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“David, I,” but I cut her off with a kiss.
“Linda,” I said, holding her face between my flat palms, “relax and enjoy. Take it from me, you are a knockout.”
And there was that defiance I had noticed earlier, almost a perverse refusal to believe what I said.
“I have a mirror,” she said, but at least she was meeting my eyes.
“Do you have a rubber band or a hair scrunchy or something like that?” I asked.
She looked blank for a few seconds, my non sequitur defeating her.
“Why?” she asked.
I flashed my Grin, the one I practice in the mirror, and said, “didn’t the lovely Laura teach you not to answer a question with a question?”
She giggled at that, the first real sign of, well, pleasure? Gaiety? Joy?
Anyway, she giggled at that and said, “didn’t yours?”
At which I laughed.
“Do you have a rubber band or a hair scrunchy or something like that?” I asked, bringing the conversation full circle.
“And,” I said, catching her chin between my thumb and forefinger, “If you say ‘why’ you’ll get your first spanking right here and right now.”
Her eyes got big and then she giggled softly.
“You win,” she said. She opened her purse and pulled out one of those little elastic hair ties, kind of like a heavy-duty rubber band encased in a very fine wrapping of braided cloth, maybe a tiny bungee cord.
I took the band, used my hands to pull her hair back, away from her face, and then bound it into a rough ponytail.
“Now,” I said, “come here,” and I laid my hand on her shoulders, not forcing or even pushing, more like guiding her to the mirror on the wall.
“David, I,” and I cut her off again.
“Shhhhh,” I breathed very softly, my hands still on her shoulders, my mouth almost touching her ear, “and just listen to what Dave is telling you.”
She took a deep breath, almost a theatrical sigh, and said, “I’m listening,” but I did see her roll her eyes.
“Just look and try to see what I see,” I said, keeping my voice soft and low, almost like I would try to calm a nervous fawn or a dog I didn’t quite trust.
“Thick, dark hair, framing a pretty face,” I said, brushing a few stray hairs back from her face and then stroking, almost petting, where it was pulled back.
“Beautiful, sparkling brown eyes,” I said, brushing my fingertips across her eyelids making her shut them, “that need some smile lines to make them truly spectacular.
She giggled a little at that.
“Straight nose,” tracing the line of her nose with the tip of my forefinger, “something that might be found on an old Roman statue.”
Finally, she smiled, a real smile.
“And,” I said, nuzzling her neck a little, “a smile that brightens the room when she finally lets it out.”
“God, I can almost believe you,” she said.
“Believe me,” I said, my fingers finding the top button of that shapeless blouse she wore, kind of a brownish, and it hit me it might be the color of the word you see but never really say, “dun-colored.”
I felt her body tense as I unbuttoned that top button and then lightly brushed the skin of her throat that I exposed.
“A pretty face,” I said, letting my fingers return to her cheeks, “almost a beautiful face if it would just smile more.”
She giggled again.
I undid the next button, now exposing a little cleavage. The skin I exposed was so pale it gave a whole new meaning to the term “white people.” She was truly white.
“Smooth, alabaster (digging into my vocabulary here) skin, begging for a caress,” I went on and I felt just a little of the tension leave her body.
The third button put the top of her bra on display along with about a square foot of pale skin with a sexy tracery of pale blue veins showing. She was a very well-endowed young woman. Later peeked at her bra and found she wore a 42DD.
“Very nice breasts,” I breathed into her ear, my lips almost touching the helix, the outer part of the shell of her ear and my tongue lightly tracing the antihelix, that tender part forming a cup, “begging for a man’s touch.”
And I touched them, my fingertips brushing the line where the bleached white, industrial-strength bra forced soft skin to bulge a little.
This got the first real reaction from her. She drew in a long breath and leaned her head a little, the first hint of offering.
“God, you are good,” she breathed and I liked that her breath was a little hoarse, “I can almost believe you.”
“Believe me,” I said, nuzzling her neck now, kissing that soft area where her neck spread to her shoulders. She really was a big girl.
Another button and I could see it was some sort of a long-line bra and there were no hooks, but a zipper that ran up the front. I chuckled and said, “this is a new one on me.”
She giggled softly. “It’s called a ‘shaper.'” she said.
“I’m more interested in your shape,” I said, my hands undoing the final two buttons of her blouse and then laying flat on her belly, well, that wonderfully soft and warm muffin top between the “shaper” and the beltline of her Kartal Escort skirt.
She shivered and her breath caught.
“Please,” she started and her voice broke.
“What?” I asked, my hands lightly on her muffin top and my body in contact with hers as much as I could manage.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she said.
I chuckled at that.
“Not even like this?” I asked, nipping her earlobe hard enough to draw a little yelp followed by a giggle.
“You know what I mean,” she said.
I turned her then, to face me.
“I know exactly what you mean,” I said, and I kissed her, a serious, I’m-getting-into-your-pants kiss.
I held the kiss even when she started to pull away.
“Stop it,” I said, my hand behind her head now, holding her, “let me show you what you do to me.”
I felt the tension in her body and kissed her again. The tension held.
She was in my arms then, her arms wrapped around my neck while mine reached as far around her as I could. Her kiss was hungry now, full of need and desperation.
This time I broke the kiss.
“You are beautiful,” I said, my fingers getting a good grip on the zipper of her bra and starting to work it down.
“Say it again,” she said, and the smile on her face made it true.
“You are beautiful,” I said, finally getting the damn zipper down and opening the bra.
She had truly spectacular breasts. They were full, widely separated, and they sagged under their own weight enough that I doubted she could pass the “pencil test” even at her tender age. The skin of her breasts was that same pale white I had seen earlier, the blue veins were a regular roadmap to her nipples. Her areolas were an odd, dark tan, the color of coffee with just a few drops of cream, a stark contrast with the pale skin of her boobs. Her nipples were large and even darker, coffee without even those few drops of cream. Her areolas showed large, very prominent love bumps, the Montgomery glands, something I had always associated with women who had nursed children. Her breasts were widely separated and when I lifted each, in turn, and kissed it softly, she shivered a little.
“And these,” I said, lifting those magnificent tits, “are special. You should be displaying them, not casing them.”
She giggled and arched her back.
“Where were you when I was getting teased mercilessly in the sixth grade over these damn things?” she asked.
I laughed and said, “I was admiring you from the high school across the street but you were too young for me.”
And she laughed then, the first true, all-in belly laugh I had heard from her.
And I liked it. It was a happy sound coming from deep in her body. She threw her head back and let it go, her breasts bouncing with her laughter.
We stood like that for what seemed like a long time although probably not more than a minute or so, holding hands, her laughing, me smiling, enjoying what I thought of as a breakthrough.
Finally, she stopped her laughter. I was glad. I had been afraid I might be seeing actual hysteria, but she was back under control as I undid the button at her waist and let the skirt fall to pool at her feet.
I stepped back, and just looked.
I was surprised when she didn’t try to do anything silly like cover herself with her hands. Instead, she stood, straight, posture good, hands at her sides, her back arched slightly.
And she looked good.
Linda isn’t a truly fat girl in terms of rolls and creases. She’s more of a thick chick. Well, okay, a VERY thick chick.
She had the barest hint of a waist, and an incipient belly apron, just the tiniest roll so far but she could get truly big if she wasn’t careful.
Not, I hasten to add, that that would be a bad thing.
Her ridiculous granny panties covered an oversize bubble butt that was in scale with the rest of her.
I stretched my arm toward her, forefinger down pointing at the floor, and did the twirling motion, the universal gesture for “turn around.”
She took a deep breath and slowly turned.
She was a damn good-looking woman.
Her shoulders were broad, a heavy layer of fat covering the hardness of the underlying muscles. The deep crease between the heavy muscles down her back left the little bumps of her spine on display. Her ass was thick and heavy with deep cellulite dimples and a very distinct gluteal sulcus, that deep crease where the roundness of her ass met the tops of her thighs. The dimples ran down the backs of her thighs to her big, well, developed calves.
The only flaw I noticed, to be honest, were the thick ankles, what I had seen called “cankles” on some sitcom or other.
She finished her turn and stopped, meeting my eyes and there was that flash of defiance again.
“Well?” she asked.
I said nothing, just pointed at the panties and then pointed at the floor.
She understood my pantomime clearly, reached down, pushed the granny panties down until they cleared her ass and thighs, Tuzla Escort and then let them fall.
The dark triangle of her pubic hair was stark against her pale skin. Her belly framed the core of her sex rather than hiding it.
I crooked my finger, beckoning her, and she came to me.
“Well?” she asked a second time, but this time she was looking up at me, her eyes flashing and, I thought, at least a bit of interest in them.
“You are beautiful,” I said, taking her into my arms and kissing her.
She kissed me back.
My hands started exploring her back and ass, and she arched to meet me.
“Tell me I’m beautiful,” she said, her breath very husky and her voice catching a little.
“You,” kiss, “are,” kiss, “absolutely,” long, lingering kiss, “beautiful,” I said.
“And you won’t hurt me?” she asked.
“None of us here will hurt you, Linda,” I said.
She reached back and took the band out of her hair, giving it a shake to let it fall to her shoulders.
She stopped, then, and looked up at me, her eyes doing that twitch-from-side-to-side thing some women do as she focused on first one eye and then the other. I knew she was being serious.
“You should know,” she said and I thought it was cute, well, endearing is probably a better word, the way she blushed.
“Know what?” I asked.
She dropped her eyes.
“What?” I asked again.
“You’ll be my first,” she said, her voice very husky and I thought I heard tears starting.
And it registered on me what she meant.
Two fingers under her chin forced her to meet my eyes.
“You’re a virgin?” I asked.
“Fat girls don’t get many chances,” she said with a forced smile but tears started to run down her cheeks.
I took her into my arms again, holding her, feeling the tears wetting my shirt.
“You decide when you’re ready,” I said, my hands roaming slowly up and down her back, covering her from neck to ass.
She giggled then, I thought a little hysterically, and said, “oh, I’m ready, I just thought you should know.”
“Are you sure?” I asked and her giggle turned into a laugh.
“God, David,” she said, “are you going to make me beg for Christ’s sake?”
I laughed back.
“Up on the bed then,” I said, pointing.
She climbed onto the bed showing an athlete’s grace for all of her size, and then laid back, her head on a doubled-up pillow, and watched me.
I undressed, slowly, making it a show for her. She appeared to appreciate it. She watched every move I made. Her eyes were very big.
Okay, I was glad for the pills in my medicine cabinet. They were working. My interest was pretty obvious with the erection pointing straight up my body.
“Now listen,” I said, crawling up beside her, allowing my hard dick to brush against her leg as I did, “understand something. This is the least good it will be between us.”
“What,” she started and cleared her throat and started over.
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“We don’t know each other yet,” I said, “what we like and what we don’t. And everyone is different.”
“Oh,” she said in a small voice.
“For example,” I said, finding her nipple with my thumb and forefinger, “do you like this,” and I rolled it.
“And this?” I asked, putting more pressure as I rolled her nipple, knowing I had to be starting to hurt her.
Her breath caught and she said, “oh, God, yes.”
“Tell me,” I said.
She smiled at me, “that feels good.”
“And this?” I asked, my fingertips sliding down her belly, probing her belly button a little before pressing lightly on her mons.
She sighed more and then said, “yes.”
“Tell me,” I said again.
“I like that,” she said, and there was a little tremble in her voice.
“Open your legs for me,” I said, in that same soft voice.
“Oh, God,” she sort of moaned, but she parted her legs.
Her pubic hair was curly and oddly soft, so I stroked it like I would pet a cat.
“Tell me,” I said for the third time.
“Oh, David, that feels SO good,” she said.
I kissed her then, a slow, gentle kiss, my lips more brushing than actually pressing against hers, my tongue lightly tracing the outline of her lips. She kissed me back, timidly at first but soon enough she was matching my interest.
I broke the kiss and kissed my way down to her breast and her nipple. She was excited, and her areola was a tight cone with those love bumps so prominent I enjoyed brushing them with my fingertip, feeling how hard they were. I didn’t need to ask when I latched on and started sucking. Her breath caught and her fingers started running through my hair, very slowly, very gently.
She was humming softly.
When I released her nipple she sort of whimpered.
I inhaled, catching her womanscent, and ran my hand slowly down her belly until my finger laid against the warm, wet entrance to her sex.
I penetrated just enough with my fingertip to get my finger covered with her natural honey, the lubricant that made sex available Anadolu Yakası Escort for humans at any time, and then brought my hand back up.
“Inhale,” I said softly, holding my finger under her nose.
She did, a long, slow inhalation that she held.
“Your womanscent is sweet perfume to me,” I said, inhaling deeply myself.
She giggled at that.
I moved my hand back down, between her legs, and brushed that soft curly hair again. Now it was slick and wet with her excitement. I pressed, very gently, finding her clitoris and gently pressing, making little circles. I could feel the tension in her body but I kept doing what I was doing, slowly bringing her along.
“I’m your first, but surely you’ve masturbated,” I said, my fingertip gently making circles on her hard little button of pleasure.
She giggled a little.
“Yes,” she said and there was that flash of defiance, ‘I do that.”
I kissed her again, and sped up the movement in my fingers, enjoying the tension in her body.
When I felt her starting to get close I slowed my movements, enjoying the soft moan she let out.
“Do you want me to stop?” I asked.
And she smiled, a broad, happy smile making her truly beautiful for an instant.
“Please don’t,” she said.
I moved around, getting my knees between hers, and parting her legs more. I bent and kissed, what was a truly gorgeous pussy. That thick, curly hair completely covered her labia, her outer lips. It was clumped together with her natural lubricants now, she was that wet. When I used my fingertips to very gently part those lips, the inner lips, her labia minora, were pink and full, and thick strings of her nectar stretched from lip to lip.
I bent and kissed, inhaled deeply, and tasted her, an odd taste, almost sweet.
“You are beautiful,” I said, slowly kissing my way up her belly.
“Please,” she whispered in a soft breathy voice, “please.”
I was so hard I hurt, and had a thought again that I was glad for the pills in the medicine cabinet.
I reached down to guide myself, and moved forward, slowly, taking it easy until my glans, the head of my erection was just touching her where she was so ready.
I kissed her, very softly, said, “you are so beautiful, I’m happy you want me,” and slipped into her. She was very tight and I felt resistance as I started to enter her.
“She wasn’t kidding, she IS a virgin,” I thought and I had an odd thought, something straight out of my high school locker room. “I’m going to get her cherry.”
“Relax, Linda,” I said, kissing her again, covering her face with little kisses for several seconds.
She giggled very softly. “I don’t think I can,” she said.
I was supporting myself on my elbows then, using my hands to brush the hair away from her face, caressing her cheeks and her forehead, and holding her eyes with mine.
And she was smiling up at me.
“You are beautiful,” I said and pushed. I felt that sudden release of tension as her hymen stretched. She groaned softly but then hissed a long, sibilant, “yessssssssssss.”
This was an odd sensation for me, who had, for most of my life, thought of women as a target to be scored on, or maybe an object to give pleasure. I felt tender, gentle, and, yes, love.
So I said it.
“I love you,” I said softly and her hips rocked, pushing against me, taking me deeper.
“Thank you,” she said and I couldn’t help but chuckle at the non sequitur.
“You’re welcome,” I said, putting a little lilt in my voice.
“Oh God,” she said, softly, her hips lifting to meet me, “better than I had imagined.”
I started a rhythm then, slow and easy. No hurry. Enjoying, very much, the sensation of her warmth surrounding me and the softness of her body under me.
I kissed her, hard, as her own rhythm sped up, her hips thrusting harder. I matched her rhythm, letting her set the pace. My erection was rock hard, but given my earlier encounter, I had plenty of staying power.
I watched her face as the pressure, and the need of her body built up. She would smile and then sort of grimace as a new sensation took her, then smile again. I watched as she tired, starting to breathe heavily and then I noticed a sheen of sweat break out on her forehead. I loved the kiss of salt sweat when I kissed her forehead.
She came then, proving the things I thought I knew were wrong. I had always understood that a woman couldn’t achieve orgasm her first time. Well, if what she was having wasn’t an orgasm it was a damn good imitation.
Her back arched and she cried out.
Her mouth twisted into an odd combination of pleasure and pain.
Her nose was running suddenly, and when her head whipped back and forth in her ecstasy, snot slung.
I kissed her again as her back arched and a second wave of her orgasm hit.
“Don’t stop,” I whispered, burying my face into her neck and nipping the soft skin there.
“JESUS,” she cried out and her body clenched against me. She was rigid, hard under the soft layer of fat, for a very long 10 count before she collapsed.
“Oh God, oh Jesus, OH FUCK,” she was saying almost incoherently as I sped up my own rhythm. I didn’t feel any particular need to finish but I understood, on a level far below any thinking, that she needed me to finish as well.
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