Anne was engaged...

The funny thing is that Mona told me more about Anne than she did herself. One evening, a couple of days later, Mona and I were hanging out; we came to the conclusion we were both sluts. One welcoming cum, the other one shooting it. And still, we had never fucked each other. We were having some kind of cheap Californian wine when Mona mentioned the subject.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Well, you have never had sexual intercourse with me.” Mona replied.

“Whenever I would want to, you already have a cock inside you,” I answered, laughing.

“Would you like to fuck me now?” she casually asked.

“Will you be offended if I want to delay a present from heaven?” I was able to stutter.

“No. But tell me why.”

“Well, it took me months to get into Anne's pants, you know. We have a date tonight, in about ten minutes. Even if your pussy might be much better, even if I am really torn up now about what to do, I want to try to fuck Anne again tonight.”

“She is very difficult, isn’t she?” Mona replied.

“You are the one who knows best,” I confided. “The first kiss took me exactly 11 weeks, seeing her at least three times a week.”

“Well, that proves one thing: she is faithful.”

“Let me ask you this question, because Anne is all mysterious about that. Does she have a boyfriend back home or not?”

“Even better.” Mona grinned. “She is engaged.”

“No shit!”

”No shit.”

“With what. With whom?” I uttered.

“Some kind of banker. Good family. Rich.”

“And then I show up with my monthly 200 dollars.” I laughed.

“But you are not boring. Her future husband is.”

“Is he?”

“Oh yes. She complained a lot about him to me. I guess that's what roommates are for. To listen to complains as well.”

“So, she cheated on him with me.”

“Yes. You are probably the first one; no, let me rephrase that, you are for sure the only one who ever got into her pants.”

“So, you are not offended if we two delay our party a little?”

“Hell, no. You might be listed in that record book, for all I know.”

“Guinness?”

“Yea, that one. I mean, it took you like three months, right?”

“Almost, yes.”

“Flirting every second day.”

“Yes.”

“Hell, three months without cock would drive me crazy.” Mona laughed. “My pussy would emigrate.”

I laughed at that. Mona was simply delicious. Sexy body, killer humor, and a very modern opinion about things. “I owe you one, Mona.”

“A raincheck on fucking my pussy?”

“Yes.”

“But you promise to rain your cum inside me, like soon?”

“Promise!”

“Deal.”

We sipped from the cheap wine, both stayed silent for a bit, and both thought of what we just casually discussed. I had never refused a pussy before, in my entire life.

“So, really, you are not offended or being rejected?”

“Postponed,” Mona answered. “And you better make our fuck good, honey.”

I smiled and crossed two fingers in the air.

“So let's talk about Anne,” Mona continued. “Let me see, so yes, she is engaged, cheated with you once. This guy of hers is a banker, but in her family and among her friends they all are. You know these tiger-print leggings she bought because you bitched about her look? That was a true scandal, as her parents saw a picture of her wearing them last month, by accident.”

“Really?”

“Oh yes! They almost wanted her to come back to Switzerland for that.”

Wow, I thought, that is very conservative. I was still thinking about it as Mona spoke up again.

“Your job is to make her wilder, my dear. And by "wild," in Anne's case, it means to fuck you again.”

I laughed. I like those kinds of jobs.

“Oh, you know what?” Mona added, “If you have a dry streak, you come knock on my door, and I will take care of your blue balls.”

“Promise?” My turn to ask her.

“My pussy is ready for you. Now, at what time is she supposed to come back?”

“Like ten minutes ago.”

“OK. I will leave you alone with her; go back into the bedroom. You just stay here in the living room.”

“Thanks.”

…

At least another half an hour passed. I was about to leave as Anne walked in. Finally!

She smiled as she greeted me, remembering what I did to her. Bad and good. I hoped.

“Hi Anne!” I answered, a bit too loud, if you asked me. Too eager. But I was still learning the ropes of seducing.

She sat next to me on the couch. I asked her how she was.

“I just saw your roommate going to a party; do you want to go too?”

So, my dorm is empty, I thought, a wicked idea forming.

“Sure, but it is a bit early still. How about we drink a good wine of mine at my place before we go? I do not want to share the expensive bottle, but with you.”

“Oh, that sounds nice. Yes, let's do that.”

I got up to fetch the bottle—the good one, the Cabernet I'd wedged into the air conditioning unit's dead space so nobody would ever think to look there. Anne stayed on the couch with her glass, small and amused.

The dorm was quiet. Mona's door had already clicked shut behind her, the party she'd invented far enough away to feel like another planet. I poured two glasses, generous ones, and set the bottle down between us like a dare.

She emptied her glass before I finished my first proper sip. I refilled it without comment. A drunk pussy is still a pussy, right?

The wine did its work. Her shoulders dropped a full inch. She laughed at something I said that wasn't funny. Then her face went pink, high on the cheekbones, the way it does when the alcohol reaches the surface.

"You're warm," I said.

"A little." She fanned herself with her hand, embarrassed by it.

"Take the sweater off then."

"I'll get another bottle," I added, already standing, giving her the privacy of a turned back.

I took my time in the kitchen. When I came back around the corner, she was mid-motion, both arms up, the sweater bunched at her shoulders, her flat stomach stretched bare above her jeans.

I set the bottle down, reached out, and tickled her just under the hem.

She shrieked, squirmed, elbows flapping. "Don't!"

I didn't stop. My fingers walked along her ribs, over warm skin. She wriggled, laughed, and fought the sweater at the same time—a losing battle. Finally it came off over her head; she threw it at me, breathless, with hair everywhere.

I kissed her before she could recover.

She let me. That was all—no tilt of the head, no answering pressure. I kissed her again, probing at her closed lips. "We can't," her mouth said. Her eyes said something else entirely.

"Please, stop," she murmured. I ignored it, which is the whole trick.

My tongue dabbed at her lips. She sighed—that little surrendering sigh—parted them, barely. I slipped inside her sweet young mouth.

"Mmmhh—no—" My tongue cut her off. Hers came out to meet mine like a traitor crossing a border. Another sigh, longer this time, then we were kissing properly, deep, hungry, her hands in my hair.

I laid my palm flat on her stomach. She didn't stop me. I walked it up under her top to the edge of her bra, cupped a breast through the fabric, and found the nipple already stiff.

She pressed her mouth harder against mine and moaned into it.

I rolled it, hardened it fully, crossed to the other one, worked that stiff, and played them both until she was pushing her chest into my hand like she was asking for something. Then my hand slid round her back, found the clasp, and popped it.

She felt so soft under my palm. I pushed under the loosened cup and took her naked breast. The moan that came out of her was pure approval—no words left in her at all. She shoved her breasts against my hand, hard.

"Take off your top," I whispered.

She was quick about it. Off, over her head, her full young breasts swinging free. I bent and took a nipple in my mouth. Her back arched off the couch, a long sigh pushing her body against mine.

She was ready. So was I.

"Take off your pants."

She undid her belt and the button and dragged the zipper. Lifted her ass off the cushion to work them down. I helped, pulled her shoes off, peeled the jeans down her smooth legs, and then her panties after them.

Her legs were bare now, so smooth, so inviting. The little black slip is the only barrier left. I kissed her again; she took my tongue hungrily, sucking on it like she was starving. My hand slid up the inside of her thigh, over the slip. Damp. Soaking, in fact.

I teased her and stroked the sides of her opening through the fabric. She moaned louder and ground her pussy up against my hand.

I slid one finger between her fabric-covered lips and traced the length of her seam up, down, slowly, then faster. Played with her. Drew it out. She chased my hand with her hips, lifting into every stroke, groaning when I pulled away, so I pulled away often.

Then I hooked the slip, drew it down. She lifted her butt to help. I pulled it off her ankles and dropped it.

I could smell her. Readiness has a smell; hers was unmistakable.

I put my mouth on her and licked up the inside of her fold. She cried out. I kept licking and dabbing at her clit—all shiny now, wet from her own arousal, swollen, and slippery under my tongue. I worked it while she writhed, swearing softly in two languages.

I kicked my own shoes off with my feet, opened my jeans one-handed, worked them down to my ankles, and stepped out of them. My cock was already hard, straining in my trunks.

I crawled up her body and kissed her again. She was ravenous. I pushed my bulge against her naked slit. She spread her legs wider to fit me and opened right up. Only the cotton between my cock and her hot cunt. I could feel the heat coming off her.

I pulled the trunks down, let my cock bounce free, and pressed it against her opening.

"No," she said suddenly, right into my mouth. "We can't. No, no—please. I have a boyfriend."

Her conscience, arriving late to the party.

I shifted down a little and set my cockhead against her opening, one hand guiding it between her labia. She reached to stop me. I blocked her hand with mine.

I pushed the head in.

"No—please—we can't."

I sank deeper. She moaned and kept protesting. The thick stretch of it spread her wide, her lips gripping, giving way; she groaned low and long as more of me went in.

"No—please—I'm engaged." Her eyes went watery.

I kept pushing.

She was so hot around me, so tight, a fist of it. I sank in one long steady stroke until my balls rested against her, stopped there, and let her body learn the shape of me.

"Oh—oh—" Her cunt clamped down on my shaft in waves. She moaned, betrayed by her own hips.

I started to fuck her. Deep, slow, all the way out, all the way back in. Her body loved every inch of it. Her brain was still filing objections somewhere in the background; the objections were losing badly.

The moans got louder, more frequent, and less coherent. Then her hips started pushing back to meet me, small shy thrusts at first, then real ones.

"Ah—oh—" She grunted, surprised, and came on my cock. It rolled through her in shuddering waves, her whole body clenching, her nails digging into my back, a high, thin sound coming out of her that she couldn't control. Her pussy milked me through it, pulling and releasing.

She forgot her boyfriend. She forgot her engagement, her banker, her future, and her parents with their tiger-print opinions. She wanted to be taken, again and again, and her true lust took the wheel.

"It feels as if I'm fucking you now," she panted. "On your back."

We turned, my cock staying buried the whole way; then Anne was above me, straddling, taking command. She slid her engaged cunt up, down my shaft in long, greedy strokes, her breasts swinging into my face. I caught a nipple in my mouth and kneaded both of them, full and heavy in my hands.

She rode me hard. Her pussy contracted on every downstroke, squeezing, milking, pulling me deeper against her womb each time she took all of me.

"Ah—oh—deep," she cried, half pain, half pleasure, sped up.

Her clit dragged on my shaft, swollen and oversensitive; I felt the fine tremor start in her thighs. She came again, hard, crying out over and over, hips stuttering, the way her cunt seized, rippled around me, and dragged me right over the edge with her.

I felt it coming up my spine like a wave. Didn't slow down. No point in slowing down. I gripped her hips, pulled her down hard onto me, and drove up into her from below with short, deep jabs that punched a little "oh" out of her with every one.

"Don't stop," she gasped. "Please don't stop, don't—"

I wasn't going to.

The pressure gathered, tightened, and broke. I shoved up into her as far as she could take me, held there, and came. Really came—the first rope of it shooting out of me hot, hard, straight against her womb. Then another. Then another, each thick pulse making my whole body jerk under her.

Anne went rigid.

She felt it. Of course she felt it. The heat bloomed inside her, spreading through her cunt in slow, wet waves, filling the tight grip of her. Her eyes flew wide, her mouth opened on a sound with no shape to it, just a raw startled cry, because she'd felt me spill—actually felt it, that unmistakable hot flooding deep in her belly.

That was what undid her.

The tears came on the second pulse. Real ones, spilling down her cheeks, her face crumpling into something almost helpless, and it wasn't sadness. It was too much. The sheer overwhelming fact of being filled, being taken all the way, being had, after eleven weeks of no and not yet, and we shouldn't. She sobbed—a wet, broken sob—while her pussy clamped on my shaft in waves, milking every last drop, greedy, pulling at me like it wanted to keep it.

"Ah—oh god—oh—" She was shaking apart on top of me, crying, coming at the same time, tears dripping onto my chest, her hips still grinding little circles as if she couldn't stop herself.

I kept pumping, slow now, shallow, working my softening cock through her slick, pushing my own cum deeper into her with every small stroke. She whimpered at each one. Her thighs trembled, and she gave out, and she sagged down onto my chest, sobbing softly, my cock still buried in her, my seed still warm inside.

She lay there breathing in ragged, hitching gulps against my neck, wet cheek pressed to my skin. Then, muffled, thick:

"I felt you."

"I know."

"You came in me." Not a question. Wonder, accusation, and a little horror underneath it.

"I know," I said again, stroking her hair.

She sniffed, wiped her face on my shoulder like a child, and stayed exactly where she was.

Neither of us moved for a while.

Then, quietly, into my shoulder: "I'm so dead."

"You're so fucked," I corrected.

She laughed, weak and wrecked, but didn't get off me.

To be continued.