I like to think of myself as a technical virgin. While I was saving my first time with a woman for Haven, I’m no monk. I’ve gone through every sex toy imaginable to get me through the worst of my hormonal years. From my mid-teens to my early twenties, I cranked one out to the memory of Haven undressing from outside her window at least four times a day.
I wanted to think that me and my dick are well-acquainted with pleasure. I can make it quick or edge myself because sometimes the most delicious torture is one you inflict on yourself. These last seven months, I’ve worked on my stamina so that I didn’t embarrass myself when Haven eventually let me in… and, despite all of that, within the first few inches breaching her entrance, I have to grit my teeth to resist coming prematurely.
Haven might feel the same: that she’s technically a virgin after what those pricks did to her while she was their prisoner. They never once penetrated her according to the Order doc who examined her for me. I’m not surprised that she takes her time adjusting to me. In order to fuck my wife, I have to first take her virginity, but since she’s in complete control, all I can do is lie beneath her as she takes deep breath after deep breath once it feels like too much.
“It’s okay, baby,” I coo. “You’ve got this. Your body was made for mine. It may feel like it’s not gonna fit, but… it will. I know it will. Just take your time and relax, Haven.”
She gives me an uncertain nod before she sinks a little bit further down.
“That’s my girl. Do you know how fucking amazing this already feels? It’s like your pussy is a vice, squeezing my cock. I never knew it would be this good. You know why? Because it’s you Haven. I waited for you… it’s always beenyou.”
My beautiful, stunning, amazing wife lets out a gasp and a soft cry, and whatever was stopping her from taking as much of my cock as she can is suddenly gone because gravity’s done its job, bringing her down on top of me until our groins are flush.
Haven goes still. I’m sure she’s still adjusting to the intrusion into her body; that, or she’s working through the pain that comes with being deflowered. Either way, I pray to every fucking god that’s ever existed that I can stay motionless so that she can decide when to start moving rather than me ruining the moment by thrusting up like my poor dick is commanding.
“You okay, baby?” I murmur through gritted teeth. “Tell me. Tell me you’re okay.”
She nods.
“Are you hurt?”
She shakes her head.
“Does it feel good?”
She braces her hands on my lower belly. “Full,” she says after moment. “But good.”
Thank fucking whichever god answered my prayers. “Feels fan-fucking-tastic here, too, sweetheart. But you just let me know when you’re ready to see if we can make it feel even better— oh.Oh.Yeah. You don’t have to tell me shit, do you, baby? That’s fine. Remember… you’re in control. I’m yours to take.Yours to fuck. Whatever you want, Haven… whatever you need? Take it, please. That’s all I’m asking of you.”
Another nod, and I’m fucking grateful it doesn’t do anyting to throw off Haven’s shaky rhythm. Slow at first, but with more intent as the rhythm evens out, Haven Smith—Haven Heyward—is fucking me, and because I’m terrified that it’ll be over in an instant if I move, I let her do it.
She swivels her hips. I tell her to do that again, phrasing it more as a question so that she doesn’t think I’m retrying to take back any control, and when she does, I have to dig my fingers into the mattress to stop from exploding as her inner walls start fluttering around me.
The orgasm seems to take Haven by surprise. She gasps, her eyes flying open as she peers down at me, a wondrous look on her face. Taking that as my cue to try to help her along to the other side, I shift my hips, bucking in and out of her enough to help her ride out her climax before she collapses on top of me—and then, because I have no fucking stamina at all, I follow right behind her.
It was fucking magical, going off inside of Haven—therealHaven—like that. Part of me wants to savor it. Part of me can’t wait until she lets me do it again. It doesn’t matter that we’ll have forever. I’m greedy as hell. I want more. I want now.
I want?—
Shit.
I want Haven to stay sprawled out on top of me, soaking in my heartbeat, but that isn’t what I’m getting, is it? Because Haven… my Haven… she’s slowly pushing herself off of me. Instead of letting me keep my spent cock inside of her, she shifts her weight so that it slides out of her.
I have a light-hearted tease halfway to my throat—something along the lines of ‘put that back where it belongs’—when she looks down at me for the first time she I finished, and I seesuch a shadowed expression on her face, my heart nearly fucking stops.
I gulp. “Haven? You okay, sweetheart?”
Be okay. You have to be okay…
She turns her head away from me. At first, I think it’s because she can’t face me after what he just did, but then I realize that she’s looking for one of her notebooks and her pens, and the sweet afterglow that came with fucking my wife disappears in instant.
No. She’s been so good. We didn’t need words today because her intent to fuck me was obvious the second she marched into the room and hooked me up to the hanging cuffs left on the headboard. She wanted me, and I gave everything I had to her without a single word escaping Haven… but why is she still mute? It’s been days since the last time she needed to write anything at all… why now?
Trying not to let my panic show, I tell her, “There’s a spare one under the bed, sweetheart. In case you need it.”
I’ll always make life with me as accessible as possible. Sometimes she needs to write to communicate? We’re never out of arm’s reach of something that will help her do so.
Haven nods at me , then bends over the bed to retrieve the notepad. I allow myself a few seconds to ogle my wife’s bare ass—and the come mingled with virgin blood peeking out of her well-used pussy—before she’s upright again, perched on her knees as she braces the pad against them as she begins to write.
