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Gently, Firmly

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She woke up a little later than usual, her first reaction to check the clock. Before her heart could race at the thought of being late, she remembered it was a Saturday, and her next thought was of the night before, the smell of his cologne and sweat and cum drifting up from the sheets.

Looking around, she wondered if he had left – a typical one-night stand – or if maybe he was just in the bathroom.

She got up, threw on a robe and saw his clothes were still here. Her rising annoyance at being a victim, again, of another night of indiscriminate bar-hopping quickly deflated.

“Good morning!” He greeted her from the kitchen as she walked in.

She blushed a little, seeing him naked in her apartment, his penis swinging back and forth as he prepared the coffee. She wasn’t used to having another person in her home, let alone a gorgeous hunk, let alone a naked gorgeous hunk.

“Hi?” She wasn’t prepared to see him making such an elaborate breakfast: eggs, bacon, orange juice, coffee. She looked at his butt as he turned to tend the oven and blushed again, his balls hanging between his legs. “I’ll be right back.”

She sat on the toilet letting the pee stream out of her, thinking about last night, about his being naked in her kitchen. Her head was a little cloudy from all the drinking. He had been a gentle lover, that much she remembered. Gentle, considerate and…firm. She looked down at the thick patch of hair between her legs. Given where his tongue had been, he must have discovered how much hair she had, even though she been as careful as usual to undress in the dark.

She wiped herself and winced a little – he hadn’t been rough with her as far as she could remember, but they had done it a lot. All night. Her cloudy head wasn’t just from too much drinking: it was equally from too little sleep.

Looking at herself in the mirror as she washed her hands, she took stock: face a complete mess, hair irreparable. Her body, revealed now by the open robe, continued to disappoint: breasts far too small and too far apart, her snatch a bramble of thick, unruly black hair extending almost up to her waist and across to the top of her hips. And her hips: bony protrusions that accentuated her thinness. She turned slightly to reassure herself her buns were as wonderful as she remembered them – the only part of her anatomy she was proud of. Tight, round buns that fit nicely in a man’s hands. Mark’s hands. The night played back in her mind from the minute he started dancing with her, until moments ago, when she remembered he was naked in her kitchen.

She blushed again and silently cursed herself. She had nothing to be embarrassed about, but it was a physical reaction she couldn’t control. Her girlfriends always giggled, and the guys she’d dated seemed to find it endearing. She had come to hate it. A deep red blush you could almost watch travel out from her cheeks up to her hairline and down practically to her breasts.

She dried her hands, pulled the robe around her, and realized in spite of the slight hangover, she was hungry.

“Good morning,” she said, less surprised but not completely ready to see him in the buff in her kitchen. Her eyes couldn’t stop drifting to his penis, now a little stiffer than when she had first walked in, but not really close to erect. The smell of breakfast was wonderful. “Again.”

“Good morning again to you. I hope you like eggs. I hope you don’t mind?” He waved around the kitchen. She stood at the end of the peninsula and just shook her head, smiling.

“What’s to mind? A naked guy making me breakfast. Shit. Any day of the week.” She said it with a bravado she didn’t really feel, and realized a little too late it might have been too early to throw out casual innuendos like that. Whatever. She was getting old enough to say whatever she goddamn felt like.

He looked up and smiled, apparently taking it the right way and continued to plate the food.

She grabbed the silverware, napkins, salt and pepper and set them on the table as he set down the plates.

“Please, have a seat. I’ll get the coffee.”

She was flustered to be served in her own kitchen by a guy she’d just brought home the night before, but not flustered enough to refuse. The feeling from last night came creeping back – an early-morning love making he had initiated but hadn’t pushed until she responded – that firmness with a gentleman’s touch. The feeling of his erection pushing deep inside her: a different kind of firmness.

He was standing next to her, pouring the coffee, his penis just inches away. She could smell her own musk now, drifting off of him and she wrinkled her nose a little. He set down the coffee pot on a trivet and turned to face her, his hands, warm from cooking drifting from her cheeks to her chin.

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” He lightly caressed her face, sending vibrations down her spine.

“Mmmm.” She purred a little, closing her eyes remembering his touch.

“You had suggested you wanted to return the favor. Do you recall?”

His fingers had moved along her jaw, up to her earlobes and back down, drifting between her lips. She still hadn’t opened her eyes, relishing the electricity he was generating and knowing his cock was just inches away. She didn’t know what he was talking about for a few heartbeats and then remembered.

He had spread her legs under the sheets and had crawled down, burying his mouth against her wide open labia. In moments he had brought her to the edge of an orgasm, only to pull away, over and over again, his tongue teasing its way along her clit, his fingers playing in her thick thatch of hair. She had been driven to begging him to let her cum and he had extracted a promise from her. Firmness. Gentle and firm.

He had moved slightly, and she knew from the aroma that his cock was now just in front of her. His fingers, gentle and firm slowly stroked her cheeks: not demanding, just suggesting what he wanted from her. And then she felt the smooth head of his penis touching her lips.

She was pretty good at giving head. The first few times, when she had actually asked her boyfriends, still insecure in her ability, she had been convinced by their enthusiastic responses and repeated requests to bury their cocks in her mouth that she was probably pretty good. Later boyfriends were seemingly satisfied to have her repeat her performances on them, suggesting she did something right.

She opened her lips to let this new cock into her mouth. She hadn’t taken him last night; he didn’t seem to want it. As he entered her now, she noted his head was large, but not so big she couldn’t take it down her throat…if that’s where she wanted to go. Maybe she would. That might surprise him, and for some reason she wanted to surprise him. There wasn’t the usual reason to take a guy that far; they’d already done it, although she had been careful to keep things in the dark. Still, the memory of his mouth and fingers caressing her pussy suggested he already knew. His fingers continued to play on her face, tracing little circles on her cheeks, her eyes and ears, lighting up her nerves, even as his head began to swell against her tongue.

She moaned at the memory of what he’d done to her just a few hours before in the intimate darkness of her bed. His tongue thrusting into her wide open sex, his fingers probing at her, his teasing her until she had promised to reciprocate. It had been as much a game for her as it was for him. He had no idea how she felt about giving head, but she made it sound like a solemn oath. It made her laugh a little at the memory. She would have made good on it right then, but he wouldn’t let her, gently caressing her as she came down from her orgasm, whispering he would extract the promise when he was ready. Gentle and firm.

This was the time, she thought, his hands now moving behind her head, down to her neck. This is when he wants payback. She opened her mouth wider, letting her jaw relax, shifting in her seat slightly to open her throat to him. She felt him reposition his knees, the angle of his erection moving down slightly and felt his head begin to slide along the top of her mouth toward her throat.

She breathed deeply through her nose, overcoming her gag reflex as his erection slid past the back of her tongue. This was the “panic time” as she had come to think of it and focused on her breathing. His hands held the back of her head gently but firmly as he filled her throat, sliding into her until her nose was buried in his pubic hair. She continued to breathe deeply, inhaling his musky perfume, focusing on relaxing her throat and stomach, a burp erupting involuntarily from her depths.

Now that he had inserted his cock past her point of panic, she relaxed her shoulders and gave into the rhythm. She distanced herself from the situation – her mind focusing on seemingly irrelevant details – it was a technique that let her throat do the work without her mind freaking out. His cock slowly pushed in further until her nose was pressed hard against his pubic bone. He held her there momentarily and then pulled out slowly, his head rubbing against her throat. How is it, she thought, I can let a guy I barely know fuck me in the throat? She noted this was the first take-home date she’d let get this far. Usually she was able to get them off with far shallower techniques.

She didn’t exactly enjoy the feeling of being violated this way. But she wasn’t completely revolted by it either. She had to admit, and had admitted many times, to liking the thought of being impaled on a guy’s dick, of giving him so much pleasure he could cum faster than when he fucked her in more traditional ways. At least she wanted to believe all of that. But in the more honest part of her mind she knew those were just rationalizations; the real reason she gave guys head was to avoid exposing herself in other ways. She grunted a little as his cock-head pulled past the panic-point and began its return. A string of drool fell to her lap. Little chance she’d avoided being exposed; the best she could hope for was the darkness had hidden the worst of it.

His grip on the back of her head shifted a little, leaving only one hand there to gently hold and pull her head forward. She felt him shift again, forcing her to bend over a little more, as he seemed to lower himself slightly.

When his free hand began to open her robe, she groaned both from the realization of what he was doing and her inability to stop him. In moments he had exposed her breasts, and before she could react she felt the cool morning air on her naked bush, her cheeks burning from the blush.

With his cock deep in her throat she couldn’t move without choking; instead she was forced to let him do all of the moving. It felt as if his shaft filled her completely, a feeling she had come to know and had learned to disbelieve. There was sufficient room for air to pass and she focused on breathing as he pulled slowly out of her and then reversed maddeningly back. The fingers of his free hand gently, firmly stroked first one and then the other nipple, sending pulses into her chest and moans across his swelled head. Maybe he couldn’t see that far down, past her head. Maybe she was still okay.

She reached her own hands up to feel his balls, cupping them, stroking them in their sac. With each touch she could feel his shaft pulse, his head expanding slightly. It would only be a matter of heartbeats now, she predicted, hearing his breathing changing and his hands holding her more tightly. She liked her eggs hot and knew if she heated his a little bit more, they could get down to eating more substantive fare.

As expected he suddenly stiffened, pushing into her as deeply as her nose would allow. She felt the pulses of his semen leaving his balls, moving through the shaft, imagining his head, purple and swollen in the back of her throat, and then the burst of hot crème injecting into her. He held her tightly until the spasms finished and then gently removed his rapidly shrinking member from her.

With his fingers still holding one nipple, his other hand tipped her head back so he could kiss her. When their lips met, he pushed his tongue into her mouth and slipped both hands under the robe and pulled it off.

“You have a beautiful throat,” he said, breaking the kiss and making sure she saw him staring down at her naked body. “Inside and out.” To press the point, he stroked her neck, running his thumb along the front of her throat and down to her breasts. She shivered a little, never taking her eyes off of him, hoping to block his view of her waist.

He released her and took the seat next to hers, placing his napkin on his lap before digging into his omelet.

She knew she was beet red and didn’t look up to meet his eyes, taking his lead to cover herself with her napkin, focusing on her plate. Though he had released her physically, she still felt as if she couldn’t move. As if somehow she needed permission to move. She’d only played the submissive once before with a lover and it hadn’t continued. This was different. She’d never had a man treat her quite this way, made all the more confusing given his behavior in bed the night before. Her stomach was a little upset, probably from the throat fuck –it would settle before long.

More difficult to manage were her feelings: shame at being so…passive…not about him fucking her that way – she was happy to do it. Something about the way he had held her, or how he had so easily forced her to be so exposed, violating all of her defenses against being stripped with the lights on. She wanted desperately to pull the robe back around her but couldn’t bring herself to do it. He couldn’t have known – they had just met and she had the routine down so well nothing awkward happened all night. But just then, with his cock impaling her, forcing her to stay still, he had deftly stripped her and she couldn’t stop him or protest or do any of the things she had had so much practice doing.

She realized she had somehow welcomed what he’d done, that she couldn’t stop him and that it wasn’t her fault she was exposed this way. Even more curious than being exposed to him, was the exposure of a secret, intense desire to have him continue to treat her this way.

For what seemed like forever, but was just the past several years, her sex life had been a series of one-night stands, maybe two dates at the most. Either they weren’t interested in anything more than a casual night of sex, or she could tell they weren’t going to work out. Making love wasn’t something she wanted to evolve: either it was right or it wasn’t. And for four years it hadn’t been right. She had worried about it last night – he was firm, yes, but maybe not firm enough. And they’d done it enough times she thought she had him figured out. But now…now, she wasn’t certain. Maybe he was too firm, or maybe she’d found someone who could give her what she needed. An odd memory from her childhood bubbled up – in her sixth grade science class, stroking the baby alligator lizard’s stomach, watching it close its eyes and fall into a trance. It was as if he had just done that to some part of her in some way she couldn’t quite understand.

“Is breakfast to your liking?” He smiled at her disarmingly, taking a sip from his coffee.

The threat of being further exposed to him in the morning light was so distracting she could barely taste the food. She focused for a moment and realized it was better than she’d had in a long time. “It’s delicious,” she practically whispered.

“You have a beautiful body, Laura. Beautiful. Nothing to be ashamed about. How did you learn to give head so well?” He was obviously aware of her shyness but continued anyway, asking her as if he had taken an interest in her hobby.

She ate in silence, tears of frustration barely contained. Forced to act civilly while stripped naked, physically and emotionally, in her own home, with a man she had just brought home, and instead of indignation, she felt…aroused. Aroused! Her thoughts swirled. Why am I aroused, goddamnit?! I should be angry. Angry and kick him out! But the alligator lizard trance held its power over whatever part of her that was and she suddenly found herself behaving like a teenager: awkward and insecure. She hid her confusion behind her coffee cup, her eyes looking down to her plate, seeing her labia swelling out from the thick patch of hair so visible and exposed.

Her breathing was shallow and she concentrated on calming it down. No sense in hyperventilating and fainting. She realized she was being rude – he had paid her a compliment and she still hadn’t responded. “Thank-you.” Again almost a whisper. “I guess I just picked it up along the way.”

In fact it was nothing like that whatsoever. The memory of the first time she had taken a boy’s cock into her mouth was never too far from her consciousness. Michael Bolen, 11th grade. They had been dating for months and he had become more insistent, their petting getting more intense. She realized the night it happened that if she didn’t take matters into her hands, or more accurately, her mouth, he would do something she wasn’t ready for: strip her naked and see how hairy she was. She had dreaded the thought from the moment it had first popped into her head. Even now, years later she could see herself in her room, hours before the date, staring at her naked reflection, her bony hips framing the massive patch of black hair.

She had tried shaving it years before, when she was 14 and it had already spread across the front of her body, with disastrous results: it only came back thicker and longer. She never wore a bikini, or even too short shorts for fear her dark curls would creep out and embarrass her.

On their previous date he had begun to slip his hands into her jeans and she barely avoided the inevitable, unzipping his jeans instead and masturbating him. She knew he would want to go farther that night and decided to head him off…so to speak.

He didn’t last long, either that night or as a boyfriend. When she wouldn’t let him get any further with her, he lost interest. But she had learned a valuable lesson: strike first and take the lead. By the time she had gotten to college she had mastered several methods of fellatio, studying porn films, reading books, and diving into online blogs. College, being what it was, was a little easier for her – guys were less judgmental, or at least she felt a little freer. She had a steady guy who seemed to enjoy her mat of hair, but she was never completely relaxed about it. By then she had come to enjoy eating cock repaying his favors with plenty of attention from her mouth. It was with him she had learned to deep throat. They had dated for over a year and there was hardly a night where she didn’t take, or let him impale, his hard cock deep inside herself, relishing the power she had as he ejaculated into her. It was never a routine with him and always a pleasure.

Until the day he broke up with her. She was devastated. They had had a terrible fight, she had said stupid things, but his last words had slashed her to her heart. “You’re a fucking gorilla, Laura. Do something about that!” He had waved in the general direction of her waist and walked out.

That had been four years ago, and since then she hadn’t let a guy get close to seeing her naked…until now. She ate slowly, wondering what the next steps should be. She didn’t want to kick him out – he had started something inside her she hadn’t felt since high school – that strange tightness when a boy strokes you in a certain way – the promise of something big just over the horizon, anticipation increasing the arousal. But she couldn’t continue much longer this way – breakfast would be over and then she would have to get up, her mass of pubic hair completely revealed. At least for now he had only seen it from above and slightly hidden by the table. As humiliated and stripped as she had been these past few minutes, her secret was still not absolutely out. She hoped he would finish and clear the plates, letting her slip the robe over herself and return to a semblance of normalcy.

“Could I ask you to do me a small favor?” She looked up to see he had finished. She still had half a plate full of food. He was staring into her eyes, his expression open and clear, his smile infectious.

She raised her eyebrows, unable to speak.

“Please,” he said, standing, his cock at half mast, his hands open, implying she should join him.

She shook her head, looking down. No, no, no. Please god, no.

“Laura?” He waited, his cock pulsing just outside her line of vision, now sticking out at 45 degrees.

She looked up, hoping her eyes were explanation enough. Please don’t make me speak. Please don’t make me explain.

He walked behind her, his hands reaching down and gently, firmly enveloped her elbows. “Laura,” he whispered into her ears. She knew he could see her from there, the napkin a poor cover for the expanse of hair, her blush now practically below her breasts, her breath ragged. Why can’t I just say no!?

Gently, firmly he tugged her elbows up, lifting her from her chair, her robe falling away from her back, exposing her rounded ass. “Laura. It would give me such pleasure to finish my meal with you. Please.” She knew what he was saying but couldn’t imagine letting him do that to her, here, this way. But he wasn’t waiting for her to let him. Slowly he brought her to her feet and turned her to face him. She tried to hug him, to wrap her arms around him and hide herself, but he held her arms away, placing her hands on the table’s edge.

“Can you let me do this for you?” He let her hands go. She watched, as if from another part of the room: the woman stripped naked and exposed, her hands fixed to the table as if with glue. Looking at herself from this perspective, she realized the part of her body of which she was most proud, her beautiful rounded ass, was pressed tight against the corner of the table, hidden from view.

And now she could see how truly exposed she was: her black bush, a fierce triangle of matted hair wildly presenting itself to him, her blush, a crimson red down to her ribs. She closed her eyes in embarrassment and shame, waiting for him to gasp in disgust.

His hands brushed down her sides, his thumbs lingering momentarily on her nipples, his fingers tracing the line of the blush. “Amazing,” he whispered, his face held back to take her in. She forced herself to breathe. As his hands moved lower, she caught her breath again, his thumbs finally reaching the margin of her hair, just below her waist.

He shifted his hands a little, pushing on the bony part of her hips, forcing her to widen her stance. This only exposed her vagina more to him and she let out her breath. She realized it sounded like a gasp or a moan and she felt him change his position slightly, forcing her open even more.

He was kneeling now – at least she figured he had to be, her eyes were still tightly closed, his hands sliding between her thighs, opening her up as far as her legs would allow. He pushed up on her thighs slightly, signaling she should lift herself onto the table. Now her legs were dangling and she couldn’t keep them apart. Slipping his arms under her thighs, he moved her legs onto his shoulders, doing some sort of gymnastics with his arms behind him. The sound of the chair sliding across the floor telegraphed it brushing against her shins.

She put her feet up on the seat behind him even though it meant opening herself back up. He would have moved them there in any event, she figured. Something made her open her eyes, a slight change in the light, a shadow, something and she gasped again. She was facing the picture window across the small living room. The picture window overlooking the walkway serving all of the apartments on the second floor. Anyone walking by could see them, see her, split open, his face buried in between her legs. The only reason she didn’t jump off the table was her trust that the sheer curtain liners were truly enough to obscure anything inside the room. What she had sensed through her closed eyelids were her neighbors leaving, their figures shifting the sunlight and shadows.

“You smell delicious,” he said to her open slit, bringing her back to the here and now, and it was at that moment she realized how aroused she had become. She could feel the moisture between her lips and gasped yet again when his fingers opened her outer labia, knowing he would be seeing how wet she was. And then, unexpectedly, a powerful spasm went through her. She realized he had gently wrapped his lips around her clit, confirmation she was closer to the edge than she had been aware. What is going on with me? How could I have lost touch so quickly?

Memories of the night of love making returned: he knew how to tease her, how to stimulate her in ways that brought her up on a wave of sweet arousal, forcing her to push against him, only to have him back away. A rhythm he seemed to excel at, a little higher each time, but never enough to push her over the top. Just like before, she found herself panting, moaning his name and those of various deities. She had lost track of time, and almost lost track of her situation. Almost, but never quite: her viewpoint from the other part of the room served to push her higher, accepting her absolute nakedness and submission to his tongue and lips and eyes. His eyes. She knew he was studying her, his eyes deep in the forest of her hair. There was no hiding her secret now.

Something clicked in her, as he backed away for a countless time. Something let go, just as he inserted two fingers into her cunt. Because at this point it was a cunt – a hairy wet cunt, open and wanton. She felt shame and humiliation replaced by a golden yellow arousal she hadn’t felt in years. His fingers gently, firmly, wriggled their way up inside her, the gushing sound of her liquid squeezing between them adding to her rising orgasm. He leaned forward again, pressing his lips against her labia. He pressed his fingers deep inside her, against the flesh just behind her clit and she was on the brink.

“Please, Mark. God. Please, yes. Please, please, oh god, yes, let me cum. Let me cum. I’m going to cum. God yes, I’m going to cummmmm.” But just at that crucial moment, he backed off. Just a little. Just enough that the echo of his fingers didn’t come pulsing back and flip her over the edge. Just enough that the lack of pressure from his lips and tongue wasn’t enough to add the final spark.

“NOOOOO! GODDD! NOOO! Please! What do you want? Why won’t you let me cum?” Shame and humiliation returned briefly at hearing her voice beg this virtual stranger, this amazing lover; she lost track of what she said, and then stopped caring. She was so close and he held the power to release her… in his fingers, tongue and lips.

“Soon. Very, very soon, Laura. I promise. But first I want a promise from you. Can you promise something to me?”

It was obvious he expected her to look down at him, to meet his eyes. It would mean actually witnessing her exposure; actually recording the event in her brain that he was seeing her. Her vision was blurry, and she blinked until it cleared. Looking down at his upturned face, his eyes clear and honest, his face shiny from her juices, she waited. She saw her wild black curls just millimeters from his chin and nose and shook her head slightly in disbelief. Disbelief and a need to go over the top to get on with whatever he wanted. She realized he was waiting for a reply.

“What is it?” Her voice was husky and soft; she needed to clear her throat, to swallow, but didn’t dare.

“I want to see you again. Soon. But I can’t stand the thought of you sharing yourself with anyone else before then. Can you promise me you won’t share your beautiful body, your gorgeous sweet pussy, your incredible legs, those amazing breasts and throat with anyone else between now and the next time we see each other?”

It would have been an easy promise. She wasn’t dating anyone, instead visiting bars with girlfriends on the off-chance she’d get her drinks paid for. Under any other circumstance, his presumption would have made her so angry she would have laughed. She could hear some small voice in her brain: Who the fuck does he think he is, extracting that kind of promise from me? But the voice was almost too hard to hear beneath the roiling waves of her impending orgasm and the pulsing/receding feelings of shame and humiliation.

She was watching him watching her, his face next to the one part of her body she showed to no one, her body stripped, and open to him: eyes, fingers, tongue, lips. He was asking her to promise not sharing the very thing she had no desire to share with anyone. To only share it with him.

Whatever had clicked just moments before returned; like a key in a lock, she felt something turn. Months later she would reflect on that click: whether it was locking away her years of self-loathing, or whether it was freeing her from them she could never quite resolve. In the moment, though, realizing she had tensed up her legs, she let her hips fall open as wide as was comfortable, rolling back on her elbows to take the weight off her hands. She felt the edge of her breakfast dishes bump against her back. She would do this. She was doing this.

“I promise,” she said, her voice stronger than it had been all morning. She pushed herself at him to make her point. And moments later screamed as her orgasm exploded up her spine; screamed in a way she knew her neighbors could hear (if any were home), and for the first time in years, she didn’t care. FUCK THEM! FUCK YES! FUCK ME! PROMISE? FUCK YES, I PROMISE. If this was what he would do to her, if he didn’t care about her hair (the absurd realization popped into her climaxing brain that he hadn’t even mentioned her hair…just her beautiful pussy), this promise was easy to keep.

The orgasm, her screams and her mental shouts all boiled together, her eyes rolling back into her head, her back landing squarely on the plate under her. He didn’t let up, his fingers pushed on that spot, his tongue and lips clamped on her clit for an eternity. She may have blacked out. Years of pent up sexual frustration and fear poured out of her until she could only breathe and laugh.

Softly, slowly, he stood up stretching his legs and uncramping his arms. She looked at him from between narrowed lids, still floating on the rolling seas of her climax. She could see his cock, erect and ready, pointing at her wide open slit and she opened her hips even further.

“Fuck me, Mark. Fuck me very very hard. Make me feel that hard cock deep inside my cunt. I want to feel your balls slapping against my ass. Now, tomorrow. Whatever you want, Mark. I promise.”

Gently, excruciatingly slowly, he penetrated her, hard and firm, the sensation of his fingers dragging through her thick pubic hair electric shocks.

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Steve wrote

What a wonderful story, it was not quite what I was looking for (something cruder was my aim) however the the way it was written and the actual story got me hooked. The climax, and the lady saying cunt at the end really made it for me. Any more chapters?