The Slumber Party Ch 04

"Grant, this is Angela. Angela, this is Grant."

When Carrie said that she had a particularly special virgin for his consumption this Friday night, Grant was skeptical. Sure, the two dozen cute young things that Carrie had fed him in the past several months were all quite nice—and some of them quite a bit more than nice—but they didn't really raise his temperature all that much. He had taken to heart what Carrie had said about giving them "a good experience," and so far no one had gone away disappointed. There was, of course, the predictable pain of penetration (both front and back—although some of them had balked at rear entry, and Grant never forced them); but once that was over, the girls seemed transfixed by the big, burly man who had relieved them of their unwanted virginity. He worried, in fact, that some of them would develop a crush on him, gaining feelings for him that he could never reciprocate. But if that had happened, he didn't know about it.

But when Carrie all but pushed the shy young woman at her side into his room, it was he who was bowled over.

Angela Dean was rapturously beautiful in a way that he had never seen in any other woman—not even his mother, who up to that point had embodied for him the acme of female beauty. But whereas Jessica was the very picture of ripe womanhood, Angela was a heartrending representation of the first flower of femininity. Most of all, it was her face. Delicately oval, its best features were the hauntingly beautiful and faintly melancholy purple eyes and the smallish but exquisitely shaped mouth. There was a demure hesitancy in her expression—typified by her looking away from him after an initial wide-eyed gaze, followed by a delicate blush that wrung his heart—that he had never seen in any girl or woman before. And although she stood tall and firm at about five foot six, she seemed like a porcelain doll fashioned by a master craftsman who had infused his creation with both his skill and his love.

And yet, Angela didn't in any way seem weak or fragile. Her figure was svelte but not unduly thin, and her generous curves at bust and hips made it hard for Grant to fathom how she could have remained untouched by a man up to this point. She was wearing a simple blouse and skirt, but there was an elegance in her bearing that made him think of such movie stars of an older generation as Ingrid Bergman or Barbara Stanwyck. But neither of them had the striking, expertly styled, silver-streaked hair—a kind of capstone to her overall loveliness.

So it was Grant who seemed tongue-tied when he stammered, "H-hi."

"Hi," she said in a low voice that went right into his heart.

Carrie was taken aback by Grant's reaction: she couldn't ever recall him seeming nervous or discombobulated when meeting a prospective sex partner, especially one with no experience. She said, "Well, I'll leave you to it," and drifted out of the room.

Grant got up from his desk—he was wearing nothing but his robe—and led Angela by the hand over to the couch. Sitting down on it, he urged her to sit next to him.

"Tell me something about yourself," he said.

Angela was startled. She couldn't know that Grant had never made any such request with any of the other virgins he had been with, and she didn't exactly know how to proceed. But encouraged by his gentle smile, she began telling him some of the particulars of her life.

She had been raised in a rural area in southern Washington State, and she was very close to her older sister, Sara, now living in northern California. She felt she had had an idyllic childhood and adolescence, but she yearned to get away from the stultifying aspects of rural life and see what she could do in a big city. But her shyness had made her reluctant to go to parties or on dates, and she had devoted herself mostly to her studies—she was majoring in French literature. Like Grant, she was a junior.

Grant was struck by that revelation. She had something of the bearing of a freshman—but in other ways she seemed ageless, like a Greek goddess. The prospect of delving into the body—and the mind and spirit—of this pristine twenty-year-old was becoming painfully urgent to Grant. And yet, he found her life story so fascinating that he continued to question her about it, carrying on for more than half an hour.

By this time, Angela had placed herself on Grant's lap, her arm resting lightly around the back of his neck. His head was close to her breasts, but he didn't reach out to touch them, even over the thin fabric of her blouse. But his fixed gaze on them made Angela breathe a little more quickly, her chest rising and falling and her face again gaining a crimson glow from a blush.

She wondered how long she was expected to natter on before the business of the evening was to take place, when finally Grant said almost shyly:

"May I take off your blouse?"

She swallowed and said, "Yes."

He unbuttoned the blouse with careful attention, then tossed it aside. Looking up into her face, he said: "And your bra?"

She nodded infinitesimally.

He was expert at removing the garment, and he managed to undo the clasps with a single motion of one hand. He let the bra fall to the floor—and then, looking at what was revealed, he gasped.

"Omigod," he breathed, "so beautiful . . ."

They were indeed the most exquisite breasts he had ever seen—and that was saying something. They were quite large—38D, he estimated—but they were superbly firm and round, and their nipples were already jutting out in anticipation of a man's touch. Their shapeliness and texture rivalled his mother's, but there was a fine down upon them that made them seem like the work of a master sculptor. As he hesitantly reached out to touch them, he came close to weeping at their sheer beauty.

Angela let out a gasp of her own when Grant took one of them in his hand and then brought his face close to it and delicately placed the erect nipple in his mouth. His own realization that he was the first man to experience these heaven-sent globes was matched by her own sense of the same fact. For all Grant's extensive experience and Angela's total absence of it, both had come to the understanding that a woman's breasts were far more than utilitarian objects for the nursing of infants: there was a deep, heavy symbolism in them that represented a haven of safety and security for the troubled males of our species.

He kneaded them with his hands and rubbed his face all around them. He sensed that he might easily have a climax just from this, but he reluctantly realized that that was not what Angela was looking for. He pulled his face away, looked up at her, and said:

"Stand up, please."

She did so, knowing what was coming.

He unzipped her skirt and let it fall to the floor. Stepping daintily out of it, she waited for him to peel off her panties.

The revelation of her gorgeous nudity caused Grant to come close to fainting. He had never seen the like—the flat stomach, flaring hips, firm curves of her bottom, strong thighs, tapered calves, and especially the thick, dark patch of fur at her groin, where he sensed that some moisture was already appearing. Angela's breathing was becoming still more agitated as she exhibited her nakedness with a paradoxically demure pride.

He got up himself and let his robe fall to the floor.

Her eyes bulged at the sight of his erect member. In her naïveté, it seemed enormous. Somehow she wasn't expecting it to be so big, and her excitement was now infused with a faint trace of apprehension. Grant, who had always been tickled at how some women seemed afraid of a man's cock, now wished he could reassure her that the organ was meant both for her pleasure as well as his own; but he sensed that that realization would only come to her through experience.

"Would you like to suck it?" he said quietly.

She nodded absently and dropped to her knees. The cock was standing all but vertically next to his groin, and she had to use a certain amount of force to pull it down and get it into her mouth. The first feel of that velvety hardness in her mouth was as inexpressibly thrilling to her as it was to him; and she seemed to have an instinctive understanding of the need to use both her tongue and her lips to enhance his sensations.

Grant was getting so stimulated that he stopped Angela after a few minutes, urging her to stand up and then lie down on her back on the bed. She naively expected that the moment of truth—her first penetration by a man—had arrived, but Grant had other things in mind. He gently parted Angela's legs and buried his head in her groin, and she felt for the first time the exquisite pleasure of a man's lips and tongue on her labia and clitoris. The sensation was so novel and striking that she let out a little cry, immediately suppressing it by placing a hand over her mouth.

But his actions produced their desired result in a matter of minutes. She watched wide-eyed as Grant's head bobbed up and down, licking and sucking with gusto; and as he placed his hands under her bottom in a characteristic gesture that inflamed both him and her, she felt that gradual but telltale sensation, proceeding from her sex and radiating over her entire body, that signalled the imminent eruption of an overwhelming orgasm. This was another first for her—having a climax in the presence of another human being, and a man at that. It shouldn't be a surprise that she felt a modicum of embarrassment at this intimate moment, and the choking cries that she usually gave out when pleasuring herself in the privacy of her own room and bed were deliberately suppressed even as Grant's continued licking drew out her orgasm far beyond its usual duration.

She couldn't even look at him as he gazed up from her muff and gave her a sly grin of self-satisfaction. He truly loved making women come, but Angela was so mortified by what she absurdly felt was her shameless display that she covered her face with her hands even as her body released its final shudders of ecstasy.

"Was that nice?" Grant said a bit impishly.

Angela didn't even want to answer, but felt the need to say or do something. Still covering her face, she nodded jerkily.

"I'm glad," he said placidly. Moving up her body and placing his own frame between her legs, he said: "Are you ready?"

She removed her hands from her face and gave him a look of mingled fear and excitement. "I—I guess so."

"Just relax," he said reassuringly as he directed his cock to her cleft.

The first touch of his member against her lips agitated her beyond reason, and she almost bucked her hips to thrust him off of herself. Realizing how ridiculous she was being, she resigned herself to undergoing the procedure—but then, when he inserted the first inch or two of his organ into her, her alarm came over her again and she let out a cry that was less of pain than of apprehension—the apprehension that she was on the threshold of true womanhood but not emotionally or even physically ready for it.

"Shhhh," he said, stroking her face gently. "It's okay—you can do this."

But he had come up to that familiar barrier, and both of them knew it. Angela started whimpering like a little girl, and Grant didn't know how to proceed. The last thing he wanted to do was to hurt or wound this divine creature.

"Should I stop?" he whispered. He had done that in a few instances where some virgins had become so freaked out that they couldn't go through with the act. He didn't blame them: it struck him as one more injustice that nature had inexplicably inflicted upon the race of females. The "first time" never hurt a man, but it almost always hurt a woman.

"No," Angela said, chiding herself for being a baby but not fully reconciled to having him proceed. "Just—just go ahead."

He took her at his word—and burst through the barrier.

She let out a sharp cry of true pain, and tears immediately sprang from her eyes. And yet, she didn't protest his entrance; instead, she clung to him, throwing his arms more tightly around his back, while she raised her legs and bent her knees with an intuitive understanding that this might make the procedure less painful. It did, but only marginally. Grant was now pumping slowly but determinedly, his face buried in Angela's neck; occasionally he planted kisses on her cheeks, mouth, and neck, but he didn't seem to notice the rictus of agony that distorted her face or the constant low whine that was emerging from her throat.

Her tightness, and the exquisitely velvety feel of her pussy, ensured that he wouldn't last long—even if it seemed like a lifetime to his partner. As he shot his essence into her, she popped her eyes wide open—not in surprise, but in a shuddering awareness that the height of physical, emotional, and spiritual union with a man had been achieved.

But as he pulled out of her and rolled off to the other side of the bed, the accumulated pain of the act overwhelmed her. She burst into a keening wail and bent almost double, her hands between her legs as if that would somehow lessen the pain in her orifice. Grant looked at her with a kind of horror mingled with self-reproach that he had caused such an injury to a woman who already meant so much to him. All he could do was hold her awkwardly as she rocked back and forth on the bed.

"I'm so sorry," he said. "Please, Angela . . ."

"It's all right," she whispered between sobs.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, choking up himself.

"It couldn't be helped. It's just what happens." Then, peering up at him with her tear-streaked face, she went on: "I'm glad it was you."

That single sentence made his heart swell, and he held her even closer. Then he realized that some other things had to be done.

"Um, Angela, we need to clean you up. You must have bled a little."

Angela looked with alarm at her groin, although she was holding her legs so close together that neither she nor Grant could see anything there. He got up from the bed and urged her to do the same; but as she tried to stand up, her legs gave way, and she would have fallen in a heap to the floor if he hadn't caught her around the shoulders.

"I guess I'll carry you," he said hastily as he swept her up in her arms. She put her own arms around his neck and peered up at him, still weeping but with a heart-wringing look of gratitude in her face. She looked so terribly fragile, like a little girl seeking solace from her loving father.

He carried her to the bathroom, lowered the lid of the toilet seat, and placed her on it. Gently he parted her legs and saw that a small amount of blood had streaked the insides of both her thighs, while more blood was seeping out of her cleft. Seizing a hand towel, he soaked it in cold water and began wiping up the blood. As he parted the lips of her pussy, he saw some of his own seed trickling out of her, and he wiped that up too. Then he noticed that his own organ was streaked with blood, and in a final gesture he cleaned himself up and tossed the towel aside.

"You feel better now?" he said.

She nodded silently, then struggled to get to her feet. She was still a little unsteady, but managed to return to bedroom while draping an arm around his shoulders. Carrie had told her that Grant usually expected multiple sessions of intimacy, and she was prepared to do as much as she could, although she hardly knew how much that would be.

But for now, Grant seemed content to enfold Angela in his arms as he lay on his back, with her on top of him. He kneaded her bottom avidly, as if he couldn't get enough of its splendid curves and superb firmness; but he made sure to kiss her face repeatedly, and she reciprocated as best she could.

In this position she could feel that Grant had become hard again, and with some trepidation she asked: "Do you—do you want to do it again?"

There was nothing that Grant wanted more, but as he continued to stroke Angela's bottom with one hand and her back with the other, he said glumly, "I don't want to hurt you anymore."

"We could try a different position," she said. She realized the absurdity of the remark, as if another position would be in any way less painful to her aching vagina.

"Is it still painful down there?"

"Not really—it just kind of throbs."

"I don't think—"

"You could go into my bottom," she said, as if struck by a sudden inspiration.

Grant was thunderstruck. "How do you know about that?" he said.

"Um, Carrie told me," she said, flushing. "She said you really liked it."

"I do, but—it's going to hurt for sure. It takes a while for a girl to get used to it."

"Well, how am I supposed to get used to it if I don't

do

it?" she said impatiently. She certainly had a point.

But Grant was still reluctant. Angela's bottom was as exquisite as any he had seen on a woman, and the thought of his invasion of it was already causing his cock to quiver in anticipation; but . . .

"I just don't want to hurt you," he whined.

She looked at him with steely eyes and said, "I want you to do it to me."

This was the first—but by no means the last—time that Angela revealed herself to be anything but a delicate flower. For all her outward exterior as a shy, demure, inexperienced female, she was in fact strong and courageous.

Grant's jaw dropped at both the substance and the tone of her words. Mechanically saying, "Okay," he reached over to the nightstand to take the blue jar in hand.

She peered at it, not fully understanding what it was for. When Grant took a large dollop of it in two fingers and brought it to her posterior, her eyes widened in understanding. She swallowed hard: somehow the idea of his fingers entering that secret orifice was even more shocking to her than his member doing so.

But she endured the treatment bravely, although she couldn't withhold a bit of a tremor. As he placed her on her stomach and put his own body on top of hers, she suddenly became frightened and let out a whimper.

"It's okay, dear," he said soothingly. "You really have to relax here. And if it's too painful, you just let me know and I'll stop."

That was already a far cry from the way he had given those five virgins at the slumber party—including his own sister—no option but to endure rear entry whether they wanted it or not.

As he inserted his member fractionally in her, she cried out in alarm—more in anticipation of pain than in actually experiencing it. He slipped in inch by inch, and she found to her amazement that the procedure wasn't nearly as painful as she had expected. There was some discomfort, but the cold cream caused Grant's member to slip in easily and wetly, and she felt an inexpressible thrill at the strange fusion of her body with his as he went in to the hilt.

"Is this okay?" he said, fully buried in her.

"Yes," she managed to say, entranced by the novel experience.

Grant had to believe that she was telling the truth, not just telling him what he wanted to hear; and so he began pumping, at first very gently, then with greater vigor as Angela's eyes widened and her tongue crept unconsciously out of her mouth. His hands reached around to grab her breasts, and she gave way to the delicious sensation of utter helplessness as she made her whole body available to this glorious man.

His thrusts were deep and hard—he almost pulled out of her entirely, then pushed back to the very root of his shaft, his balls slapping her bottom. His face nuzzled her neck and cheek, and once he let his tongue fill her ear—the novelty of the sensation almost made her come at once. But as his own climax approached, one of his hands drifted down her body and fastened onto her sex, stimulating the labia and clitoris in such a way that her own climax inevitably gained momentum. As the first drops of his seed began shooting into that nether orifice, she felt the initial waves of her own orgasm wash over her; and as both of them enjoyed the culmination of their desires, they also felt the utter intimacy that only comes from the intense melding of body, mind, and soul.