They lay together, facing each other, on her small double bed in her studio apartment. Even though she was thirty years old, this was the first time she'd allowed a man to be so close. So very close.
She moaned into his chest, his fingers sliding into her with ease, filling her to satisfaction. She slowly moved her hips back and forth, pushing into his hand, desperately riding his fingers in rhythm as he fucked her with them. His other arm wrapped around her, his hand firmly holding the back of her neck, pulling her into him, cuddling her tight into his bare chest. Her arms were around him, grasping at his back, her leg lifted around his waist with her foot on his thigh, granting him access to her wet, eager pussy. She ground against his fingers, trying to fuck them deeper into her. The still-unfamiliar sensation of a man's touch invigorated her senses, intoxicating, addictive, driving her wild. She needed his touch, she needed him inside her, she needed him to make her feel this good.
His fingers curled slightly as he fingered her, caressing the upper side of her pussy, her moans becoming involuntarily higher in pitch, her grip on his back tightening. As he rhythmically slid his fingers in and out, he pushed his palm against her clit; imprecise, but enough to feel even better, enough to make her moan more and more. She wanted more, she needed more, she could barely think of anything else as she moaned into his chest over and over with each thrust of his fingers. Her moans left her mouth agape, with no moment of reprieve to allow her the time or thought to close it, her lips and tongue pressing against him, her lipstick smeared across his chest.