It happened like this: I had just passed my 18th birthday and I had had very little experience of boys. I was a slow starter. I had no brothers and I had been to a girls-only school. So, surprising as it may seem , to my friends and I, boys were something of a mystery, something to wonder about and to giggle at from a safe distance. Don't misunderstand me: we knew all about boys and their anatomy! We had, of course, attended the sex education classes and listened wide-eyed to the stories some of the girls had told us about what they had done in the school holidays. But few of us, even at the age of eighteen, had really had any close encounters with these strange creatures.....
He was very good looking and he knew it, although without a doubt his own opinion of himself and his looks far surpassed that of any of the girls. As far as I and my friends were concerned, he was an average
eighteen-year-old with fair hair and blue eyes. Nothing special, any more than any of the boys who were not positively ugly were special.
I overheard him boasting to his friends about the girls he had had and how they all begged for more.
“You haven’t had a girl,” one of his friends told him, “Not actually
had a girl. You might have kissed one or two, but not really
had them.”
“I have,” he claimed. “Right in bed and all. Everything.
Done it. Really
done it.”
Several of his friends sneered. “Who?” they asked. “Just tell us who you’ve had.”
“Lots,” he assured them, “There was...”
He reeled of a list of names, starting, I think, with the best-looking girls in the neighbourhood. I was more than a little startled to hear my own name in the list.
“You haven’t had Susan,” one of the boys said in awe, “She’s much too scary. You wouldn’t dare. No one would dare even try and kiss her.”
I am not sure whether I was more annoyed at his assertion that he had
had me, or his friend’s claim that I was ‘too scary’, or that I was not mentioned at the top of the list. Whichever it was, I was furious.
I said nothing. I wanted to hear more. They had not noticed I was there, sitting on the bench on my own on the far side of the large oak tree.
“I kissed Susan,” he confirmed to his friends. “She doesn’t scare me. I kissed her all over before I
did it. She’s got a nice body. Beautiful tits.”
Yes. Right. They were (and still are
). But right then I was the only person in the entire world who had ever had the pleasure of touching them, and kissing certainly did not enter into it!
“You kissed her tits?” his friends were impressed.
“Yup,” he told them cockily. “And I kissed between her legs before I
did it.”
As he said that, I had the most bizarre feeling. Now, when I try to think back and remember it, it is somewhat difficult to describe. My first feeling was one of revulsion at the thought of putting one’s face between somebody’s legs and kissing. The second feeling, following only seconds after the first thought, was completely new to me. Without deliberately imagining it, or even wanting it, I suddenly felt it, felt him right there kissing between my legs. Instinctively (or was it reactively, as a result of the ‘social conditioning’ all young girls receive from parents, teachers and society in general?), I pressed my knees together...
His friends left, laughing. By their comments I judged they did not entirely believe him, but at the same time his stories were so convincing they were not quite sure whether at least some of it was true.
He was still there. I listened, and heard him sit down on the grass. I decided to embarrass him.
“Hello,” I said, leaving the bench and moving quietly around the tree. He had not heard me until I spoke, and he jerked his head round in surprise.
“Oh, hello,” he replied uncertainly.
I was not at all sure I could do this, but I was determined to try.
“So you enjoyed
kissing between my legs did you?”
Immediately he was bright red. Perfect.
“Umm. Ah. Sorry. You weren’t meant to hear... “
I moved closer until I stood in front of him, less than two feet from him. He edged backwards.
“You can kiss me if you like,” I told him.
He started to stand up. I pushed him with my hand flat against his forehead, not hard, but with enough force to make him sit down again.
“No,” I told him as firmly as I could, “Like you told your friends.”
“You’re joking,” he stuttered, his face turning a deeper red.
He was right. I was “joking”. Or, at least, I was not serious.
“I’m not joking,” I assured him. “I didn’t really expect a little boy like you to be able to cope with men’s stuff.”
I would have turned round and left him at that point. I started to turn.
“All right,” he said. “If that’s what you want, I’ll do it.”
I froze. I had been so sure he did not have the nerve to actually agree. One part of me quite firmly said ‘It’s revolting’, while at the same time another part was telling me I could not back out now I had started it. Somewhere else, deeper and darker perhaps, assured me I needed to do it and there was no good reason why I should not.
He was so annoying, and I was so cross with him for the lies he had been telling his friends.
He was so good-looking, and at any other time I’d have given almost anything for him to take me in his arms and kiss me.
The battle in my head stopped suddenly. Neither side won, simply because each found justification for the other. The ‘it’s revolting’ found ‘make him do something disgusting’; the ‘can’t back out now’ found ‘I want him to do it’; the ‘I need to do it’ happily agreed with the others.
There was no one around. His friends had disappeared. Why not?
A thousand other thoughts went through my head. Here? Suppose someone sees us? Am I absolutely certain I can’t get pregnant doing this? Is my underwear clean? I think I need the toilet.
“Do you want me to, or not?” Something in his voice said he hoped the answer was ‘not’, but it was that something that made me more determined.
“Yes.” I stepped forward, reaching for his head and pulling him underneath my skirt. I bent my knees slightly, holding the back of his head through my skirt and pressing his face against my panties.
I cannot remember properly the feelings that went through me at that moment. Something new and unexpected shot through me. My knees gave way. One minute I was standing there pressing his face against me as he sat on the grass, the next minute he was flat on his back and I was sitting on him, my full weight pressed onto his face.
It took several seconds for me to realise what had happened. He was, I think, similarly stunned, because it was several seconds before he moved.
He tried to push me off him. I was not particularly large or heavy, but in that position it was not easy for him. Abruptly, and without any real thought, I decided I did not want to be pushed off. I grabbed his flailing arms by the wrists and pushed them onto the grass behind his head, leaning forward to put enough weight onto my arms to stop him moving. It was the classic ‘schoolgirl pin’ position, although the thought did not occur to me at the time. Also, from the starting position with his face pressed against me to leaning forward as I now was, I covered most of his face underneath me.
I do not know how long I sat there. I do remember the very pleasant sensation of having a young man’s face underneath me for the first time as I pressed down onto him. I also remember the wonderful feeling of power just have a young man who could not escape from underneath me. I remember too the additional buzz of excitement when I realised I was in total control of his breathing, and that he was totally smothered and airless unless I raised myself from him.
I felt him try to struggle. His legs kicked vainly on the grass somewhere behind me. His body flexed and strained. I was gripping his wrists firmly, my knees on either side of his head, and moving my hips backwards and forwards.
I do not know how long it was before I realised exactly what I was doing and why I was moving my hips. As soon as my brain made the connection with what my body was doing, I leapt from him shocked and annoyed with myself. My panties were wet, and it was not entirely from his mouth.
Even now I can remember that expression on his face. He was trembling, and he had a bizarre look that was some sort of mixture between fear and pleasure.
I ran from him, looking back only when I was well over a hundred yards away across the grass.
He had not moved.
Source:
Mistress Destiny
