Her First Experience Began with a Secret

I was in my second year when I saw her for the first time. It was one of those parties thrown in the campus dorms at the beginning of the semester: too many people, too much noise, and plastic cups no one knew quite where they had come from. She was a freshman; I found that out later. Nineteen, I was told, though she could have been older or younger without the answer changing much.

I stationed myself in a corner with a beer in my hand and watched her from a distance. She wore a plain dark-blue dress that ended just above her knees, and sneakers in the same shade, a little darker still. Her hair was the first thing that caught your eye: curly, red, loose with the kind of carelessness that actually takes quite a lot of effort. Her cheeks were slightly flushed, her eyes large and dark, her mouth small and firm. An oval, almost symmetrical face, with a straight nose that ended in a soft roundness.

She moved away from a group of girls who had already spilled their drinks all over themselves. Some of them hadn’t even noticed. She had, and she left without saying anything.

That was when I saw it clearly: the curls, the color of her hair, the shape of her mouth. Something inside me recognized it before my mind had fully processed it.

Before I went to university, I spent almost two years doing repairs and renovations for various families in the neighborhood. One of my clients was Natalia, a woman around forty, also a redhead, with the kind of self-assurance that comes from knowing exactly what you want. The last few times I was at her house ended in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Natalia was one of my first serious sexual experiences: she sucked my cock on her knees in the kitchen the first time, let me fuck her against the counter with her tits bare the second, and by the third she was spreading my ass with her fingers while asking me to put it all the way in. That memory remained crystal clear even years later. I imagine something like that isn’t easily forgotten.

The girl in the blue dress approached a little table a few feet from me. She was looking for something among the bottles. When she looked up, our eyes met.

“My aunt talks about you a lot,” she said, a glass in her hand and a smile that promised more than it said.

I waited. I didn’t ask anything.

“Natalia. Do you remember Natalia?” Her dark eyes stared straight at me, gauging my reaction.

Of course I remembered.

“She told me something,” I replied, without revealing what.

“Me too.” She lowered her gaze for a moment before raising it again. “One day she got home early, thinking you’d already left. She went to get something from the bathroom and found you coming out. With nothing on. Your cock out, still hard from what you’d just done to her.”

She paused. Her eyes dropped briefly toward my crotch, and I adjusted my pants with little attempt at subtlety. Her eyes widened a little, then she looked me in the face with an expression somewhere between surprise and fascination.

“Before she left for Europe, she told me not to be afraid of you,” she continued, her cheeks already quite flushed. “That you’d left her unable to walk properly for two days. At the time, I didn’t really understand what she meant.”

Now I understood. And so did she.

I moved closer. Almost nose to nose. The noise of the party continued around us: overlapping conversations, music coming from someone’s phone, glasses clinking. But the space between the two of us had become different. Quieter, somehow.

I put my hand on her arm. She didn’t pull away, but shifted her weight from one foot to the other. I moved my hand toward her waist. She gave a small start and drew in a slow breath. When I pulled her toward me, she came without resisting. She folded her arms against her own chest, palms at the level of her sternum, still unsure what to do with them.

I kissed her. At first she stayed still, as if assessing every second. Then she began to respond, lips parted, her shy tongue seeking mine, her hands gradually finding my shoulders.

At some point someone bumped into us from behind, and she ended up pressed against my chest. I took advantage of it: I lifted her by the legs, just below the buttocks, and propped her against the nearest wall. I squeezed her ass with both hands over her dress and felt a moan escape into my mouth. My cock, already rock-hard, jabbed between her legs through our pants, and she moved her hips slightly, almost involuntarily, rubbing against me. Some people passing by noticed what was happening, but most were too occupied with their own business.

When I tried to move my hands higher up her thighs, looking for the edge of her underwear, she gently pushed me away. But she didn’t let go of my hand.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” she said.

It wasn’t a question.

***

We left the building and crossed the lawn toward the dormitories in the block opposite. It was after midnight, and that part of campus was quiet. She held my hand and didn’t let go the entire way. I knew Marcos was at the party, and that he rarely locked his room. The second floor was empty, with no resident assistants in the hallway. The door opened on the first try.

I switched on the desk lamp. Two beds, clothes on the floor, the usual mess of someone who still hadn’t learned how to live alone. The light was dim, enough to see clearly, but it gave the room an entirely different atmosphere from the party we had just left behind. Valeria glanced around briefly with an expression that wasn’t one of discomfort.

We sat down on one of the beds. We kissed again, but now it was different: no background noise, no possibility of someone interrupting at any moment. Or so we thought.

Her lips were warmer than before, more willing. I moved my hands from her waist to her sides and then to her breasts over the dress. They were small and firm beneath the fabric. She closed her eyes and pressed her lips together, as if holding back something she still wasn’t ready to let out completely.

I began unbuttoning the front of her dress, slowly. Her bra was strapless and a little loose. When the dress opened, her breasts were exposed directly: small, white, with pink nipples already erect and hard. I leaned down and took them into my mouth, first one, then the other, pressing with my tongue, sucking hard, barely biting the tip until she hissed through her teeth.

“Ah,” she exhaled, and her hands reached for my head without quite grasping it.

She took off my shirt. Every time I bit a nipple, she scratched my back without realizing it. I took one of her hands and lowered it to my fly. At first she didn’t react, but then, on her own, she began undoing my pants. When she slipped her hand inside and felt my hard cock in her palm, a short moan escaped against my shoulder.

“God,” she whispered. “Natalia was right about you.”

She gripped it with both hands, feeling its length and thickness, moving the foreskin back and forth with an awkwardness that lasted only a few seconds. Then she looked at it as though she had to make a decision. She slid off the bed onto the floor, knelt between my legs, and without breaking eye contact took me into her mouth. At first just the tip, sucking with her lips, her tongue circling the head. Then she began to go lower. She gagged on the third attempt, pulled away with a slight cough, wiped the saliva from her mouth with the back of her hand, and lowered her head again, more slowly, deeper. Saliva began running down her chin. I grabbed her red curls and helped her set the pace, without forcing her, letting her take all she could and a little more.

“That’s it,” I told her. “Suck it like that.”

She answered with a moan around my cock, and the vibration nearly made me come too quickly. I lifted her by the armpits and tossed her onto the bed on her back.

I moved down, kissing her as I went. I lifted the skirt of her dress with my hands and began kissing her thighs while my fingers moved upward. When I reached her underwear, I felt the heat before touching her, and the fabric was already dark with wetness. I pulled the fabric down slowly, until I had stripped it from her ankles. She tried to cover her pussy with her hand, a reflex. I gently moved it away and continued.

Her pussy was small and pink, with a little trimmed reddish hair, and her inner lips were already swollen and shiny. I spread her legs completely, holding her beneath the knees, and stared for a second before lowering my mouth.

First I kissed the insides of her thighs. Then farther in. When I brought my mouth to the center and ran my flat tongue from the bottom up to her clitoris, she closed her eyes completely and let out a brief sound that she muffled with her palm.

“Wait,” she whispered. “Not so fast.”

I went back to one nipple. A soft, sustained bite, while two fingers caressed the lips of her pussy from top to bottom, not entering yet. She gradually relaxed again. When I pushed my middle finger all the way inside her, she arched her back and bit my shoulder to keep from screaming. She was soaked. She was so wet that my finger slid in and out with an obscene, slick sound that filled the room.

When I lowered my mouth again, she didn’t protest. I began moving my tongue over her clitoris while my fingers—now two—explored between her lips, wet and hot, pushing inside with a slow rhythm and curling the tips against the upper wall. Her hips moved in a rhythm she didn’t entirely control, seeking more pressure, more depth. Her legs squeezed my head, not to stop me but as an involuntary response to the heat building inside her.

“You’re killing me, you’re killing me,” she managed between gasps, trying not to raise her voice. “There, there, don’t stop, please, don’t stop.”

I continued. Slow circles with my tongue over her swollen clitoris, pressure, sucking the little button between her lips and releasing it, changing rhythm whenever I felt she was about to get used to it. My fingers moved in and out of her pussy faster, making an increasingly obscene sound. Her legs stretched and contracted. Her hands no longer knew where to go: on my head, on the sheets, over her own mouth to muffle the moans that kept rising in pitch despite everything, on her own tits as she squeezed her nipples. She tossed her head from side to side, red curls tangled across the pillow.

“I’m going to come,” she gasped. “I’m going to come in your mouth.”

When she came, it was unmistakable and abundant. Her back lifted in an arch, her legs pressed against my ears, a warm spurt against my chin, a sound she let out halfway before covering it with her hand. Her pussy throbbed, squeezing my fingers like a fist. Then she lay still for a moment, just breathing, her chest rising and falling, her nipples still hard and pointing toward the ceiling.

I sat up, finished taking off my pants and boxers, and settled between her legs. She opened them all the way now, without fear, and looked at my cock, wet with her saliva and my pre-cum. When I ran the head between the lips of her pussy, rubbing it against her clitoris, she let out another moan. When I pushed inward, I did it slowly, inch by inch, and she opened her eyes.

We stared straight at each other. Her lips parted, her chest rising and falling, an expression that wasn’t fear or exactly surprise. Something more concrete and direct than that. Her mouth opened wider as my cock filled her, until I had taken her completely and she let out her breath all at once.

“You’re huge,” she murmured. “God, you never told me.”

I continued moving in and out slowly, giving her time to adjust. When I began moving with a rhythm, she couldn’t maintain eye contact. She closed her eyes and tipped her head back onto the pillow. Her hips responded, adjusting, meeting every thrust. She was stretched open, lubricated, hot. Her pussy squeezed me like a wet glove, and every time I pulled almost all the way out before sinking back in to the hilt, she released a broken moan that the small room amplified.

I grabbed her thighs and lifted them until her knees nearly touched her tits, then began fucking her harder, leaning my body over hers. The sound of skin against skin mingled with her gasps. I grabbed one of her tits and squeezed it, pinching her nipple, and she answered with a short cry that she smothered herself with both hands.

“Slower, slower,” she pleaded, without much conviction. “You’re going to split me open.”

I didn’t let up. I leaned forward and grabbed her face with one hand, forcing her to look at me while I drove into her all the way with every thrust.

“Tell me what you are,” I said in her ear.

She swallowed.

“Yours,” she whispered. “I’m yours.”

We didn’t hear the door.

***

By the time I realized, the hallway light was already shining across the ceiling. Marcos had returned earlier than expected. He hadn’t come alone. From the doorway, the two of them stood in silence.

Valeria didn’t notice. Her eyes were closed, her hair spread across the pillow, red curls tangled. She was no longer trying to control her moans with the same determination as before. Her tits shook with every thrust, the nipples still erect and reddened from all the biting. She arched her back and dug her nails into my forearms.

“I’m going to come again,” she gasped. “Oh God, I’m going to come, don’t stop.”

Knowing they were watching did the rest. I felt my orgasm rising from my balls and told her in her ear that I was going to come inside her. She nodded, her head pressed against my shoulder, her legs closing around my waist so I wouldn’t pull out. I came without being able to stop myself, hard, filling her pussy spurt after spurt, and that moment was enough to drag her along with me: a long moan she no longer tried to contain, her legs tightening around my hips, her hands clutching the sheets, her pussy milking my cock in spasms I felt one by one.

“Bravo!” a voice said from the doorway. Applause. Real applause.

Valeria came out of her trance and opened her eyes. She understood all at once. She covered her face with both hands.

I kept moving slowly because I could. My cock was still inside her, still hard, and with every movement a little semen escaped around the edges of her pussy and ran down to her ass.

The girl who had come with Marcos approached without asking permission, gave me a loud slap on the back, and touched one of Valeria’s nipples with complete naturalness, pinching it between two fingers.

“You two are having such a good time,” she said, then went back to where Marcos was already taking off his T-shirt.

Valeria didn’t uncover her face for quite a while. But she didn’t ask me to stop, either. She kept moving with me, slowly, squeezing me inside her pussy filled with my come, her face hidden in her hands, while across the room Marcos switched on the lamp beside his bed, threw the girl onto the other bed, lifted her skirt to her waist, and began, with all the calm in the world, doing exactly the same thing.