Black to White

His lips finally touched my nipple, caught it between them, pulled away, stretching.

"Paul!" I gasped. "Oh, Paul!"

He opened his lips, letting my boob fall away, then moved to suck my bud into his mouth, his tongue swirling around and around it inside.

His hand left my breast with a fond squeeze, slid down my stomach, lingered just above my sex. His fingers swept through my small triangle of carefully-trimmed curls, rolling and pressing. As my mound moved under his hand, it dragged my labia with it. I felt my clit swell, protrude from its tiny hood, brush against my lower lips each time his hand shifted.

I groaned, louder now. My tummy was rock hard, my thighs quivering. There was a hollowness, a deeply, needy emptiness crying for...

Paul shifted and I found it. I ran my hand up and down its shaft, squeezed, stroked. I felt him throb under my hand.

Paul pushed my thighs apart; he knelt between them before gently leaning forward onto me, his lips once more on mine. I could feel his cock between us, tried to wiggle a little against it. I brought my hands up around his neck, pulled him in harder, tongues like mating cobras.

His hand slipped lower, between slippery lips, traced its way around my clit.

I began to pant, rapid cries rising as his finger left my pearl, found my entrance, probed softly.

I felt his soft touch on my yup-still-there-at-21   hymen.

His head lifted. He looked puzzled.

"Sam? Is that... I mean, are you?"

I'd been feeling somewhat proud of being able to offer him my maidenhood, but now I was just embarrassed and frustrated. Nobody, at this point, nobody could blush at a moment like this, right?

I managed.

"Yes," I whispered.

He rolled back, off me totally, his eyes wide.

I felt like bursting into tears. My hands darted out, seized him by his head.

"Yes," I whispered. "Yes, it is and yes, I am and if you stop now, Paul, I'll kill  you! Don't you dare stop, don't you dare leave me like this!"

I pulled on his neck, tried to bring him closer. He held back.

"Paul! Nothing's changed, dammit. I want you inside me, Paul! I want you now! "

His look of shock faded.

Then I saw his smile, his soft, gently, caring smile as his lips came to mine again.

His hand returned to my pussy again, stroking gently. He swept girljuices up and down, coating my lips. His finger tried to slide into me again, explored patiently, found I was not completely blocked, tried to stretch.

He backed away, looked me in the eyes, the patience on his face like nothing I'd ever seen before.

"You're a nurse, Sam. You know about these things. How...?"

I almost wailed. Like being an almost-RN gave me experience in defloration?   Then it occurred to me that he was trying to be gentle, to make this as pleasant as possible. For me. It was my call, bless the man, and I wasn't totally innocent.

I pushed him onto his back, straddled him. His cock — such an appropriate, lovely word for such a wonderful, special thing! — lay against his stomach. I rolled my hips, drew my slippery lower lips up its length, then back down, feeling veins and his rim flow under me as I moved. And again. It felt heavenly to me and his smile grew still broader.

I leaned to one side, found it with a hand, held it straight up. I could see concern in his eyes.

"Help me, Paul. Hold it for me."

His hand seized it by the base, lifted.

I rose higher, used my fingers to grasp it under its crown, rolled it around my opening, then lowered myself slightly.

I could feel it probe me, felt it press my blocking tissue.

How hard could this be? Every woman since Eve...

I lowered myself, slowly but firmly. There was a slight stop, an unpleasant pressure, then he was through. I gave a slight yelp of pain. It quickly subsided, leaving me feeling the strange, inconceivably happy feeling of him filling me to my depths.

His hand swept the side of my face.

"Are you OK, Sam?" I'd never heard such gentleness.

I lay down on his chest, panting slightly.

"Yes. I'm fine. But give me a minute, please."

His gentle hands swept my head, my neck, down my back to cuddle my bum.

"As long as you need, Sam. You drive, honey."

Honey!  His first love-word for me. I started crying.

"What's the matter, Sam? Are you hurting? I'm sorry!"

Men!  Sometimes they need a guidebook or something.

"No, silly. I'm just happy." I squeezed him inside.

Keeping myself firmly seated around him, I rose, wiped the tears off my smiling face with my palms.

"I'm happy, Paul. See?" I tried to brighten my smile, decided that I no longer felt any real pain. What I did feel was pretty amazing satisfaction. A bit of pride, too.

"Now, let's see how this works for me, Paul."

I gave a tentative roll of my hips over him and gasped at how good it felt. My clit was brushing against his body, just slightly, but it felt outstanding. The length of his cock drifting against my walls was... fulfilling? I think that's the best word I can think of.

I began to move more quickly, felt the sensations grow. Paul was lying still, just watching. I bent down over him, gave him a loving kiss, took hold of his wrists. I pulled his hands with me as I rose again, placed his palms on my boobs.

He grinned and those marvelous, strong, magical hands began to do things to the Girls no anatomy professor had ever explained.

I bounced a little faster, a little higher each time, let myself fall down harder. There was still a tinge of soreness, but the pleasure was far, far greater. I think my grin matched his.

He began to lift his hips to meet me each time, mounded and squeezed and fondled my boobs, thumbs sweeping over my nipples and I thought I was going to fly out the window at his touch.

I'd experimented before, curious fingers. I'd had orgasms. I'd owned a vibrator and enjoyed it. Nothing had ever come close to this. Maybe it was Paul's skilled, experienced lovemaking? Maybe it was just the excitement of the first time? I didn't know and again it didn't matter.

I began to sniffle a little again, but that stopped, turning instead into a series of cries, growing louder as Paul kept moving under me, sliding in and out of my elated wetness, lifting me up into a new place, a new world.

A new Samantha.

I started to shake. My breath caught, my legs began to quake. I gave another cry, this one a throaty roar from the depths of my belly, rough and fierce. A fire flashed within me, burning through clit and nipples and lips and...

I realized that I'd not had one before. Not really. Not like this. It seethed through every part of me. My toenails were cumming, my eyelashes  were having an orgasm.

It got even better when Paul's hands dropped to my waist, pulled me down solidly against his hips. His eyes were closed, his body shook and I moaned happily at the feeling of him emptying his own throbbing joy into me.

We stayed like that for a minute, an hour, a week. My orgasm slowly fading, contentment filling me, I lay on his chest, feeling it rise and fall as he caught his breath.

His hands swept gently over me, head to back to bum, started again and I've never felt so treasured in my entire life.

I cuddled into him, felt him gradually soften inside me.

"Am I too heavy?" I whispered.

"Never," came his soft reply, then "Never too heavy, Sam."

The love in his voice worked for me. I think we fell asleep like that.

Devon didn't bring us coffee the next morning, but it was waiting when we arrived at the kitchen together.

Devon's eyes dropped to my hand in his, back up to her father.

Paul didn't flinch at her gaze.

Not even when she smiled.

+

It was my first dress like this. I'd had dresses before, as a kid, as a teen and as a woman, but not like this. The others were for school, for playing, for church, for dates, for good times and for less good ones.

This was definitely for a good time. Devon and I had bought it together.

This one was white.