The bedroom was filled with the constant yet broken sounds of bed springs squeaking under the rhythmic thrusts of a man into his woman. But it wasn't the bed making the noise; it was Cindy who groaned intermittently with sharp, feminine 'coos' and 'ahhs' that were neither exaggerated nor too quiet to discern. Matching her steady pattern of moans and no doubt causing them was the driving of Carl's rigid seven inches into that sweet spot between Cindy's thighs. His smooth, slippery flesh invaded her over and over, but her hot, constricting body more than welcomed him.
Cindy wrapped her long, slender legs around Carl's hips and crossed her ankles behind him. On each of his powerful insertions, she raised her own hips to meet him, making sure she felt all of him, and that he could touch all of her. When he bent down to kiss her, she pushed her small but confident breasts together with her arms and arched her back so she could press her hard, dark nipples full against his chest.
When Carl finally came and Cindy felt his heat pouring into her, she shuddered into her own satisfying climax.
But when it was all over and Carl rested his sweaty body onto her thin frame as he grew soft and slipped out of her, Cindy's delicate pussy lips sucked at him for more. The sex had been great. The climax had been draining. Yet something just wasn't right, and that didn't make any sense to Cindy at all. She saw her confusion mirrored in Carl's face. This wasn't the first time this had happened.
Carl was married--not to Cindy. That was the first excuse the pair had come up with, each on their own, to explain why they weren't fully enjoying themselves. But if guilt was the real reason, then they wouldn't have been so excited to get together almost every other day since the affair began. Carl had actually come up with extensive plots to see Cindy and at the same time cover all of his tracks. In just a few weeks he had become so good at it that his wife still didn't know he had seen Cindy, something all the more surprising since his wife--and neither Carl nor Cindy knew this--was aware of their first infidelity.
So obviously he wanted her, which left Cindy wondering if she was the problem. She had to consider that, because she had fallen so hard for Carl that first time, maybe she was distracted by the fact that, in the back of her mind, she knew he was married and ultimately unavailable. But Cindy also knew she was the kind of person who was more likely to get determined by this challenge rather than become depressed by the obstacle. And maybe that was just it; maybe she needed to try harder, and maybe he needed to show her that she had a chance at winning him away.
He slept in the middle of her bed on her lavender sheets, but she lay awake, resting her head on his chest while her fingers lazily explored the pubic hair covering his warm testicles. They were a mismatched pair; he was 34, had a career, a mortgage, and played the stock market. She was 19, a sales clerk at a hardware store, and spent most of what she made on clothes to wear to bars, where random guys unfailingly picked up the tab before picking her up for a nightcap. He was white, and lived in a white neighborhood. She was a Latina, and she lived in an apartment in the nicest part of the bad part of town. For the better part of an hour, she shook away those barriers and thought about what she could do to turn him. When his eyes groggily blinked open, a thought struck out of no where...
...She asked him to tell her every detail of his first time.
---
He struggled when he began the story, but as he went on, the words and memories became easier and clearer. This was a good sign, because it showed that his first time was something he wanted to remember.
He was 20, and being a virgin at that age was frustrating enough without all of his friends knowing about it. They constantly teased him, but they also tried setting him up every weekend. Carl just seemed to have a knack for striking out.
Being 20 and therefore not yet old enough for the bar scene, Carl often had to look for girls at illegal college house parties. That was how he heard about Heather. In the aftermath of one of the keggers, Carl overheard a conversation between some guys about this high school girl who they had lost their virginity to. Apparently she had earned a reputation for breaking guys in, which was exactly what Carl needed. He asked around about her, and discovered she was a senior at the same high school he had gone to--she had been a sophomore in his final year, so he might have seen her, but she didn't become "famous" until after he'd graduated.
It was unexpectedly easy for Carl to set up a date with Heather. She made herself very available. Hours before their meeting, Carl was so nervous and excited he was shaking, and he had to take deep breaths as he drove over to her block to pick her up--funnily enough--on her street corner. After a nice dinner and a movie--things he'd been told were unnecessary but he did them anyway--they drove across town. They arrived at his aunt's house, where he was house-sitting while she was away for the week, and therefore had the whole place to himself. This was a much better option than taking her to where he lived, which was still with his parents.
When they got inside, Carl found it difficult to make conversation or even look her in the eye. They both knew what they were there for, but Heather seemed indifferent to it all. She was very nice, but it was quickly evident that she had no personality, which made breaking the tension not only harder, but more important. The worst part was that, despite her experience, she made no effort to take the first step.
Still, she was good looking if not a beauty. She was very thin, and was as tall as he was at six foot. Her hair was past shoulder length, and a very light auburn. She had a wide mouth, big brown eyes behind stylish but thick-lensed glasses, and wore very little make-up. Her ass and her chest were nothing to boast about, but nothing to be ashamed of either. She really didn't seem like the cartoonish, all-out whore he'd been expecting, which might have been a good thing if her submissive personality didn't fit her looks. Carl had hoped Heather would solve his problem by getting things moving, but it looked like he was going to have to make this happen after all.
They sat in front of the TV in silence. She sat in his lap, but otherwise didn't touch or provoke him. He just didn't get it. Finally he decided to just make his move. Though he hadn't had sex before, he had plenty of experience kissing. He hoped that would help things evolve. He kissed her, and she kissed him back deeply.
It worked, to a point. Her shirt and bra came off. Carl got his first taste and touch of tit and nipple. They moved things upstairs into his aunt's guest bedroom. He was hard and his heart was pounding, but she still behaved as if they might be going up there to play her favorite board game. Sure, she looked like she was enjoying herself, but she seemed unimpressed at the same time.
They undressed in silence. He licked her pussy until his jaw hurt, but not only did she not orgasm, she didn't even moan or root him on. When she sucked him, it was uninspired, as though it was a job she'd done often enough to even do it in her sleep. They fucked, but she barely moved when she was on top, and even less when he was. She turned her head and coughed a couple times during the session, further indicating her boredom, and those were the only sounds she made the whole time.
Not only was Carl disappointed, he was angry. Finally he had a sure thing, but that was all it was. Even the intensity of being naked with a girl and feeling her everywhere for the first time was fading, as was his erection. Using porn movies as his inspiration, he faked cumming into the condom, and the two of them cleaned up in relative silence.
They were at the door, his keys in his hand and ready to drop her back off, when something primal surged through Carl. He felt defeated and dishonored, and so he told himself 'no'. It wasn't going to happen this way. He wanted to do all the things he craved, everything he'd seen and heard about. He'd spent years of his life fantasizing about this moment, and this little whore had ruined everything! If she had been mean or unattractive, his urges might have gone away with the bad sex, but Heather had the potential to be a great lay. Her body was very nice, she was clean and fit and she did seem to like him even if she was faking it (and if she could fake that, why the fuck not an orgasm!?).
Carl had his hand on the doorknob when he finally just snapped.
"No," he said aloud. "I want to try this again."
Heather shrugged, nodded, and smiled, which might have been as good a sign as any. At least she didn't think he was so bad that she needed to make an excuse to say no.
They sat back in front of the TV, her on his lap, their clothes on again, both of them silent again. He kept running his mind over everything that had happened to figure out what he could do. He just didn't understand her. She was so...he couldn't think of the word. And then it hit him. Passive. She was incredibly, tragically passive.
He decided to try something, his cock already swelling at the possibilities.
"Kiss me," he said.
She turned to him, smiled, and kissed him. Her tongue flailed in his mouth, tangling with his own. His excitement at possibly having figured this out made him go for her with greater hunger and less self-awareness. Carl sucked on her tongue, and then she took her turn to suck his. Soon they were mauling each other, swapping spit, saliva running down their chins. He licked her neck. She still didn't make a sound, but at least her breathing was a little heavier. He took her hand and placed it over the hard lump in his pants.
"Take off your shirt."
She did, and somehow it was like the first time she'd done it had never happened. To Carl, he was losing his virginity all over again. His eyes fixed on her bra and her subtle but appetizing cleavage. He licked her there over and over. His fingers fumbled at the clasp at her back, but when he couldn't get it, he stopped licking between her breasts just long enough to give another order.
"Show me your tits."
She unclasped her bra and took it off. Her cute, pale B cups with the rosy nipples bounced gently into view. Carl couldn't satisfy himself enough to suck just one. He went back and forth greedily, sucking and lapping at both of them, puckering his lips around the nipples, teasing them gently with his teeth, getting Heather's chest so wet with saliva it was literally dripping down between her boobs and across her stomach. Still no sounds, but she was breathing heavier than ever.
"Let's go upstairs."
On that short journey up those two flights, Carl made a decision. Tonight he was going to get everything he wanted, and Heather was going to give it to him. But if he wanted this to last, he needed to exercise some control.
Back in the bedroom, he led Heather to the bed where they sat down next to each other.
"Take off your pants and lay back," he said, keeping his voice firm but soft so as not to sound like the direct order it was.
Heather complied.
Carl slipped a hand under her pink panties, felt past her short pubes to her lips, and then began working a finger inside of her. She spread her thighs to help him a little, which was a nice conscious effort, but best of all was that he was making her wet. She watched him finger her as though she were watching TV, so he gave her another order.
"Play with your tits."
And so she did. Heather palmed her small breasts and massaged herself, lightly pinching her nipples.
"Tell me how it feels."
