fumbles with the buttons of my shirt, folding it open to expose my pecs, while leaning in to brush her lips over my chin and down my neck. I gently direct her kisses down my chest, her hands twiddling my nipples as she drags her kisses along my sternum. I guide her lips to alternate between my sensitive buds.

Resting her fingertips against my ribs, licking and sucking, waggling her head back and forth, she bats at my nipples with her tongue. Then, slowly, without any prompting at all, Glenda drops her hands to my fly front, scrambling to open my jeans. I hold my hands over her ears, as I guide her lips down to my rampant cock. Springing out from its confines and throbbing as she tentatively takes my plum into her mouth, I suddenly pump hard, forcing my length, relentlessly, deep into her throat, causing her to gag. Stopping abruptly, I flip her onto her back on the bed and strip her of her pants and panties in one smooth motion. She is panting and quivering, and eager!

Pushing into her with a single powerful stroke, I am impressed with her wetness, and her welcoming openness. I immediately begin pounding her like a jack-hammer, pausing only briefly on the occasional out-stroke, to reach down and bite at one of her nipples, stretching it out before letting it snap back as I resume fucking. Young, inexperienced Glenda is inarticulate in her whining and gasping as I toy with her arousal, inflaming her libido, drawing her higher and higher, until she stiffens and shrieks, quaking beneath me and around me. Her orgasm is astounding. I'm actually very, very impressed! And, let me tell you, I've seen more than my share of female climaxes.

She appears to have a very low threshold for cumming, being very easily aroused, very easily brought off. And, as it soon becomes apparent, she has the ability to cum repeatedly, in quick succession. Her cunt muscles grip me with such strength that I can't withdraw, and her convulsive squeezing seems to actually pull my cum right out of my twitching, throbbing prick. It is an exceptional orgasm, more so for being our first together—and simultaneous.

Once the urgency is assuaged, the night goes several rounds, although I endeavour to keep just a slight edge of demand in each coming together. In the wee hours, I surprise her by taking my leave. "A bit soon," I say, cryptically, "to be staying the night, eh?"

So, on Saturday, just our fourth date, I decide to take her to the private lounge at our rugby club. After an hour or so of sitting at a table in a dim corner of the lounge, sipping cocktails, conversing earnestly, I pull Glenda close and coax her into twisting and bumping until she is straddling my lap with her hands on my shoulders. I corral her shoulders, holding her tight against me, nuzzling her cleavage with my face. Inhaling her scent, I snaked my hand under her waistband and into her pants, pulling the other hand from around her neck, I begin to tweak and pull on the nipple of one boob, as I continue to nibble at the other one through her top, keeping her completely occupied.

Pushing her panties aside, I squirm my fingers up her cleft to find her clitoris; and thereupon begins the serious twiddling. Glenda throws her head back, throwing her chest forward in the process, and gasps. I have her twitching and jolting and cumming and cumming in no time, right there against the wall, in the bar. Her stifled vocalizations attract glances from other members, but, observing an unwritten rule, they leave us alone—for the time being.

Once Glenda has returned to earth, her breath slowing to an exhausted, quivering panting, I playfully whisper in her ear, "Now it's my turn." It takes just a little convincing that no one is paying her the slightest attention, before Glenda slips and slithers off my lap and disappears beneath the table. I assist her in freeing my manhood and she begins to give me a long, slow, surprisingly talented blow-job. I can feel my arousal, stiffening and swelling and bouncing impatiently. But I deliberately hold off.

Watching, I see a familiar team-mate enter the lounge, and call him over. Glenda freezes for a moment, but, placing my hands over her ears, I convince her to resume once more.

"Pete Peters," I callout, attracting just a bit of casual attention, as, with my hands still feather-touch at the sides of her head, I gently guide her bobbing movement. "You old SOB, get your butt over here." Just as he pulls out a chair and sits, I stiffen and jolt, cumming quietly but voluminously in Glenda's luscious mouth. She coughs and sputters slightly beneath the table. Dropping my face for just an instant, I advise, sotto voce, "No mess, eh?"

"Hey, Pete. I'd like you to meet Glenda, my girlfriend." It occurs to me that this is the first time I've actually vocalized that. In a back corner of my mind I mull over the term 'girlfriend', but in the here and now I continue. "So, release your dick, my man. I'm sure she'd just love to introduce herself orally!" At the same time, I push at Glenda, still crouched beneath the table, and guide her in the direction of my buddy, whispering in encouragement, "Give him what you just gave me!"

We wait, for a beat or two, to see if she will comply and, after a short pause, she shuffles over. That she smoothly engulfs Pete's member becomes plainly obvious by his indrawn breath and jerking body-language. Pete and I share a conspiratorial grin as he drops his hands out of sight. He doesn't last long, and as soon as his ejaculation has roared through, he looks up and waves another of our good friends over. "Tompkins! Hey, man. You've gotta try some of this!"

Clutching my ankles around her waist, I steady Glenda while Pete stands to leave. He high-fives both myself and Tompkins, the new arrival, who slips into the seat, exposing his weapon, as he does. Once again, I am incredibly surprised at how smooth and how fast this is going. With minimal prodding—actually, none at all—Glenda sucks off Tompkins. I watch the progress in his facial contortions and glazed eyes. He cums quickly and, by all indications, with supreme satisfaction.

I ease Glenda up into the seat beside me as soon as my contented buddy leaves, lifting the hem of her top to wipe the cum from her face. Eyes wide she glances about, looking just a little shell-shocked. Leaning authoritatively in to kiss her, I whisper, "Thanks for being a sport!" Then, before she has time to respond, my intrusive hand slips into her damp panties, strokes up her slick furrow and finds her clit, swirling it into sharp arousal! We get up and leave while she is still gasping in the aftermath of her latest orgasm.

I put my arm around her and pull her in tight against my ribs as we make our way to the exit. I say nothing but smile and nod at my fellow club-members. I'm not sure whether Glenda's embarrassed or mortified or pleased. Regardless, she tucks her face into my shoulder, averting her eyes. In the car, she continues to snuggle against me as we head back to her place.

Initially silent, the atmosphere electric with a suspense of some sort, I finally break the thickness of the empty air, reiterating in a low voice, "Thanks, again, for being such a trooper with my dear friends." I couldn't help but let a chuckled snort escape, as I add, "You've certainly impressed everyone!" Quiet for the rest of the drive, I turn to her when I've park. "You were truly wonderful!" Leaning over to kiss her passionately, I add, "and terrifically talented, too!"

I take her back to her apartment, walking her to her door, then following her in without waiting to be asked. "Is it true?" she asks without turning to look at me. "What you said?"

"What did I say?" As much as I try, I can't keep the amusement out of my voice—or, for that matter, the affection.

"That I'm your girlfriend?" Swiveling abruptly, she gives me an enigmatic stare. "Am I?"

"Absolutely!" I answer without hesitation. I am actually astounded at how quickly I've come to that realization; as well as at how quickly Glenda has capitulated. Just as I suspect, based on the sort of frightened look of confusion flitting across her visage, she is amazed at her own self, as well. She has, it seems, assumed an unquestioning acceptance of the demands made of her, responding with neither protest nor complaint. Embracing, if somewhat unwittingly, the role of compliant submissive. And yet, at that affirmation, I detect a sudden, subtle sparkle glittering in her eyes, and the tiniest curve of smug satisfaction, visiting her lips.

As if that were all she needed to hear, she suddenly grabs me by the front of the shirt and pulls me onto the couch on top of her. We fuck right there, on the sofa, and again in her bed as we retire, then one last time in the kitchen, early the next morning, as I'm rushing home to get changed and get to work on time.

We manage to get together a couple of times over the next week. And during that time, a devious, rather unscrupulous, and exploitive idea has come to mind. It preys on me. In fact, I'm really torn between how I feel for her—which is seriously becoming a very strong factor—and how far I think she might go. Such a dilemma! In any case, on the following Friday, I ask, pretty sure of the answer, "D'ya wanna go back to the rugby club, for a bit?"