Authors Note: This and future stories to come are true accounts from my wife's previous experiences. She has been very open over the years in sharing details about previous relationships and specific encounters. While never told as salacious stories (as mine are here), over many conversations I have gathered and mentally cataloged a great deal of detail about her past sexual encounters that would shock her if she knew I remembered. In fact, I often tease additional details by feigning to not know/remember about specific situations and probing into new aspects of what happened. The material history of the stories are true. The specific accounts and material details of those accounts are also true and, as best possible, participants involved, and their involvement is faithfully represented. Key details (e.g., the pendant, wearing shoes while naked, how she swallowed, what she did that night, her first unaided orgasm, etc.) are spot on true per her account. But, I've taken creative liberty to recreate my own perception of how it happened. These days my wife is a devoted, monogamous soccer mom, prim and proper in every way. These stories, while titillating to me, are often not fond memories for her.
This is the first in a series of stories on her life. This is the second writing, adjusted for writing style comments shared with me and to provide better context for other stories to come. Some names have been changed to ensure anonymity.
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Mike laid on his bed, his shirt still on but pulled up and bunched underneath his chin revealing well-toned pecs with a dusting of kinky black hair. A round pendant reminding him to always make righteous choices was attached to a silver chain around his neck and rested on his chest just below the hem of his shirt. His basketball shorts and underwear lay on the floor, but he still wore a pair of athletic running shoes as if sporting some clothing helped him retain his virtue.
I met Mike on my first day at the new church I attended. It was a singles congregation in a college town. Mike was the photographer, a role I later learned he relished for the opportunities it presented to meet every new member, particularly the new girls. I hadn't met a person who didn't know Mike and he was hard to forget as the only black man in the congregation. He was seven years older than me, handsome, confident and charismatic. If his plan was to snag the new young girls it had worked - he snagged me. The mutual attraction was obvious and we clicked socially from the beginning. In almost no time started getting close to one another, then he would push me away claiming I was too young then the cycle would repeat. I was used to attracting the attention of boys - this "you are too young" tactic drove me crazy and increased my determination to win his affection.
Mike never stopped claiming I was too young, but we began dating anyway. He constantly struggled to control his weakness for women. Our shared religious beliefs forbid sexual relations before marriage. It was a value I believed in too, but I had sex hundreds of times with previous boys and I accepted it was a value I needed to improve upon. Mike, though, tortured himself with the same belief. In his mind there were certain things he could do and still be compliant with the commandment; I thought it was hypocritical, he thought it was virtuous.
I was almost 19 years old and in my second semester in college. I was the first to attend college in my family with aspirations to become a nurse. My parents both had low paying hourly jobs with no ability to financially assist me, so I worked part time at a family restaurant to cover school and housing expenses. I shared an apartment with my best friend of almost 10 years which just happened to be across the street from Mike. We had moved in together right after high school graduation to escape the oppression all teenagers feel. My roommate needed room from parents who controlled her every move. I needed freedom from the responsibility of often feeling like the only adult in the home and having to play "mom" to three siblings. I was a great student at school and a hard worker at any job I undertook. I attended church every week and always felt the pull to be better. I didn't drink, smoke, or swear. I was by just about every measure a "good girl", but boys had always been my weakness.
And so here I was completely naked, just having licked and sucked on Mike's nipples, now slowly kissing and licking my way down to his chiseled belly, crouched on the bed between his legs. Mike was a personal trainer (something I considered a hobby more than a serious career), so he was fit and fine. He had these love muscles (my term) that extended from both sides of his abdomen down towards his crotch like road signs pointing me in the right direction; I loved those things. His stiff penis was pressing up against me and pre-cum oozed from its tip, wetting the bottom of my left boob. I moved my body, positioning his thick head in line with my cleavage, then slid down while flexing my shoulders and squeezing him between my breasts until he bumped up against my chin.
There was something about playing with a black man that turned me on in ways I hadn't experienced before. I loved his lips, just a bit thicker than other boys I had kissed. And he had a different smell; it wasn't particularly pleasant or unpleasant for that matter, but mere scent made me moist. It was the same for Mike. He loved having me lay naked on him, the contrast of my white skin and blonde hair against his dark features made him feel powerful, he once told me. He was dominant and controlling, behavior that I so often disliked, but which somehow drew me to him like the proverbial moth to the flame; maybe he was the strong father figure that I never had, who knows. When I would arrive at his apartment we would go to his room out of sight from his roommate where I would fully undress - that was his rule.
Mike scooted down the bed until his butt reached the edge then raised up on his elbows for a better view. I climbed off the bed and knelt on the ground between his legs, pressing my hands to the inside of his thighs and pushing out. Mike complied and spread his legs wide, lifting his right foot and resting his shoe on a nearby desk.
We had yet to have sex, part of Mike's effort to retain his virtue, but we had done something like this at least two dozen times. I would tease Mike as long possible and made a point to never touch his penis until the end, or until he forced me to. I pulled my hair back into a pony tail and tied it using a scrunchy I kept around my wrist - Mike didn't like hair in the way of his view.
I thought his penis was magnificent. A thick ridge ran down the bottom of his shaft, over his balls, then led right down to his anus as though he were two different halves that were molded together. I moved close, extended my tongue and started at the base of his penis, licking down the line over his scrotum until I reached the bottom of his balls. Going down on him wasn't my favorite thing to do but it was just about all he allowed us to do, aside from occasionally fingering me or sticking some object in me. Knowing it excited him, excited me. I have always been a pleaser and it was to the point I would sacrifice my own pleasure for his, something I sensed was unhealthy but unable to restrain.
I cupped his balls with my right hand, then opened wide and gently sucked, taking one ball into my mouth, then switching to the other.
"Suck my ass!" Mike said. He didn't want to have sex, but he wanted me to do every nasty thing possible outside of sex. He was the first man I performed oral sex with, and that only happened because he had pushed my head down until I did. Now it was a routine performed every time I visited him. He asked me to suck his ass before, but I never complied and unlike oral sex he never forced it. To be honest, I wasn't sure what he even meant by that and wasn't terribly interested in finding out. I usually just put him in my mouth and stroked him with my mouth and hand, distracting him from the request. Just 15 minutes ago I was begging for sex only to be rebuffed with his hands on either side of my head directing me down his body. Always looking for a new way to get him inside me, I considered relenting.
I moved from his balls and traced the line with my tongue, this time (for the first time) heading further down until the line ended. Still resting on his elbows, he gritted his teeth, and grabbed the sheets in tightly balled into fists.
