Despite my initial nerves, a different sensation slowly crept in—an instinctive need to please him, to give him what he wanted. I had fantasized about a moment like this for so long, imagining what it would feel like to have a man lost in pleasure because of me. And now, with him standing before me, desire darkening his gaze, I wanted nothing more than to make it real.
He didn’t say a word—he didn’t have to. His hands gripped my shoulders, applying just enough pressure to push me down. I understood immediately. My knees met the floor as I looked up at him, heart pounding, waiting for further instruction. But he gave none. Instead, he simply watched me, expectant, as if daring me to take the next step myself.
I hesitated for just a moment before reaching for him. Stroking his length slowly, feeling its warmth and weight in my hand, I watched as he grew fully hard under my touch. His size, his shape—there was something mesmerizing about it. I had never been this close before, never had the chance to admire a man like this.
By the time he told me to open my mouth, he was already throbbing with need. I obeyed without question, parting my lips and taking him in. At first, I moved cautiously, adjusting to the sensation, but as I got used to it, I found a rhythm. His fingers tangled into my hair, guiding me, controlling my pace. The quiet sounds of his pleasure filled the air, and with every deep moan, I felt something stir inside me—a strange mix of submission and satisfaction.
Still, I wasn’t completely at ease. A lingering discomfort stayed with me, an uneasiness I couldn’t shake. If I had the chance, I would have finished him right away just to get it over with, just to be done. But he had full control, and I knew I wouldn’t be the one deciding when this ended.
Before I could fully process what was happening, he pulled me up, turning me around with firm hands. His movements were confident, assured—he knew exactly what he wanted, and I was merely following where he led.
He guided me toward the bed, his grip firm as he positioned me exactly how he wanted. "Get on," he instructed, his voice low, leaving no room for hesitation. I obeyed, crawling onto the mattress and settling near the edge as he directed, my knees pressing into the surface, my upper body leaning forward. My heart pounded in anticipation. I couldn’t see what he was doing behind me, but I could hear him moving, feel the heat of his presence looming over me. My skin prickled with anticipation, nerves twisting in my stomach.
Then, the distinct sound of a condom package being ripped open cut through the quiet, followed by the cool, slick sensation of something sticky being smeared over my back entrance. A shiver ran through me—not just from the temperature but from the sheer reality of what was about to happen. I was hoping for some more foreplay, maybe using his fingers to ease me into it — some stretching and preparation, just like he had often promised in our chats. He knew I was still a virgin, that I wasn’t used to anything bigger than a finger. But as I felt his hands gripping my hips, positioning me without hesitation, I quickly realized there would be no patience in his touch, no tenderness—only urgency.
His hands gripped my hips, positioning me without hesitation. My breath hitched as I felt him pressing against me, his arousal insistent, demanding. I swallowed hard, my fingers gripping the sheets beneath me as I braced myself. A sharp gasp escaped my lips as he pushed inside, stretching me far too quickly. A deep, burning pain shot through me, my body instinctively resisting the sudden intrusion. I clenched my jaw, trying to breathe through it, but the pain was overwhelming.
I tried my best not to let him notice that I was in trouble — I didn’t want to disappoint him. I told myself to endure it, to focus on giving him what he wanted. But after only a few strokes, the discomfort became unbearable, and my body tensed involuntarily against him.
"Wait — just a second," I gasped, my voice barely above a whisper.
He exhaled sharply, as if he couldn't understand why I needed him to stop. "What’s wrong?" His tone wasn’t harsh, but there was no real concern behind it either—just confusion, impatience.
"It just... hurts a little," I admitted, pressing my forehead against the mattress.
He sighed but stayed still. Ten seconds. That was all he gave me. Then, without warning, he started moving again — slow at first, but quickly picking up the same rough, steady pace as before. I winced but said nothing. I didn’t want to disappoint him. I didn’t want to ruin the moment for him.
So I kept quiet and let him take me.
To be continued...
