Author's note: My Delilah more closely follows the song made famous by Tom Jones than the biblical story. All rights reserved by author. No sex under 18.
Delilah
My, My, My, Delilah. I should have known better.
I was a Junior at State U. To try to get some money for incidentals, I started tutoring the athletes, mainly the football players, a few basketball players, and the odd baseball or tennis player. The Athletic Department paid me by the hour. As a math nerd, I had a tuition scholarship. My parents were struggling to send me living expenses. I worked for the State Highway Department in the summers and was able to cover my books and car insurance. My parents had given me a car rather than trade it in for their new car. I guess I was doing better than the average student and with my Athletic Department largesse I was even to afford a little clubbing and dating.
I knew Rodney Darling from tutoring him in both Math and Physics. He was reasonably intelligent, but he just didn't like hitting the books. I told him even if he went to the pros he would have to study, but he preferred studying football plays to academic topics. He and I were the same age, but he was already an All-American quarterback, and I was a Junior Math major with a minor in Actuarial Science. My parents had spaced their children four or five years apart, so at least they only had one college student to support at a time.
I was meeting some of my nerd friends at a club on the Drag the first time I remember seeing Delilah. She and Rodney were seated at a table near the entrance, my friends were at a table nearby. At six-foot-four and 240 pounds, he and the movie-star-like Delilah were an imposing couple. She was dark, with coal-black hair, cobalt-blue eyes, and stacked like a you-know-what. Her skin was deeply tanned, unclear as to whether it was from tanning salons or fun in the sun, or perhaps a combination of both.
As I went by their table to the nearby table where my friends were sitting, I said, "Hi, Rodney."
He replied as was his wont, "Hi, Kid! This is Delilah! Nice seeing you!"
Politely, I spoke to both, "Nice to meet you, Delilah; Good seeing you, Rodney."
Knowing I had been dismissed by the great Darling, I continued on to my friends' table. I greeted them. We were having a pitcher, and they had already gotten me a mug, so we got into a discussion of our last video game night.
I and my friends were astounded when I heard the most melodious voice speak to me, "Excuse me, would you like to dance?"
I looked up into those deep blue eyes. A quick glance showed me that it was Delilah asking me to dance. Rodney was waiting in the not insignificant queue for the very busy bartender. I leaped to my feet almost turning my beer over. "I-I-I-I'd be happy to!" I managed to stutter out.
It was a slow dance, and it was like a dream. Her whole body seemed soft. We were almost identical in height; I think the only other trait we shared was blue eyes. We were soon dancing cheek-to-cheek. I let a hand slip from the small of her back to top of her buttock. Apparently, some dipshit was having trouble with his credit card, so Rodney was still waiting in the queue.
All I could think of was, it must have been my voice. I do have a resonant, baritone speaking voice. I could be a pop star, I'm sure, if I could only carry a tune. My eyes are good. But other than that, I'm ordinary, sandy hair, five-foot-eight, 170 pounds, certainly not in young Mr. Darling's class. I did play football in high school; however, the highlight of my career was catching a few passes totaling less than a hundred yards, when the starter was out with a groin pull. My limited success as a back-up end came from agility, not speed.
Unfortunately, the best dance of my entire life ended. I escorted Delilah back to her table, and noticed out of the corner of my eye, that Rodney was returning to their table with two drinks. I smiled and nodded and returned to my friends.
I think we were on our third pitcher, which wasn't that bad since there were eight of us at the table, when I heard, "Derek! It's me again." I turned around, not quite so klutzy as before. Delilah was as beautiful as ever; I and my friends were as astounded as ever. I noticed that Rodney, drink in hand was chatting with a thousand pounds or so of football player at a different nearby table, so I did my duty as I saw it and danced with her. It was as brave a thing as I have ever done, since I knew if Rodney took offense, I could easily be crushed with a half-ton or more of aroused football players.
Again, the song came to its end, but the evening was to take an even more bizarre turn when she said, "I'm bored. Do you think you could take me home?" As fate would have it, my clunky Trax was next to Rodney's Corvette. Delilah didn't seem to mind the vehicular difference. When we got to her apartment house, she asked me in for a cup of coffee. Would wonders never cease?
Apparently, she shared a two-bedroom apartment with a friend, who wasn't home. Instead of coffee, I got a mouthful of tongue. I promise, I did not complain. By the third or fourth breath between passionate kisses, I had my hands in her panties. We soon found ourselves on her couch, and I not only had my tongue in her mouth, but two fingers in her vagina. In spite of my well-earned nerd status, I did know how to use all my assets with the ladies.
After I finger-fucked her to orgasm, she suggested that we move things into her bedroom. She got no argument from me. She seemed quite pleased with my almost seven inches of male thickness. It might have grown a bit since I last measured it in high school. Undressing her was a pleasure of near perfection. Her dress was not particularly revealing but her underwear was of the nth magnitude. Black demi-bra and thong were out of this world. Underneath was a completely bare object of masculine lust.
In high school, I was able to develop extremely good ejaculation control. I suppose having been clipped while still in my birth hospital made it easier for me than for the unclipped. I also learned quite a few positions from the more experienced of my high school and early college lovers. I supplemented that information with what I could find on the internet.
We started off simple in the missionary position. She was ready, and after a few licks to assure adequate moisture, I penetrated her slowly. Then I began to increase the tempo and strength of my strokes. It couldn't have been much more than two minutes of slowly increasing stroking before I sensed several indicators of feminine orgasm: A sudden increase in natural lubrication, bodily convulsions, including the pelvic floor muscles, a gasped out, "I'm cum-m-m-ming. After the last spasm, there is an involuntary relaxation of the body. We moved onto the doggy position. My cock slid in smooth as silk, but I could feel a tightening response. Her pussy felt wonderful. Again, I increased the speed and power of my pounding and in another couple of minutes she was calling out her joy at climax. I then then helped her up into the kneeling prison guard with another outstanding result after only a couple of minutes.
I decided I would try one of my internet positions for the first time. It was her first time, too, but she loved the praying mantis. In it, the male and female face each other in near equality. Either or both can ram their pelvis against the other's. Our mutual ramming only took about two minutes for her to crying out her joy at cumming again.
I pulled her up into the standing prison guard and pounded her for the two or three minutes it took for another body-shaking climax.
I decided to use a position that a former lover had taught me. I only knew it as the Ultimate position. I sat with my back to the headboard and raised my knees. I had her put her feet by my buttocks and then slide down my thighs until she could impale herself on my manhood. I then told her to be completely still. I was able to just slightly move my penis to tease her in her quietude. She began to beg me to allow her to start moving herself. After just a little more teasing, I told her to go for it. She went wild. She lifted herself and slid back down three times before her first climax. Her next orgasm only took two of her pelvic thrusts. From then on, her pattern following an orgasm was to pause for a few seconds, then thrust her pelvis forward, and then experience an orgasm as she withdrew. A pause for breath, then a pelvic thrust, and another delightful climax. The whole time she was kissing my face and mouth. She only did this for a few minutes, before she told me she had had enough.
"What after only twenty orgasms," I teased her. I hadn't been counting, but that seemed about right. This technique can yield double digit moderate intensity orgasms per minute. She followed the pattern of relax, thrust, orgasm, while kissing me, two or three more times, and then I ejaculated. We relaxed, my softening cock still inside her. She was spent. She laid her head on my shoulder.
She softly whispered, "No one ever did that to me before."
I smiled and paused before replying, "We aim to please."
I helped her up, and then she lay down beside me, clearly satiated. I lay down beside her and softly stroked her, relaxing her from her exertions, preparing her for dreamland. We went to sleep in each other's arms.
I can safely say that after forty minutes, and more than twenty screams of erotic pleasure, Delilah was one well-fucked lady. Just to be sure, I gave her another ten- or fifteen-minutes' worth at dawn. After that the die was cast, and it was pretty much the same night after night, week after week, month after month.
I had some trepidation the next time I went to do some tutoring, especially when I noticed that Rodney was waiting for me. He shook my hand, "Hey Kid, I don't know what you did to Delilah, but I got to hand it to you. You're a better man than me."