Miss Darling





I first met her when I arrived for a staff meeting, three days before the 
start of the new school year. We arrived at the door to the conference room 
at the same time and our eyes met. Hers were a beautiful shade of green, 
catlike, the kind of eyes you could drown in. She smiled as we both reached 
for the doorknob, a radiant, friendly smile.



"Hi," she said, her hand halting in its quest, as did mine. "You must be the 
new third grade teacher."



"That I am," I replied, my eyes surreptitiously taking in her form. She was 
quite attractive, of that there was no mistaking. Her hair was a light shade 
of blonde, her lips full and alluring. She had the kind of face that 
radiated innocence. Her body was well formed and soft looking, with pert 
breasts that poked out from the sleeveless blouse she wore in a most mouth 
watering way. "I'm Tom Baker."



"Amy Darling," she said, her smile flashing again. "I'm one of the 
kindergarten teachers."



She held out her right hand to me and I shook it. As I did, my eyes dropped 
to her left hand, taking a quick glance at the ring finger there. It was 
bare of a wedding or engagement ring. This perked up my interest 
immediately. Having been divorced for just over two years now, I had not 
been in a serious relationship, or even a not-so-serious relationship for 
that matter, for well over eight months. Here, right before me on my first 
day, was a potential prospect. I gave her my own smile.



"It's very nice to meet you," I told her. "I don't know many people here 
yet. This seems like a very nice school."



"Its great here," she assured me. "The principal is nice, the kids are 
mostly from middle class families and well behaved. You came from Edison, 
right?"



"Oh yes," I said, a hint of dramatic weariness in my tone. Thomas Edison 
Elementary, my last assignment, was in the very worst neighborhood that the 
Heritage Unified School District covered. A year there was like five years 
elsewhere. "How did you know that?"



"You're friends with Greg Rollins, aren't you?" she asked. "He was telling 
me about you the other day. He said you were desperate to get out of 
Edison."



"Yes, Greg was a great help getting my transfer approved," I said. "And he's 
right. I was getting pretty fried at Edison. It'll be nice to teach 
somewhere where most of the kids don't have parents with prison records."



"I hear horror stories about the inner city schools," she almost whispered. 
"I don't know how people can teach there."



"The stories are true, I assure you. Have you been here long?"



"About three years," she said. "I think I just might stay my career here. 
Trust me. You're gonna love it."



I looked directly into her eyes, letting a flirtatious light come into mine. 
"I'm sure I will," I told her.



She smiled in return and I felt the first stirrings of a connection between 
us. As we entered the meeting I felt a warm glow. Several times, while the 
principal welcomed us to the school year and went over some new policies and 
procedures that we would be expected to follow, I glanced over at her. Twice 
she returned my gaze and smiled. The warm glow increased. Yes, there was 
definitely a connection there.



+++++



Greg Rollins had been one of my classmates at CSUH and we had been friends 
ever since. Both of us had decided to use our college degrees not to pursue 
riches or fame but to get teaching credentials and take on the challenge of 
elementary school education. We both taught third grade, which is perhaps 
the most favored grade to teach in our profession. The kids in third grade 
are old enough to have learned manners but young enough not to have reached 
the rebellion stage. Greg had been at Winthrop Marks Elementary in the 
fashionable suburb of Whispering Oaks since his first year. He had 
connections on the school board, you see. Greg was one of those guys who had 
connections for everything. It was after a drunken night in a bar the 
previous year that he'd offered to use his connections to secure a transfer 
to Marks for me. I'd been just drunk enough to take him up on his offer. And 
now, true to his word, here I was, the newest member of the faculty in a 
position it might otherwise have taken me another six or seven years to 
achieve on my own.



After the meeting that first day, Greg and I went out for a beer at a nearby 
pub with a friendly atmosphere. As we sat down to enjoy our brew I marveled 
at the fact that I wouldn't have dared walk into any drinking establishment 
within ten square miles of Edison.



"It looks like you caught the eye of our little Miss Darling," Greg told me 
as we sipped and listened to modern rock coming from the jukebox. "She was 
making goo-goo eyes at you all through the meeting."



"I noticed that," I said, still thinking of that innocent face, that soft 
body. "What's the story with her? She single or what?"



He chuckled, shaking his head a little. "Oh, she's single all right," he 
said. "And for very good reason."



"Oh? What is it? Is she a bitch or something?"



"No, she's not a bitch. She's actually one of the sweetest, nicest, most 
even tempered women you'll ever meet."



"Then what's the problem?"



He took a sip of his beer and looked at me pointedly. "The problem is that 
she doesn't give it up."



I shrugged. "So she's hard to get into. All you have to do is put in a 
little work."



"No, you don't understand," he said. "I mean she doesn't give it up at all. 
Ever. To anyone. She's a virgin."



I looked at him suspiciously. "A virgin?" I said. "You've got to be shitting 
me."



"No shit," he said. "She's religious. Goes to church every Sunday and 
Wednesday night. She took six months off last year so she could go on a 
missionary assignment and bring the word of The Lord to some natives in 
Brazil. And she most assuredly is not going to let anyone inside her 
heavenly gates until they walk down the aisle with her. Believe me. Many 
have tried. Miss Darling has herself a perfect record."



"How do you know all this?" I asked, unable to believe that a beautiful 
woman in her late twenties, no matter how religious, could possibly be a 
virgin. I mean after all, she'd gone to college, right? How could one go 
through four years of college without getting laid at least once?



"It's common knowledge, my man," he told me. "Ask anyone. Hell, ask her, 
she'll tell you. She's saving herself for her husband. She has dated most of 
the single teachers here, she's dated some of the divorced professionals 
whose kids go to the school, she's dated one of our assistant principals and 
even a member of the school board. All of them have said she's a sweetheart, 
the ideal woman, but they've all broken up with her because she won't do 
anything more than kiss them goodnight. And we're talking after the tenth, 
twentieth, hundredth date here. Hell, one of the divorced guys she dated was 
a doctor, a fucking doctor, and she wouldn't give it up to him."



"A doctor couldn't score with her?" I said in fearful awe. "My God."



"So unless you're into terminal frustration, I'd leave her alone. She's good 
to have as a friend, she's a great kindergarten teacher, and she's always 
tops in fundraising for the PTA drive, but she's a lousy girlfriend."



+++++



The school year began and I found most of my expectations of what teaching 
at Marks would be like were met quite nicely. For the most part my kids were 
polite and well-mannered eight and nine year olds, their parents were 
helpful, naïve professionals, and the problem families were the exception 
instead of the rule. I was accepted quite readily as a member of the 
faculty, most of whom were like a close knit family to each other. And of 
course as I made more friends, particularly among the male teachers, I 
received multiple independent confirmations of Miss Darling's status as 
resident churchgoing virgin. The tales of sexual frustration at her hands 
were told to me by those who had personally experienced it and those who had 
witnessed it. The furthest anyone had ever gotten with her had been Jack 
Balentine, who taught sixth grade. After five solid months of dating her he 
had progressed to the point where he was able to occasionally-when things 
became really heated between them-fondle her breast through her shirt.



"It's the softest, most squeezable tit I've ever had the privilege of 
putting my hand on," he told me as we played racquetball one afternoon in 
late September. "And she's really a lovable, sweet woman. The kind you're 
proud to take home to meet your mother. But finally I just couldn't take it 
anymore. All those nights of blue balls just got too much for me. It got to 
where I was thinking of asking her to marry me just so I could bang her. 
That's when I knew it was time to get out."



I commiserated with him and with the others who told me their sad tales of 
sexual frustration. And I made a vow to myself that I would not become 
involved with her in any manner beyond simple friendship. Though I was 
certainly not the sort of man who expected to get laid just because I took a 
woman out for dinner once or twice, neither was I the sort who was prepared 
to maintain an extended, monogamous relationship with a woman that did not 
include sex until the marriage vows were spoken. I was, after all, a 
healthy, virile man in my early thirties. I needed to get laid once in a 
while. And I sure as shit wasn't ready to get married again after the hell 
of a marriage that I had left behind. Such thoughts did not even bear 
contemplation.



The problem was, she was not that easy to just dismiss as merely a friend. 
Something clicked between the two of us, of that there was no doubt. That 
moment of electricity we experienced at our first meeting was only the 
beginning. We saw each other every workday and my infatuation with her grew 
until it was almost an obsession. Part of it was her physical 
attractiveness. She was no supermodel, no movie star, but all the same she 
was a very attractive woman, one who just radiated simple magnificence. She 
looked like the personification of the proverbial girl next door, of the 
glowing church girl and Girl Scout who had grown up into an all-American 
beauty. The faculty dress code at Marks was fairly liberal and during those 
hot early-Autumn months I would see her dressed in shorts and frilly 
blouses, in knee-length skirts that showed off her tanned legs. I would see 
the swell of those perfect breasts, see that radiant smile, and I would ache 
with wanting her.



Apart from the physical attraction I felt for her there was an emotional one 
as well. As I had been told time and time again, Amy Darling was a warm, 
caring, sweetheart of a woman. She was intelligent and could hold a decent 
conversation. She was fun to be around. We began having lunch together in 
the faculty cafeteria and it was quite plain that she was attracted to me as 
well. Her flirtations were gentle, never bawdy or crude, but they were there 
and I knew by the second week in September that if I asked her out she would 
gladly accept.



I held out until mid-October before I finally caved and asked her to a 
movie. By then our mutual affection for each other was common knowledge 
among the rest of the faculty and they were all poised to watch another poor 
slob take his turn at the alter of frustration. I had no illusions that I 
was going to be the one to finally make her break her vow of pre-marital 
chastity, had no thoughts that my prowess as a lover was going to push her 
over the edge into the land of sexual bliss. I knew exactly what I was 
getting myself into by taking this first step and I wondered even as I was 
taking it just what the hell I was doing. I was not going to marry her so 
she was not going to do anything more than kiss me. Period. But I couldn't 
help myself. I wanted to spend more time with her than just our lunch 
periods and breaks at the school. I wanted to get to know her better, to 
talk to her outside the school. I felt compelled in some way I'd never 
experienced before.



She accepted my date, as I had known she would, and we made our plans. We 
found we were both wanting to see a new science fiction flick that had just 
been released a few weeks before and so on a Friday night I picked her up at 
her small apartment in Lemon Hill and we drove to the multiplex. We had a 
wonderful time and the only physical contact I had with her was when she 
touched my shoulder halfway through the movie to ask me a question about the 
plot. Even that simple touch was enough to send chills of desire through my 
body. At the end of the date, as I walked her to her door, she thanked me 
politely and told me what a good time she had had. She slipped inside a 
moment later, after one last goodbye. She never gave me an opportunity to 
give her a good night kiss.



That date led to another and then yet another. We went to dinner at a nice 
restaurant. We went to a play in downtown Heritage. Both times I enjoyed her 
company greatly and was reasonably sure that she enjoyed mine. The most I 
got for physical affection was a slight squeeze on the hand just before she 
stepped in her door on date number three. I went home that night, as I had 
on the previous dates, and masturbated thinking about her soft body against 
mine.



We dated for nearly a month before I finally kissed her. I invited her over 
to my house for a home-cooked dinner. I grilled us a couple of nice steaks 
and we shared a bottle of wine. Afterward, we sat together on my couch and 
watched a movie on my DVD player. It was a love story, the kind men hate but 
women fawn over. About halfway through, during one of the more touching 
scenes, I put my arm around her shoulders, pulling her against me. For the 
first time I felt that body touching mine. It was thrilling and it gave me a 
charge of sexual and emotional excitement unlike anything I'd felt since I 
was a teenager experiencing female affection for the first time. Granted it 
was only my arm around her shoulders, my leg in contact with hers, her hair 
touching my shoulder, but I could now feel that soft flesh, could smell the 
exciting scent of her shampoo. She snuggled into me and we sat contentedly 
that way for the rest of the movie. When the credits started to roll she 
turned her face up to me. Our lips came together, a soft touch of flesh 
against flesh, just a little more than a sisterly kiss in the mechanics but 
something quite exceptional in the execution.



And that was it. She hummed a little as our lips parted and snuggled back 
into me. I did not try to repeat the kiss. I simply enjoyed the feel of her 
against me while she was still there.



"I like being with you," she said softly, turning her face up to look at me 
once again. This time her expression was serious.



"I like being with you, too," I said.



"We're getting to the point where I think we should have a little talk 
though," she said. "Before things go any further."



"Okay," I said slowly, already having a good idea of what she was going to 
say.



"I won't pretend you haven't heard the stories about me," she said. "And you 
don't have to pretend that you haven't heard them."



"The stories?"



"The stories," she confirmed. "You know what I'm talking about."



"I guess I do," I reluctantly admitted.



"They're true," she said quietly. "I've never... been with a man. And I 
don't have any intention of being with one until I'm married."



"I see," I said, unsure what the proper response was in such a situation.



"I know you think that makes me horribly old fashioned and prudish, and 
maybe it does, but I was brought up in a very religious family. I was raised 
to believe that sex before marriage is a sin, that it's wrong."



"I understand."



"And I believe that it's a sin. I believe it's wrong to give yourself to a 
man without benefit of marriage. Do you understand that too?"



"Yes," I said.



"I know everyone else does it, but that doesn't make it right. I won't 
compromise my beliefs. That's what I wanted you to know. I've found that the 
sooner I get that upfront when I get a new boyfriend-because that's kind of 
what you are now, right?"



"I guess I am," I told her.



She smiled, her radiant, innocent smile. "I guess you are, too. But anyway, 
the sooner I get that up front, the less problems it creates later. I like 
you very much, Tom. I think we fit together very well. You're funny and I 
like being with you and spending time with you. I think that maybe we can 
make things work together, you know?"



"Yes, I feel the same way," I admitted.



"But I just want you to know now... now that we've kissed, that we won't be 
doing... well... anything else together. Physically that is. I'm saving... 
that part of myself for my future husband, whoever that might be. I've heard 
all of the arguments as to why I should sleep with someone and none of them 
faze me. It won't be happening. Not unless we're married. Not that I'm 
trying to get you to marry me or anything, its just that our physical 
relationship will not go any further right now. Am I making sense?"



"Yes, Amy," I said. "You're making sense."



She stiffened a little against me, her emotions becoming harder. "So... so 
if you think you can't... you know... handle that, we should probably just 
stop seeing each other now. I won't have any hard feelings for you and I'll 
still be your friend, but it would best to end what's going on between us 
now, before we get any closer to each other, if that's going to be a big 
problem."



I didn't answer her for a moment. I could tell, just by the tone of her 
voice, just by the way I'd gotten to know her over the past few months, that 
there was no compromising with her position. I also had the testimony of 
many others who had gone before me. I knew I should just do what she was 
suggesting and call an end to this relationship before it went any further. 
Our goals were incompatible. I was not looking to get married and she was. I 
was looking for a woman I could spend time with, who would help me relieve 
the sexual build-up that was raging inside me. She was willing to do the 
former but not the latter. There really was no good reason to continue along 
this path. But I articulated none of these thoughts to her. Instead, I said, 
"Why don't you stay for a little while longer? I like sitting with you like 
this."



Her smile was the biggest, most loving one yet. She snuggled back into me 
and we sat there for the next hour, watching TV and just enjoying the 
closeness. When she left my house that evening we shared one more kiss, 
another brief but powerful one.



+++++



We continued to see each other as the school year wound onward. We would 
talk during each school day and usually go out somewhere either on Friday or 
Saturday night. We saw movies and went to parties. We went skiing at Lake 
Tahoe resorts once the snow started to fall up there. In most ways she was 
the perfect girlfriend. I genuinely enjoyed her company and she enjoyed 
mine. I could talk to her about almost anything; my hopes, my dreams, my 
failures. She similarly opened her heart to me, telling me of her past 
frustrations as a result of her religious views and upbringing. I even 
brought her to my parents' house to meet them. My mother declared her to be 
a "very nice girl," her ultimate praise.



But by the time December rolled around I well understood why every other man 
she had dated broke up with her. She was so desirable yet unobtainable. 
Being close to her on dates, at school, she was affectionate enough to let 
me feel the soft touch of her against me from time to time. She would give 
spontaneous hugs, which would allow her breasts to push against my chest. We 
would walk hand and hand when we were out together. We would briefly kiss on 
occasion during or after our dates, little pecks on the lips. Through all of 
this I could feel sexual desire radiating off her, could tell she wanted 
more than she was offering. But her resolve remained firm. So far our 
tongues hadn't even touched. We hadn't even had enough contact for me to 
develop a good case of blue balls. But God, how I wanted her. I could 
picture her naked body perfectly in my mind. Hers was the only image I could 
jack-off to, and I did it a lot, at least once a day. But as I did so it was 
with the knowledge that I was never going to really have her. Never.



I think I probably would have been frustrated enough to break up with her by 
New Year's Day if not for what happened after a faculty Christmas party in 
late December. It was nothing terribly dramatic, but to me it was enough of 
a change in the status quo to keep me hanging in there for a little longer.



The party was over at Greg Rollins' house and the rum-spiked eggnog was 
flowing quite freely that night. Amy drank five or six of them and was soon 
quite flushed and tipsy. Though she was not a teetotaler by any means this 
was the first time I'd ever seen her consume more than a few glasses of wine 
or a couple of beers. She became extremely affectionate during the party, 
giggling at things and constantly cuddling up to me. Several times her 
breasts rubbed against my arm as she held onto me-rubs that seemed 
accidental but that I strongly suspected were not. She gave me a long, 
passionate kiss under the mistletoe at one point, her tongue just briefly 
flitting out and touching the edge of my upper lip. As I drove her home to 
her apartment she rested her hand on my leg, something she had never done 
before.



I walked her to her door-as was the usual routine-but this time, instead of 
a simple hug and a brief peck on the lips as the parting affection, she 
wrapped her arms around me and pressed her full lips against mine. Her 
tongue slid out again, this time probing into my mouth. It tasted of rum and 
cinnamon as my tongue slid up against it, twirled around it, caressed it. 
Her fingers scratched delicately at my back and her legs pushed firmly 
against mine. My hands stayed demurely at her waist, the way I held her when 
we danced. The kiss lasted for well over a minute, during which time I could 
feel her passion and her wanting rise. When we finally broke free she was 
flushed, almost glowing and my cock was as hard as a piston in my pants.



"Goodnight, Tom," she breathed, as she disengaged herself from me. "I had a 
very good time tonight."



"Goodnight, Amy," I replied, taking her keys and opening the door for her.



We came together one last time before she stepped in the door, our tongues 
once again meeting for a passionate duel. How I wanted to push her into her 
apartment and lay her down on the couch, put my body atop hers, grind my 
hard-on into her. But I did no such thing. I knew it wouldn't be welcomed.



She entered her house a minute later and I went home, my cock throbbing the 
entire way as I replayed the incident in my head. I was barely able to get 
my pants off before I started stroking myself and I came after less than a 
minute. I shelved any thoughts of breaking up with her for the time being. I 
just had to kiss that sweet mouth again sometime.



My next opportunity came on New Year's Eve. Again the scene of the 
festivities was at Greg Rollins', who was considered the guru of after hours 
partying. And again, Amy had a little more than her usual share of alcohol 
intake, putting away no less than six margaritas and two glasses of 
champagne. She wasn't bombed as I took her home that night, but she was more 
than a little tipsy. As had been the case at the Christmas party, she had 
spent the entire night clinging to me, rubbing against me, even kissing my 
ear a few times and, as a result, I was as horny as a moose in rutting 
season by the time we pulled up in front of her house.



We shared a long, passionate kiss at the door, our tongues once again 
reaching out and dancing together. As we broke apart I sucked her bottom lip 
into my mouth for just an instance, making it stretch out and swell. She was 
panting a little, her eyes glazed as we stared at each other.



"Do you want to come in for a little bit?" she asked me a little 
breathlessly.



"Sure," I said, with just the right hint of casualness, carefully hiding the 
glee I was feeling. I had never been invited into her apartment after a date 
before.



We sat down on her couch in front of some old movie on cable television and 
soon we were kissing again, our mouths grinding together greedily, our 
tongues going deeper into each other's mouths than they ever had before. Her 
fingers caressed my neck, my back, my shoulders, moving from one place to 
the other with nervous assurance. My own hands were busy as well, rubbing 
over her back, across the material of her pants on her thighs. My cock was a 
solid spike in my pants that begged to be touched.



"Oh Lord, this feels so nice," she breathed into my ear at one point as we 
broke apart for an instant.



"Yes," I panted, kissing her bottom lip, sucking it into my mouth.



"But we shouldn't be doing this," she said, without much conviction.



"We're not doing anything wrong, Amy," I told her. "Just enjoy it."



She seemed to accept my argument-at least for the time being. I put my mouth 
back on hers and we kissed some more, our tongues resuming their duel, our 
saliva flowing from one mouth to the other. I kissed my way down her chin 
and onto the front of her throat, trailing the back of my tongue downward, 
tasting the salty tang of her flesh and the faint remnants of the perfume 
she'd dabbed on earlier. When she didn't stop me I began to move sideways 
and was soon nibbling on her slender neck.



"Oh Lord," she moaned, a shiver working its way through her body.



Using my fingers, I pulled the collar of her blouse to the side, exposing 
the top of her shoulder and her white bra strap. I kissed my way down to 
this uncharted territory, putting gentle licks and sucks on the junction 
between her shoulder and her neck.



She shivered again, almost violently this time, and then her hands were on 
my chest, pushing me gently away from her. "We have to stop," she panted at 
me. "Oh God, we have to stop. This is going too far."



This time, her voice did have conviction. I almost screamed in frustration 
but bit down on it, knowing I had no one to blame for this but myself. I had 
known this would happen going in.



"Okay," I told her, having to take a few deep breaths of my own. God, my 
cock was hard. As hard as it had ever been before.



"I'm sorry," she told me. "It's not that I'm not enjoying what we're doing. 
In fact, that's the problem. I'm enjoying it a little too much."



"It's okay, Amy," I reassured her. "Really, it's okay."



I left fifteen minutes later. My cock throbbed painfully the entire way 
home.



+++++



Things remained status quo between us for the next six weeks. We continued 
our routine of dating on the weekends and occasionally seeing each other on 
school nights. We went to plays, movies, skiing trips. We had dinner at each 
other's house. Occasionally, though a bit more frequently than before, we 
would make out on the couch, or in the movie seat, or in the front seat of 
the car. These sessions were nice, but none of them approached the passion 
of what we'd shared on New Year's Eve. I feared our physical relationship 
had reached its peak. Once again I began wondering if I really wanted to 
continue this affair. And once again, a timely escalation of the situation 
kept me hanging in there.



It was Valentine's Day and I went over to her apartment early that evening, 
a bottle of nice wine and a wrapped present in hand. She made dinner for 
me-roasted Cornish game hens, wild rice, artichokes (which must have been 
hard to find since they weren't in season), and sautéed mushrooms. We ate 
everything like gluttons. During the feast we consumed the entire bottle of 
chilled chardonnay and half of a second bottle she'd had in her 
refrigerator. We then opened our presents. She had gotten me a new leather 
wallet. I had gotten her the thing guaranteed to make any woman melt on 
Valentine's Day: diamonds. She opened the little black velvet box and found 
a half-carat pendent inside. That, coupled with the syrupy-sweet note I'd 
penned in the card, did indeed cause a meltdown.



We retired to the couch, ostensibly to watch a little television, but within 
minutes we were in each other's arms, our tongues probing and sliding and 
tasting. I could tell from the onset that she was particularly aroused on 
this evening-whether it was from the romantic nature of the day or the gift 
giving or the alcohol or some biological impetus, I knew not and cared not. 
All I knew is that she was hot, pushing her soft body firmly against me as 
her tongue invaded my mouth, her hands traveling up and down my back and 
even-in a daring escalation on her part-going underneath my shirt to touch 
my bare skin.



I attacked her neck with my mouth again, kissing my way across it, sending 
those delicious shivers through her body. This time, however, she made no 
protest of my actions, neither feigned nor serious. I then attempted my own 
escalation of the festivities. My right hand was resting on her waist as I 
began to nibble on the lobes of her ears. Slowly, inch by inch, I began to 
move it upward, along her flank, until my fingertips were almost resting on 
the side-swell of her left breast. I then began to move inward, seemingly 
accidentally, until I was cupping that beautiful swelling through her 
sweater. I had trouble breathing for a moment as the tactile sensation made 
its way to my brain. Jack Balentine was right. It was the softest, most 
squeezable tit I'd ever had the privilege of touching. She either didn't 
notice my touch or pretended not too for the longest time. But as my hand 
began to put more and more pressure against it, began to feel it in earnest, 
I knew she knew what I was doing. Her nipple hardened under my hand, 
becoming erect enough for me to feel it even through her bra and the thick 
wool of her sweater. She moaned against me-a genuine, unmistakable moan of 
full-blown sexual arousal.



Since she offered no protest to my touching her through her sweater, I upped 
the ante a bit more. I brought my hand downward again, until I was touching 
the hem of her sweater. Moving slowly but deliberately, I let my hand go 
underneath it and start moving upward. I felt the waistband of her jeans and 
then the smooth, soft skin of her stomach. She gave another shiver and then 
put her hand on mine, covering it through the sweater.



"No," she whispered. "You can't." But she didn't pull my hand out.



I caressed her tummy with my fingertips for a few moments while my mouth 
went back to kissing her. I sucked her tongue and nibbled on her lower lip, 
making it swell. Soon, she abandoned herself to the sensation and I pushed 
my hand a little higher, reaching the bottom of her rib cage. My knuckles 
were now rubbing against the silky cotton of her bra.



"Tom," she breathed against my mouth. "You shouldn't be doing that."



"Mmmm hmmm," I agreed, and let my fingers probe a little bit further, until 
they were touching the bottom wire of the bra.



I let them dally back and forth along it for a few moments and then, with 
one firm thrust, slid them underneath. The fit was a little tight, but 
within a second my entire hand was in there and that beautiful, soft breast 
was bare against my palm. The nipple was as hard as a rock and pushed 
insistently into me. She moaned again as she felt this, her head going back 
in submission. I put my mouth to her neck again and began to gently squeeze 
and palpate her.



I felt her up for the better part of five minutes, until her mouth was 
hanging open and her eyes were glazed over with an expression of lust. She 
was as turned on as I'd ever seen her, her body excreting sexual excitement 
that was almost palatable. I, too, was as excited as I'd ever been with her, 
as excited as I'd been since the first time I'd felt a girl up in eighth 
grade. Unlike in the eighth grade, however, there was no way I was going to 
hold in place with mere hand contact. Amy was hot and lustful, her body 
shivering in her excitement. It was time to make her even more excited.



It's an instinctive maneuver, one that any guy worth his sexual salt knows 
well. My hand was already under her sweater and bra, and in such a position, 
what is your forearm but a perfectly situated lever? With the right kind of 
lever, you can move the world, or open up new ones. I pulled my mouth away 
from hers, leaning back just a bit. At the same time, I pushed my elbow 
upward, operating the lever. Her shirt rucked up to her neck, baring her 
smooth tummy. The bra cup my hand was under pushed neatly upward as well, 
baring her breast. It was beautiful, without a doubt the finest natural tit 
I'd ever laid eyes upon. The nipple was small and pink and very hard, just 
begging to be suckled. It didn't have to beg long. Before she even had a 
chance to realize what had just happened, I leaned forward and dropped my 
head, putting my mouth on her nipple. I sucked it gently between my lips, 
applying just the right amount of pressure, my aim to overwhelm her with 
pleasurable sensations.



She shuddered almost violently for a second and a strange, mewling sound 
came from her lips. She put her hands on my shoulders, undoubtedly to push 
me away but the warding off gesture died before it even got properly 
started.



"Ohhhh, Tom," she groaned. "Ohhhh."



"Mmmmm," I hummed, sucking a little harder now, using my tongue to feel the 
rough surface, to swirl around, to set her nerves on fire.



Soon she was pulling me harder against her chest, her fingers entwined in my 
hair. She was panting as I suckled her, her voice emitting soft growls and 
moans that had probably never come out of her mouth before. With my left 
hand I slid my fingertips under her right bra cup, getting a firm grip on 
the breast that was still covered. Another quick leverage operation and that 
one was open for my ministrations as well. I took my lips from the left 
nipple and switched to the right.



She continued to moan and mewl and twist her fingers through my hair as I 
sucked and slurped her nipples like a man who needed them to live. Soon I 
had them engorged and an angry shade of red, as hard as nipples could be. I 
let my hands slip down to her waist and then I began to move my head 
southward. I kissed along her rib cage, bringing goose bumps to her skin. I 
let the back of my tongue trail downward, to her belly button. I stuck my 
tongue inside of it, causing a little giggle to burst from her mouth. And 
then I began to kiss lower.



I came very close that night. My mouth was on the junction between her silky 
soft lower belly and the waistband of her jeans. Her pelvis was rising up 
and down unconsciously in the age-old rhythm of lust. Her legs were open in 
a suggestive manner. I fancied I could smell her aroused musk permeating 
into the air through the crotch of her jeans. I knew if I touched her there 
she would melt for me. I knew if I could get my mouth there I would own her. 
Unfortunately, she seemed to realize the same thing. Her hands came down on 
my shoulders again, this time with conviction. She pushed me away, speaking 
the words I hated so much to hear from her mouth.



"We have to stop, Tom. This is going too far."



I looked up at her, seeing her pretty face framed by her bare tits and hard 
nipples, with her sweater and bra bunched up around her neck. "Do you really 
want me to stop?" I asked her.



A small war seemed to take place in her face-a war between the devil and the 
angel. It was a short, violent skirmish. The angel just barely came out the 
victor. "Yes," she told me with a nod. "I really think we should call it a 
night. Things are getting out of control here."



"Sometimes it's good to get out of control," I suggested.



"I can't," she said. "I've never wanted to as bad as I do right now, but I 
can't. Not without... you know..."



"I know," I said, not allowing myself to sigh. Not without a wedding ring. 
She was very firm in that conviction.



I went home that night with the worst case of blue balls I'd ever had. I 
didn't even make it into the house. I was forced to jerk off in the front 
seat of my car. It was as I was cleaning up the semen from my seat and my 
seatbelt and my steering wheel and my windshield that I decided enough was 
enough. This was some form of torture. How could someone so beautiful and so 
desirable be such a tease? Well I'd had enough of this shit. I wasn't going 
to take it anymore. A man simply could not live with this sort of 
frustration.



I went to bed that night going over my break-up speech in my head. But the 
next morning, when I saw those green eyes, that intimate look, I couldn't do 
it. When she asked me at lunch if I'd take her to a movie on Friday night I 
asked her what she wanted to see.



+++++



A few more weeks went by and while there was no repeat of the lustful 
encounter we'd enjoyed on Valentine's Day, Amy did seem to get a little 
freer with the affections she was willing to share. We tongue kissed more 
often, our sessions longer and more passionate. She would even allow me to 
stroke her nylon clad legs if she was wearing a dress (though not to put my 
hand under the skirt), or to caress her breasts lightly over her clothing. 
She loved having my mouth on her neck, kissing it, licking it, nibbling it, 
and she even took to returning the favor on occasion, although she did-much 
to both of our embarrassment-accidentally give me a hickey one night. 
Thoughts of breaking up with her out of sexual frustration remained in the 
back of my mind. It's not that I wasn't frustrated, because I was. Every 
date with her saw me arriving home with a throbbing in my testicles and my 
underwear damp from leaking pre-cum. What kept me hanging in there was the 
thought of my mouth on those beautiful nipples, the thought of that bare 
tummy with my lips kissing down across it, the memory of that faint smell of 
her musk through her jeans. I had managed to pry the door open just a little 
bit. Hopefully, now that it was open, it would continue to widen. It was a 
theory that turned out to be correct.



On a beautiful, spring-like Saturday afternoon in mid-March, Amy borrowed 
her seven-year-old niece from her sister and we took her to the Heritage 
County Zoo. We spent the day looking at lions and tigers and bears and 
monkeys, eating outrageously priced hot dogs, and generally just enjoying 
the day. All three of us had a great time although, had I been asked, I 
would not have said there was anything inherently romantic or arousing about 
the day. Apparently Amy felt differently.



After dropping her niece off at her home I took Amy back to her apartment, 
expecting to just hang around for a little, maybe get a few kisses in, and 
then to go home and whack off like usual. Instead, we had a few bottles of 
beer and were soon heavily engaged in a make-out session on her couch. Amy 
was particularly passionate, her tongue actually attacking mine, her lips 
and teeth going enthusiastically to my neck. When I dropped my hand onto her 
breast through her white, button up blouse, she moaned and pushed harder 
against me, encouraging the exploration.



I squeezed and caressed her soft mammaries until her nipples were solid 
points tenting out her blouse. Her face was flushed, her eyes glazed over, 
her breath nearly a pant as she broke the latest kiss. "I really liked it," 
she almost whispered, "when you... you... you know?"



"When I what?" I asked coyly.



"When you... put your mouth on my... my..."



"Your what?" I asked, not letting her get off without saying it.



"My breasts," she finally blurted. "When you sucked on my... my nipples."



I smiled, moving my hand from her tit to caress her cheek. "Would you like 
me to do that again?"



She nodded, her eyes looking downward shyly.



Who was I to turn down such an offer? I reached for her and slowly 
unbuttoned her blouse. I spread it open, revealing her swollen breasts 
bulging out of a lacy, white bra. I ran my knuckles over the tops of them 
for a moment, relishing the softness of her skin and sending shivers through 
her. I then reached around behind her and found the clasp that held her bra 
in place.



"We really shouldn't be doing this," she said softly, but made no move to 
stop me as I opened her bra and let it fall free of her breasts. There they 
were again before me, two gorgeous orbs capped with pink, erect nipples-the 
epitome of perfection, proof, some would say, that there is a kind and 
benevolent God who loves mankind.



"You are so beautiful, Amy," I told her, my hands caressing the bare flesh 
now, my fingertips swirling around the nipples but not actually touching 
them.



She didn't answer me. She just blushed a deeper shade of red and kept her 
eyes downcast. Before she had a chance to have second thoughts, I leaned 
forward and sucked her left nipple into my mouth. Her moan of pleasure 
signaled her conditional surrender to my ministrations.



As before, I drove her to the highest level of arousal possible under the 
circumstances, sucking and licking and teasing each breast into a swollen 
orb that transmitted pleasure up and down her nerve paths. As I switched my 
mouth from one delectable tit to the other, my hands kept busy as well, 
gliding up and down her flanks, up and down her bare back, whispering over 
her soft tummy, the fingers swirling around her belly button. I catalogued 
her reactions to my touches, learning where she was ticklish, where she 
liked a firm hand, where she liked a soft one, and, most importantly, which 
areas sent tingles of sexual excitement coursing through her. Just below her 
belly button was one such place. The skin here was particularly soft, 
particularly feminine. I twirled my fingers around and around here, stroking 
and caressing until I saw her pelvis moving slowly up and down again. I knew 
then it was time to make the next move.



Instead of kissing my way down here as I'd done the last time, I went with a 
less invasive plan this time. I let the swirls of my fingers get bigger and 
bigger until, at the very bottom of the arc, they were brushing against the 
waistband of her pants. I did this a few times and then let them go a little 
lower, onto the pants themselves, until I was touching the buckle of the 
thin, leather belt she wore. I played with it for a moment, touching it, 
getting the feel of it, before sliding my fingers around it and giving a 
gentle tug. I managed to pull the end out of the buckle without her even 
noticing what I was doing. I kept suckling and kissing her breasts as I went 
to work on the pin that held the belt closed. A tug here and a tug there and 
it came loose, allowing the belt to spring fully open.



"Tom," she panted, a hint of alarm beneath the lust. "You undid my belt."



I raised my head from her breasts for the first time and planted a slow, 
deep kiss on her mouth. She moaned against me, her tongue touching mine and 
then withdrawing. "Yes," I whispered to her, licking at her lip again. "I 
did."



"We have to stop," she said.



My fingers found the button on her pants. I gave a gentle tug on it, not 
enough to open it, but enough for her to feel my manipulation. "I want to 
touch you, Amy," I said.



"No," she said, shaking her head. "That's too far."



"Has a man ever touched you there before?" I asked her, moving my mouth to 
her neck, kissing there.



"No," she said.



"Have you ever touched yourself there?" I asked next, my lips against her 
earlobe.



"Tom," she scolded. "That's not a nice question."



"Have you?" I insisted. "Maybe after one of these little sessions with me? 
After I leave?"



She shuddered, her body torn in two directions. "Tom," she said again.



"Do you?" I persisted, my fingers giving another tug on the button.



"Yes," she blurted. "I do."



I smiled, giving an extra long kiss just below her ear. "That's all I want 
to do for you," I told her. "Touch you like you touch yourself. It's okay to 
do that, isn't it? It's not a sin."



"Oh God," she moaned, clutching me a little tighter, but not saying no.



Silence implies consent, they say. I went forth on that theory. My fingers 
pulled harder on the button, giving it a little twist until it popped open. 
She shuddered again but didn't object so I let my fingers slide just a 
little lower until I found the metal zipper. I grasped it between my thumb 
and index finger and began to move it downward, tooth by tooth, opening her 
pants. I glanced down for a second, unable to help myself, and saw the flat 
expanse of her white cotton panties. Now it was I who shuddered.



I put my hand on the bare skin of her stomach, just above the top of her 
panties. I caressed here for a second or two and then began to move in on my 
target. My fingers reached the elastic of the panties and delved beneath, 
into uncharted territory, toward a place where no man had been before. I 
went lower, reaching out with my middle finger, and soon I was touching 
kinky hair. I continued through it and soon felt hot wetness. I touched her 
clit-which was as hard as her nipples-and then her slippery lips. She 
gasped, clutching to me again at the contact.



"Don't put your finger inside," she whispered. "I don't want you to... to... 
break it."



"Break it?" I asked, not knowing what she was talking about. Surely she 
didn't think her pussy could break?



"My hymen," she hissed. "It's still there. It's for my husband, on our 
wedding night. Please don't break it."



"Oh..." I was suddenly doubtful. She still had her cherry! Sure, I'd known 
she was a virgin, but I'd never thought for a moment she was a physical 
virgin. She had never even put a dildo up there! Or a candle! Or a cucumber! 
This really was uncharted territory. I wondered whether I should continue 
on-she really did take her virginity seriously-but, as is usually the case 
in such situations, lust quickly overpowered doubt. "I won't," I promised. 
"I'm just going to touch you."



And touch her I did. I slid my middle finger between her wet, swollen lips, 
feeling the heat of them, feeling the slippery touch, but I didn't allow 
myself to penetrate more than a few millimeters. I stroked up and down, my 
ministrations somewhat limited by the confinement of her pants and panties, 
but she obviously loved what I was doing. She kissed my face and my neck 
while I fingered her, moaning as I put pressure in the right places. Soon my 
fingers were soaked with her juices. It had been a very long time since I'd 
gotten a woman off with my hand alone-the last time had been with my 
ex-wife, before we were married, when we'd masturbated each other beneath a 
blanket on a red-eye flight to Dallas-but it's one of those things you don't 
forget how to do. When her pelvis was bouncing up and down in that 
involuntary rhythm again I found her clit and began to rub it, gently at 
first, and then with more pressure and speed, making tight circles.



Amy went crazy. She grasped my forearm, pulling my hand harder against her. 
She panted in my ear and moaned and the thrusting of her pelvis became 
stronger, more erratic.



"Oh.... Ohhhhh, God, Tommmmmmmmm!" she screamed as the climax reached its 
peak. "You're making me... Ohhhhhhhhh!"



Her pelvis jack-knifed off the couch, nearly causing her to fall to the 
floor. Every muscle in her body stiffened for the longest instant and then, 
with a final, drawn out moan, she slowly relaxed. She clutched at me almost 
desperately, her mouth kissing my ear, my neck, my chin, my mouth.



"Oh sweet Lord Jesus," she said, a sheen of sweat on her forehead. "I've 
never felt anything like that before."



"It's a little better when someone else does it, isn't it?" I asked 
nonchalantly, as if my cock wasn't throbbing like a rotten tooth.



"Oh yessss," she sighed, kissing me again. "That was incredible."



Slowly, reluctantly, I pulled my hand out of her pants. My wrist was a bit 
sore from the exertion but I certainly wasn't complaining. My fingers were 
wet and glistening with her juices. I brought them to my nose and inhaled 
her musk for the first time. It was strong, biting, and the most exciting 
thing I'd ever smelled.



"How do you feel?" I asked her, looking at her placid face.



"Very relaxed," she admitted. "I must say, I can see why many would be led 
into temptation by those sorts of feelings."



"It's just petting, Amy," I told her. "The same thing teenagers do all over 
the world all the time."



"Somehow I think you're better at it than a teenager," she said with a 
giggle.



"Well... you know how it is."



"Now I do," she said, giving me one last kiss. "And I refuse to regret that. 
It was wonderful. The most wonderful thing I've ever felt." She reached down 
for her pants, preparing to button them back up.



"Uh... Amy?" I said hesitantly.



"Yeah?"



"Do you suppose that maybe you could... you know... kind of help me out the 
way I helped you out?"



She looked confused for a moment and then understanding dawned on her face. 
She blushed furiously. "You mean you want me to... to... touch your... 
your..."



"My cock," I said slowly. "Yes. I want you to touch it."



The angel and the devil engaged in another skirmish at this suggestion. This 
time the devil kicked some angel ass. "Well," she said, "I suppose if it's 
okay for you to do it to me, then it's okay for me to do it for you, right?"



"Right," I assured her. "It's just petting."



"Just petting," she repeated, her eyes dropping down to the bulge in my 
pants, curiosity burning in them.



"You've uh... never seen one before?" I asked.



"Not a... a hard one," she said. "Not in real life anyway. It is hard, isn't 
it?"



"I don't think it's ever been harder," I said truthfully. "Shall I take it 
out?"



She gulped nervously and then nodded. "Yes," she said, barely audibly.



I unbuckled my own belt and then opened my pants. I was wearing black bikini 
cut shorts that was tented out impressively. The front was soaked with the 
pre-cum that had been leaking out ever since we started kissing each other. 
I slid my fingers into the waistband and pushed it down, allowing my 
throbbing member out into the air. It was at its full length, the head an 
angry purple in color, the veins bulging out expectantly.



"Oh my," she said, almost in awe as she cast her gaze upon it. "It's so... 
so... big."



It was actually just a shade over average size and thickness. Not small, but 
not quite porno movie material either. I was comforted however, by the 
thought that it was certainly the biggest one she'd ever seen. "You made it 
that way," I told her. "You, Amy. And it needs release."



"I don't know what to do," she said, her eyes still riveted to it.



I took her hand in mine and pulled it to my lap. "Touch me," I said. "Grip 
it near the head. Feel how hard it is."



She wrapped her slender fingers around my shaft, the touch almost enough to 
make me spurt right there.



"It's so hot," she said, squeezing it and feeling it. "It's like it's 
alive."



"It is, Amy," I said. "It's very alive. Now stroke it up and down... like 
this."



I covered her hand with mine and showed her how to jack me off. She quickly 
got the hang of it, sliding her hand up and down, smearing the pre-cum all 
over the head, making it slippery. Now it was my turn to moan as I felt the 
wonderful sensation of feminine flesh on my manhood, as a hand other than 
mine touched me in intimacy for the first time in forever.



"Am I doing it right?" she asked, her eyes wide in wonder.



"Yes," I grunted, already feeling the wheels of climax starting to turn. "A 
little faster. Grip it a little harder."



She did as I asked and the wheels began to turn at a greater pace, quickly 
rolling toward the point of no return. Now it was my pelvis rising up and 
down in the age-old rhythm. Now it was my breath tearing in and out of my 
lungs. It was my forehead breaking out into an excited sweat. Unable to help 
myself, I turned my body toward her, my hands going to her soft breasts 
again, mauling them, squeezing them rougher than I ever had before. She 
seemed oblivious to my actions, concentrating her energies entirely on 
bringing me off. I looked down at her legs, which were still open, her pants 
still unbuttoned and unzipped. Her white panties had slipped down a bit from 
my earlier probing and the very top of her unshaven pubic bush was visible. 
The hair was a light blonde color, silky smooth, only a half shade darker 
than on her head. It was that sight coupled with the feel of her tits under 
my hands and the sensation of her gripping hand that pushed me over the 
edge. I grunted and sheer pleasure exploded through my body.



"Ahhhhhhh," I nearly screamed as the first jet of hot semen spurted out of 
me with record-breaking force. It splattered all over her right breast, 
soaking the nipple and running downward. The next spurt caught her on the 
tummy, running down toward her belly button. The next splashed on the 
exposed portion of her pubic hair, the next on the front of her panties. 
With each ejaculation another grunt of pleasure came from my mouth. And 
though hers opened in surprised wonder, she instinctively continued her 
jacking motions until the last dribble came out. At last, sated, I dropped 
atop her, kissing her mouth and neck, whispering words of deep endearment in 
her ears. We lay together for a long time, both of us drained and wondering 
what came next.



+++++



It was that night more than any other that really opened things up in our 
physical relationship with each other. Now that I'd used my hands to bring 
her off, and now that she'd done the same to me, she lost a little of her 
fear that things would escalate beyond her control. Touchy-feely became a 
regular part of our making out sessions. She would now enthusiastically 
shove my hand under her shirt to play with her breasts, would even be so 
daring as to dress without wearing a bra for our dates. She would freely 
allow me to put my hand down her pants and into her panties so I could 
finger her clit and bring her to orgasm. She would freely open my pants and 
jack me off until I spurted my cum all over her hands and her breasts and 
her stomach. She learned to love the feel of hot seed splashing on her bare 
skin, would even rub it in afterward.



As time went by she even became a bit risqué in her ministrations. She wore 
a skirt one warm spring night when we went out to the movies and no sooner 
had the previews ended than she was leaning into me and kissing me. When my 
hand went up under that skirt a little while later I discovered she had no 
panties on beneath it. I rubbed her to a powerful orgasm right there in the 
theater, not just once but three times before the credits rolled. On the way 
home she jacked me off in the car, bringing me expertly to orgasm while we 
waited at a red light.



Once introduced to the pleasures of the flesh it wasn't long before things 
escalated a bit more. One night, after visiting some relatives out of town, 
I was driving home and decided to call her just to chat. It was nearly ten 
o'clock on a weeknight, so I didn't figure she would invite me over but, 
upon hearing my voice she did just that, hinting, in the naïve, cute sort of 
way she had, that she could use a little finger action. I was certainly not 
about to turn down an offer like that. When I arrived at her apartment she 
greeted me dressed in her sleepwear-a mid-thigh length T-shirt with a 
picture of Winnie the Pooh on the front of it. Her blonde hair was done up 
in two braids that hung loosely down to her shoulders. The picture of 
childhood innocence she portrayed was erotically contrasted by the jiggling 
of her breasts that betrayed the lack of a bra. As we kissed in the doorway 
and I smelled her clean hair and the vanilla body wash she used, I found 
myself wondering if she was wearing anything at all under Winnie the Pooh.



It turned out she wasn't. We were soon in a heated exchange of tongues on 
her couch and when I slid my hand up her bare legs to the junction between 
them I found myself touching wet, swollen lips. She opened her legs wide and 
moaned as I began to run my fingers up and down her slit. Instead of 
utilizing my fingers to bring her to orgasm, I only teased, caressing her 
lips until they were swollen, circling around her clit but never touching 
it. It was only when she begged me to get her off that I revealed my own 
evil plan.



"I want to put my mouth on you," I whispered in her ear.



"You mean..." she nearly gasped, both shocked and aroused.



"That's right," I confirmed. "I want to lick your pussy, Amy. I want to suck 
your clit into my mouth until you cum all over my face."



"You shouldn't," she said, without an ounce of conviction in her tone I 
might add.



"But I'm going to," I told her, giving her one last kiss on the mouth before 
dropping to my knees on the floor before her.



She made no move to stop me as I spread her legs with my hands and put my 
face between them. When my tongue touched her wet lips for the first time 
she nearly screamed in pleasure. When I began to lick her up and down, 
tasting her fresh juices, she did scream. Within a few minutes she had her 
hands in my hair, pulling me tighter against her as my tongue probed at her, 
driving in and out where my fingers and cock were forbidden to tread. When I 
started licking and sucking her clit she nearly passed out. She screamed her 
way through three orgasms, taking the Good Lord's name in vain several times 
and probably waking up a neighbor or two in the process.



No sooner had I removed my wet face from between her legs than she was 
pulling me to my feet, her fingers attacking my pants and pulling out my 
hard cock.



"I want to do the same thing for you," she told me. "I want to suck you."



Who was I to argue? As I stood there before her she took my cock in her 
sweet mouth and gave me an inexpert but enthusiastic blowjob. She didn't 
swallow my cum that first time but she did allow me to spurt it all over her 
face and neck and the front of her T-shirt. To this day I have never seen a 
more arousing sight than a pig-tailed and Winnie the Pooh'ed Amy Darling 
with my semen dripping down her chin.



After that day, fellatio and cunnilingus was added to our catalogue of 
acceptable sexual activities. Amy soon became quite adept at giving head and 
quickly worked her way up to swallowing my offering at the completion of the 
act. She also developed quite an enthusiasm for my lips on her pussy. I ate 
her out in the front seat of her car, in a movie theater seat (a skirt with 
no panties was involved in that episode) and, of course, on the couch of 
either my apartment or hers. It was during a couch session one night that I 
let my finger trail downward just a bit until it was gently caressing the 
puckered bud of her anus. She squirmed a little at the touch but did not 
protest so I began to rub harder. Her moans of pleasure were encouraging so, 
as I sucked her clit into my mouth for the final push towards orgasm, I 
pushed my finger slowly forward. It was slippery with her juices and my 
saliva so it slid quite easily into her back passage. She squealed in 
delight at the intrusion so I pushed it in further, as far as it would go. I 
then started pushing it in and out, finger fucking her ass while I sucked 
her to orgasm. Her climax was extremely powerful and left no doubt that I'd 
done exactly the right thing.



And so we went on, progressing through the year as boyfriend and girlfriend. 
We still enjoyed each other's company but we also enjoyed the sex games I'd 
introduced her to. I really had no room to complain considering I'd entered 
the relationship with the understanding I would get nothing more than an 
occasional feel of her breasts through her shirt and had managed to progress 
to blow jobs and pussy eatings. No, I really had no room to complain but 
there was still something fundamental missing from our sex life. I 
wanted-hell, I needed-to feel penetration. While licking Amy's pussy, while 
playing with it, I would stare at it sometimes in near-religious awe. It was 
so close to me-so close and yet so far.



And though we never discussed it openly, I knew there was no negotiating 
around the hymen issue. We had progressed to the point where we were doing 
just about everything else with each other, where we were taking showers 
together, where she was blowing me in movie theaters, where I was eating her 
in the faculty restroom during lunch break, where I was even licking her 
asshole during our more enthusiastic sessions, but penetration of her vagina 
was most assuredly not on the menu. That hymen was in place for her husband 
on her wedding night and I was not even allowed to put my finger in there 
for fear I might unintentionally break it, therefore rendering her un-pure, 
a sinner. She must have sensed my frustration with the lack of penetration, 
and, being the sexually provocative and experienced woman she was becoming, 
she came up with a rather novel compromise.



It was after a long, drawn-out cunnilingus session in her bed one night. I 
had kissed my way up and down her naked body, starting at her painted toes, 
circling around her tummy and breasts and finally working my way to her 
pussy for some serious eating. I worked slowly to the first orgasm and then 
quickly to pull three more from her in rapid succession. It was during the 
last two that I slid my finger up her ass, knowing she liked the invasion of 
her most secret place at such times. When I pulled my face out of her crotch 
and looked up at her, slowly sliding my finger back out into the air, she 
smiled at me in that innocent, but naughty way she had.



"I love the way your finger feels... you know... there," she told me.



"I've noticed," I said slyly, my hard cock now in my hand. I was thinking 
maybe she'd like a tit fuck on this evening. She was damp with perspiration 
from her climaxes and the slickness of her breasts would make short work of 
me.



"I bet you could... you know... stick something else in there," she said.



All thoughts of a tit-fuck went flying from my mind. Was she suggesting what 
I thought she was suggesting? "Something else?" I asked carefully.



She nodded. "If you... if you wanted to... uh... try it, that is," she said. 
"I think it would fit."



She was suggesting what I thought. "Are you sure about that, Amy?"



"Oh yes," she said, her eyes shining. "I'm sure about it. But I don't know 
how to do it. Do you think you could figure it out?"



Somehow, I was able to figure it out. I lay atop her sweaty body in the 
missionary position, my chest to hers, her legs spread wide-obscenely wide. 
I took my cock in hand and rubbed it up and down her slick pussy lips for a 
moment, making both of us moan and wetting it thoroughly. I then slid it 
downward, into the crack of her ass. I rubbed the head over the puckered 
perfection of her anus and then pushed forward slowly, just letting the head 
slip in a few millimeters.



"More," she told me, demanded of me. "Put more in."



I pushed some more in, until the entire head disappeared from sight. She 
moaned louder, mostly in pleasure but with a little pain thrown in as well. 
I let it sit there for a few moments so she could get used to it and then 
pushed a little further, rocking back and forth, going a little bit further 
with each stroke. She was tight there, tighter than anything I'd ever been 
in before. I took the better part of five minutes but eventually I was 
buried to the balls in her ass.



"Oh God, Oh Jesus," she moaned. "Yes! I'm so full."



"Uh huh," I grunted in return, fighting mightily just to keep from cumming 
right there. I was actually in her ass!



"Now do it," she ordered. "Fuck my ass, Tom. Fuck my fuckin' ass!"



I fucked her fuckin' ass, going slowly at first but soon pounding in and out 
of her like a man possessed. After all this time I was actually fucking one 
of her orifices. I was slamming in and out of her beautiful body. She was 
beneath me, grunting and groaning, her fingernails scratching my back, and 
my cock was inside of her! And it felt so incredibly tight.



I hung in there for about five minutes, my thrusts speeding up to a 
near-frenzy. I rubbed her clit with my hand as I fucked her, bringing her to 
another screaming orgasm. It was the clenching of her ass as she came that 
pushed me over the edge. With a scream, a grunt, and a few profane words of 
my own, I spurted a huge load into her bowels before collapsing atop of her, 
a sweating, panting, satisfied mess.



+++++



That was two months ago, and we've repeated such sessions several times 
since. I've taken her ass from behind, from the front, with her sitting on 
my lap, and even in the apartment complex hot tub just before it closed for 
the evening. Her hymen is still intact, but even that will be changing very 
soon now. I've taken steps to insure it.



Greg Rollins took me aside the day we announced our engagement, while Amy 
was off with the other females, showing them the one-karat ring I'd 
presented her with the night before.



"An October wedding?" he asked me. "That's only a few months away. Are you 
sure you're not rushing into things?"



"I'm sure," I assured him.



"You're not doing this just to... you know... finally get into her, are 
you?"



I smiled. "No, Greg," I said. "I really want to marry her. Why else do you 
think I've stayed with her so long?"



"But you haven't..."



"I have never put my penis in her vagina," I said truthfully.



He shook his head. "It's like buying a car you haven't test driven," he 
said. "How do you know... you know... she'll be any good at it? What if 
she's a dead fuck?"



I gave him my own secret smile. "Something just tells me she'll be pretty 
good at it," I prophesized. "I just have this feeling."