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Now, I’m a virgin, but I’m not a prude. Not exactly. I’m just really nervous, okay? Like I haven’t quite figured out what to do once I’m turned on, and I need to figure it out nice and slow by myself.
Except the lust sweeping through my body right now doesn’t seem to think that I need any lessons. I’m feeling certifiably thrilled at this exhilarating new confidence. I have to get my hands on my body because I can’t get the way he felt pressed against me out of my mind. I turn off the light. It will help to set the mood. I tear off my clothes, fast, like I’m a skinny dipper rushing to get in the safety of water. No, I haven’t gone skinny dipping before, but I’m a girl who reads, who watches movies. Who does everything to live her life utterly vicariously through the experiences of others.
Not tonight. I drop my panties to my ankles and step each foot out and I walk slowly toward my bed. I’m eager, and I know I want touch my pussy. I dip my hand down and feel how wet I am, sliding a finger through my slippery folds. Wow, it’s kind of incredible.
What would it be like if Damien put his massive hand here on my wetness?
I lie down on my bed, scooting my pillows so that I’m half sitting up, imagining that I’m looking right into his eyes as he touches me. Now, could I ever, ever be so bold? Of course not. But in my fantasy, he wants me. I want him. And everything feels right. I let my eyes flutter closed. I press my palm against my whole pussy, thinking about his hand there. His hands were easily three times the size of mine, if the look I got was correct. Of course it was. I memorized his every trait I was able to see today, or feel, better than any vocabulary words.
I start to rock my hand, and at first, the only real titillation is the fantasy, but I hit a certain angle against my clit and it starts to feel good. My head falls back, and I bite my lip. Picking up the speed and adjusting the angles of how my hands touch my wet pussy, I’m finding that it feels really good.
Of course, it feels even better imagining his hands on me. My other hand travels up my stomach, a trail that makes me shiver. I imagine it is Damien’s hand that brings chills to my stomach, then my breast, and squeezes tight. Almost too tight.
The intensity of the sensation makes me bolder. I have to heighten the sensations I’ve created in me, and I imagine one of Damien’s large fingers inside of me. I slide three of my fingers against my wet opening. I feel how swollen with desire I am. Should I start with fewer fingers? Perhaps. But Damien’s large fingers, just one of them, would be so much more than my slender ones.
So I slide all three together inside me, and I feel strange. Thinking of him doing this makes me twitch a little. I keep up the pressure on my clit because the instant I relent, I’m losing some of the sensations that were heating my whole body up.
I slide my fingers in deeper. My body gets used to the feeling of such fullness, and then I feel a spongy, sensitive zone. My g-spot. I curl my fingers up against it, and the sensation makes me yelp. I furiously pump my fingers, my pussy squeezing my fingers in return, and I work my clit and keep up the speed as best as I can because I need to keep this feeling going.
The fantasy in my mind, Damien’s hands touching me, Damien’s voice saying naughty things to me. His eyes looking into mine while he makes me feel this sensation that seems to jettison from my pussy to every inch of my body and make me erupt with quakes of ecstasy.
It keeps me going from one orgasm, to another, and another, and I keep going as long as I can until my body feels weak and I’m oversensitive.
Now, sated, I feel the pooled sweat around my body and the large damp spot on my bed where I came, again and again, thinking about him. I should take a shower, but I just want to curl up and sleep. I yank the comforter off the bed because it now has that massive wet spot. I might be a little cold later tonight, but I’m tired and I’m slipping under my sheet, falling asleep still warm from the orgasms. I’d never made myself really come before, and now I’ve been able to find something that felt good and was able to keep doing it enough to really experience an orgasm. Now I’m certain that I’ve made myself feel good before, but those were my first orgasms. For some reason, even though Damien didn’t really give them to me, I feel like I’ve gotten something incredibly special from him. That night, I dream about nothing. I’m so pleasantly exhausted that I don’t have a stress or concern for once in my harried college student life.
