- Genre: Steamy Stories (18+)
- Age: 18+
- Status: Completed
- Language: English
- Author: LiL A
Warning: The book contains explicit descriptions of sexual acts and situations. It may be distressing for some individuals and could trigger emotional or psychological discomfort. Reader discretion is advised.
"Brooke, please," Tanner pleaded, "we're almost married. Can't we have sex now, sweetheart?"
We had been kissing on the bed for over thirty minutes and I was definitely hot and bothered, but Tanner had wanted to go too far. I got up and fixed my hair, make-up and clothes, all of which had suffered in the process. Tanner and I were engaged. We dated for a year, and then got engaged about six months ago. So far, I had managed to put him off, wanting to be pure for my wedding night. I admit it was getting harder and harder to resist sex with him. I was so easily aroused when we started kissing and petting one another. I let him touch my bare breasts and even my vagina a couple times, though as soon as he tried to put his fingers in me, I shut him down. It was too much like sex, but I loved him so much and wanted my first time with him to be extra special.
Tanner was twenty-six and so, so handsome. Tall, a couple inches over six feet, lean and athletic, but muscular as well. All of my girlfriends drooled when they saw him, and I could not resent it, because I liked to watch him too. The way he walked, like a panther, his muscles gliding under his skin, commanding a room when he walked in, people noticing him. You might think he was rich or came from wealth, used to people waiting on him hand and foot, but though he was well to do, he wasn't rich and didn't expect anyone to wait on him, even me.
His hair was dark and he had brown eyes with lashes so long, girls envied him. He had a ready smile and shared it often, dazzling us with his wit and charm. I couldn't believe he had fallen for me. I was two years younger than him, fairly tall, five foot, nine in my stocking feet. I had what I considered to be ugly, mousy brown hair, a rather plain, oval face, a too wide mouth and turned up nose with freckles I hated with a passion. Oh, I guess my boobs and ass were all right in the scheme of things. Thirty-six with a C cup, high and firm; buttocks kept tight with swimming and volleyball, but I felt like a plain Jane compared to all the other women I knew who lusted after him.
Why he would fall for me when he could easily have twenty or thirty lovelier women panting for him, ready to give him whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted it, I had no idea; but somehow, he did. I wouldn't even date him the first five or six times he asked. I figured I'd be another notch on his bedpost and had no desire to join the scads of other girls who'd ended up there. If not for his persistence and light hearted efforts to keep me entertained with his attempts to woo me, I never would have started dating him. On the whole, he was a gentleman and never pushed too hard to have sex which is why I ended up loving him and engaged to be married.
"Do you love me, Tanner?" I suddenly asked.
"I love you more than life itself," Tanner replied. "I wouldn't marry you if I didn't love you."
"I want to wait," I explained for maybe the hundredth time. "I want to come into our marriage as a virgin. I don't want to have sex until our wedding night. You know I love you, but this is very important to me. I've saved myself for this long, I'm not going to buckle with a week left to go. Please, quit asking. I want our first time to be when we're married, and not a second before."
"What about a blow job, then," Tanner laughed. "Sucking my cock won't harm your virginity, will it? All I'm asking for is a little relief." He pursed his lips and pretended to be sucking on something cock sized in his mouth.
"Eewwwh! Technically not, but what is it about men and blow jobs, anyway? It sounds disgusting. Sucking on the same thing your pee comes out of. I hope you won't expect it too often. Maybe on our wedding night, your birthday and our anniversary. I can't see me doing it more often than that, and I'll expect you to wash yourself thoroughly beforehand."
"You should try it, you might like it," Tanner said. "Just as I expect you'll like it when I lick your cunt."
"Please don't call my vagina a cunt. It's crude and disgusting and it's demeaning."
"What do you want me to call it; your pussy?"
"Even that's rude," I said. "Why can't you call it a vagina?"
"Because saying I want to lick your vagina doesn't have the same impact. What do you and your girlfriends call it?"
Together, we called it a lot of things; kitty, vajayjay, sex, down there; Tiffany called it her fur pie, though why she did, I don't know, because there was barely any fur on her. A slim little landing strip no more than a half inch wide leading to her treasure. Donna called it her man trap on occasion, and Yvonne did call it a pussy. It wasn't as if I was naive about my vagina and its purpose.
I was more naive about a penis. I'd walked into the bathroom by accident once while Dad was peeing. I'd quickly backed out apologizing profusely, but the image had been burned into my brain. I'd never seen a naked erect one, though I'd felt them pressed against me on the other side of clothes, as I danced with a boy or kissed one. I hadn't even seen Tanner's, though he convinced me to touch his under his pants once. I only touched it for maybe fifteen seconds, but I still remembered vividly the way it felt. The heat, the hardness of it, the softness, like velvet over steel. I'd pulled my hand out of his pants suddenly like it burned my hand. I hadn't even watched porn. Dad told me porn never accurately depicted the sex act. It was designed to titillate, mostly males, not instruct.