Amazing Grace: Beginnings
© Bad Hobbit 2023
Author's note: Lately I've been mostly writing stories with some sex in them. This is unashamedly a sex story, impure and simple. I hope you like it.
*****
Just before I came, I reflected on how good life was. I had a handsome, eighteen-year-old, blond Swedish boy, pumping his cock deep into my soon-to-be throbbing arsehole. Meanwhile, his pretty little blonde girlfriend licked my clit hungrily as she approached her latest orgasm of the night, thanks to my finger on her clitoris and my husband's clever cock inside her sweet, neat, pink pussy. As I heard Matteo groan and felt his long cock twitch, deep inside my deliciously-dilated rectum, I finally let go, feeling the thrill as I involuntarily, but ecstatically, gripped and released, gripped and released that hard rod of flesh.
I absolutely adore the 'trigasm'; stimulated repeatedly in all the most erotic spots - a tongue on my clitoris, two slender fingers on my g-spot and a nice hard cock deep inside my well-trained anus - riding the roller-coaster of rising and falling peaks, trying to hold back each one until the sensations are almost unbearable, then giving in to the torrent of sensations, as everything bubbles up from my lower abdomen. My arse goes into the most extreme and almost unnerving contractions, my clit seems to light up like a lightbulb, my vulva tingles all over, my vagina ripples, my nipples ping like doorbells, my legs start to shake uncontrollably and my head and body are filled with a kind of euphoria that - I guess, because I've never tried it - recreational drug users must feel when the rush comes. I could feel the sticky, wet pulse of Matteo's cum, hitting my stretched inner walls, and hear his almost anguished moans as he felt my muscles milking his cock dry. I gave myself up to the moment, relishing the response of every one of the thousands of over-stimulated nerve endings, all firing volley after volley of beautiful sensations through me.
And then beneath me, I heard, and felt, sweet little Hana moan and squeal as Claude and I took her across the threshold to her own ecstasy. Her long, skinny, beautifully-toned and bronzed legs began to thrash wildly, and my clit got another stimulus as she ululated into my pussy. I looked dreamily at Claude, his face a mask of concentration, and knew he was near.
"Now?"
"Now!" he replied. I bent forward, his hips moved back and then up. In a movement we'd practiced many times before, my mouth opened to envelop the head of his cock, even as the first spurts of semen hit my lips and then were consumed within. I felt, tasted, savoured this outpouring of his lust. We had completed the circle; four hedonistic beings, sated at last as we each took our long-awaited orgasms.
We'd met Matteo and Hana at a nudist beach on the Greek island of Spetses. Claude and I had taken a villa for a month, me to study some local archaeological finds, he to survey the local marine environment. Although I'm in my late forties and Claude is now over fifty, we keep ourselves in very good shape. There seems to be something about people who scuba dive that keeps them slim and well-toned. As an eminent marine biologist, Claude spends a lot of time underwater and, if I have the opportunity, I join him. But on a dig, you don't get much time off, and when I'm working, I rarely eat much during the day. He and I often cycled from our villa to our respective workplaces, only meeting in the evening to compare our finds, to eat - always healthily - drink sparingly, and then, usually, fuck. All of this keeps us slim and fit. Matteo and Hana seemed to pick us out as fellow hedonists almost straight away, and the significant age difference - both of them young enough to be our children - meant little as we appraised one another's nakedness and found it intriguing.
*****
Our current relaxed attitude to free and delightful sex with other beautiful people is something that has developed over decades. When I met Claude, I was a naïve undergraduate at Cambridge, preparing for my career in archaeology. Claude, I discovered, was in the final year of his PhD, assembling his thesis and looking for career opportunities. I was having coffee with friends in a little café near the Fitzwilliam, one warm April morning, when Claude walked in. There was something about him; all three of us 'fresh-faced frustrated females' as my friend Vanessa called us, watched him as he walked - or rather 'flowed' toward the counter. His good-quality clothes seemed moulded to his lithe body, and he reminded me of a gazelle, or possibly a cheetah, with a grace that belied an underlying power. His face was strong, chiselled, with high cheekbones, a firm jaw, a wide, slightly sardonic mouth and big, dark eyes. His rich, black hair was tied in a ponytail behind, giving a rakish, almost piratical look. As he turned from the counter, clutching his cappuccino, and scanned for somewhere to sit in the crowded café, I found myself involuntarily catching his eye and indicating the spare seat at our table. He smiled, nodded and, to our immense excitement, joined us.
I remember vividly the first time he spoke to me. "Grace! What a beautiful name, and so appropriate," he said with a broad, even-toothed smile as we introduced ourselves. His French accent was apparent from the first moment. His English was impeccable, but the way he pronounced certain words made even the most mundane sentence sound fascinating. I think my friends, Vanessa and Maisie, were somewhat miffed when he focused almost exclusively on me. And while he was polite, most of his questions were directed at me, to my astonishment and delight.
When he finally finished his coffee, he did something strange; he took out a business card and handed it to me. "Call me. Tomorrow. Now, if you'll excuse me, ladies, I must go. Au revoir." It was weird; not so much an invitation as a command.
If looks could kill, my bleeding and beaten body would've been on the floor of that café as soon as Claude walked out the door. Vanessa and Maisie wanted to know what it was that had made Claude focus on me.
"Maybe he could lip-read and Grace was mouthing 'if you take me home, I'll suck your balls dry'," Vanessa opined.
"Vanessa! Don't be so crude!" I replied shocked. I was trying not to make it obvious that I was still a virgin and had no idea how to suck a boy's cock, apart from some rather confusing advice I'd read in Cosmopolitan. But inside, I was thinking 'what if he just wants to have sex with me? Would I want that?' And a little voice said 'Oh my God, girl, who wouldn't want to have sex with him?' It seemed clear that my two friends would have been very happy to oblige him in that respect.
Sure, I know I was quite pretty in those days. My hair was long, thick, glossy and curly. I've always thought that my eyes were my best feature; they're quite big and a nice shade of brown. My eyes and, I suppose, my breasts. They were large but firm, uptilted with nipples that stood out quite a long way when I got excited. But I tended to dress down, in loose and unflattering clothes, perhaps because I didn't want to attract 'the wrong kind of boy', as my mother would have said. Whether Claude was the wrong kind or the right kind, my eighteen-year-old self was incapable of judging.
"Did you see his bum? Gorgeous!" Maisie's eyes were wide.
"How could you not see his bum? And the shoulders! And the cheekbones! And those eyes!"
The next day, around coffee time, I pulled out his business card. It seemed he had a job - "Marine Environmental Analyst" - with some research outfit, as well as studying at the University. I called the number on the card. My hand was trembling as I held the receiver next to my ear.
"Grace! I'm so glad you called. What are you doing this evening?"
And, just like that, we had a date. He picked me up in his open-top Alfa Spider, held the door open for me, drove us off to a classical concert in a nearby church. Normally I preferred indie music, but I recognised several of the pieces the quartet played, and I could tell they were very good musicians. To be honest, I barely noticed the music; I was just caught up in the moment as Claude sat beside me, occasionally smiling in my direction and asking if I was enjoying it. After an hour, we went to a tiny French place he knew, where he was greeted like an old friend and spoke in rapid-fire French with the owner and staff. He introduced me - '
enchanté
' the owner said with a broad smile - and we had a delicious meal that I would never have been able to afford on a student's money.
The weather was still warm, so we drove out to the Fen Drayton Lakes and watched the moon reflecting in the water. It felt romantic. He leaned across and kissed me, and I melted into the kiss. 'We're in the middle of nowhere. He's going to have sex with me. I hope it doesn't hurt,' was all I could think. But he took his time. We'd been kissing for at least five minutes before he moved his soft, gentle touch from my bare arm to the neckline of my dress. He unfastened three buttons, slid his clever fingers inside my bra and I trembled as he touched and gently circled my nipple. My bra had a front fastening, which he skilfully unhooked before dipping his warm, soft lips down to suckle very gently. My nipples are sensitive, so this was thrilling. Then his hand moved to my thigh, stroking slowly, sensuously up and down. His other hand found more buttons, and moments later, he'd pulled the dress open. "You have beautiful breasts, Grace," was all he said before returning to tease my nipples.
He took quite some time before his fingers moved from my thighs and tummy to the little bulge in the front of my panties, and pressed lightly into the cleft. I sighed. And then gasped as his hand moved up to the waistband, insinuating itself between my legs.
"You're so wet!" he breathed in my ear, temporarily releasing my tingling nipple.
"S-sorry," I remember muttering, like an imbecile.
He laughed. "Why are you apologising? Unless..."
I felt a clever finger travel back through my slit, press into my pussy-hole and slowly slide inside. I think I moaned quite loudly. Then it encountered resistance.
"Ah, I see," he said softly. "So, you are a virgin."
"Er, um, er, yes. Er, sorry."
He chuckled. "Grace, my dear, that is not a problem. You will still be a virgin when you return to your room tonight, do not fear."
My plaintive, disappointed "Oh!" made him chuckle again. Yes, I was a virgin. But I didn't want to be, and this was just the kind of boy - man - that I'd always hoped would end my virginity.
"Grace, my sweet, I said 'tonight'. There will be other nights. But here is not the place for a virgin sacrifice. We need somewhere more appropriate if you want to give me such a rare and precious gift."
