I was still a virgin the first time you brought me to ecstasy with your fingers. I was a teen and you were twenty five- my sister's boyfriend. I had nursed a juvenile crush on you. Not just you, but all of your friends, as well. I couldn't help myself. You were all grown: all stubble and hairy chests, hard jaw lines, contagious, complete sexual tenacity.
But I didn't know what I was feeling, you know? I didn't fantasize about you or dream of an improbable romance with any of you guys. Verily, I was still a child. And the infatuation was an innocent one. I blushed when I saw you, I caught glances at the corded muscles casting veins across your forearm. I became intoxicated with a bubbling foam of giggles in your presence.
But I knew it was wrong. You were my sister's boyfriend! You were practically family. I saw you every day and sometimes slept over at your house on the weekends. It was benign and all but an afterthought, until the night I woke from dreaming to the sound of my own voice moaning and a cacophony of pleasure swarming at my core.
The memory of your fingers warm on my thighs lights my memory like colors, a neon rainbow on a black backdrop of shame and indulgence.
I was asleep on the couch at your place. My sister had gone to bed in your room and you had stayed up in the recliner silently playing James Bond on the Playstation. It was an ordinary weekend in sweltering July, and I slept in my favorite flannel shorts and an oversized orange t-shirt that had an egg shaped alien head printed on the front in black. I had not started wearing a bra yet, but my little breasts raised the cotton like gentle hills.
They brushed the loose fabric in a way that made unfamiliar bells ring on my fresh untouched "button" and I didn't know why, but I liked it.
I had gotten my first period that year and my body had just started blooming, my hips were the first thing to change. My plump, round child's body was starting to take shape. My budding breasts were little more than swollen rose bud nipples but I loved to cover them in soap and trace them while I let the water run between my legs in the bath.
That night, I had found a Penthouse magazine in the bathroom when I was cleaning up for bed and I uselessly fumbled with the folds of pink flesh beneath my soft and still hairless mound. My legs spread on the floor, leaning against the wall and resting on a towel. I didn't know what I was doing, so as usual, I found myself more curiously frustrated than enraptured.
I came out to my post on the couch in your living room and fell asleep almost instantly, with the sound of frantic plastic buttons playing a cadence on the Playstation controller lulling me to dreams.
And when pleasant caresses over the lily skin of my thighs called me back from sleep, I peered through slitted eyes at the digital clock on the entertainment center dashboard. 2:43, the red numbers glared like white noise in a room otherwise void of light. My eyelids drooped of their own volition and I rode a trance like wave of soothing touch, shivers of delight and sleep.
Fingers crept under the billows of my XXL shirt, an open palm circled my belly with tenderness and traced my nipples with the lightest touch, I felt the hand retreat and return with a wetness and a rhythm that caused an involuntary groan to announce my pleasure in deep quiet tones. I lifted my drowsy head to look at my lover, but I could see nothing in the dark.
You stopped at my motion. I waited. I waited. Nothing. Had those delightful teases only been a dream? I gave my warm, developing breast a perfunctory squeeze and turned over towards the back of the couch, and drifted off.
Drifted til I was dreaming, caught up in a pubescent sex dream. A collection of vague imagery and the general impression of masculine energy, the color red. My thighs were twitching and hot in the dream, I was squeezing them together and grinding in the direction of the scent of a man's sweat.
The feelings and images melded with a frenzied vibration of hot affirmation as my nipples again sent waves of electric heat coarsing to my already throbbing labia. Aha! I woke but did not stir- I didn't want the anonymous teasing to stop this time.
I bit my lip and gasped quietly, my heart was screaming in my chest. One of your hands traced my nipples with wet fingers, relentlessly enjoying the petals of my tender rosebud. Your other hand rested on my smooth stomach, and I held my breath as I felt your open palm in circles, moving ever slowly lower.
My hips bucked up and I drew in a sharp breath of embarrassment. I held my body still as a statue when your touch stopped. I knew that you knew I was awake, and time hung heavy in the black room. The digital clock blinked mockingly, 2:58. 2:59. 3:00.
I had started to drift to sleep again, wondering to myself if I had dreamed another encounter. Perhaps I had been visited by a demon? A succubus. Typical.
I was nearly in the void of sleep once again when I felt your open hand expertly, hypnotically dancing over my inner thighs. I opened my legs slightly but didn't move my head. My eyes closed, my chin tucked into my pillow.
My heart raced as I heard a soft indulgent groan escape from your chest. You paused a moment before sliding the crotch of my shorts to one side so gently I barely felt it. Then! Oh, then.
My pink cotton panties had clung to the folds of my little wet lips, and your delicate touch was perfect. It was everything I had tried to attain on the bathroom floor with the Penthouse, it was rhythmic and feather- light but it brought me to a heavenly height of pleasured sensation. So much so that I was rocking into it, unabashedly pressing my hips closer and letting quiet yelps of incensed delight escape my lips without a thought.
And when you slid your fingers under the thin fabric veil of my panties and kissed my clit with your fingertip, I melted. I didn't know what that meant when I'd read it in my Sweet Valley High romance novels. But now I knew.
Where was I? Who was I? I was nowhere, I was nothing but a puddle of light that you were singing into. I heard you say something so softly I couldn't decipher the message, then your pace quickened. The touch so light but so deliberate, small circles with the pads of two fingers in a rhythm like breathing. I danced with the rhythm on an imaginary floor, whisked away in a waltz of unfamiliar mirth. I pulled in a deep breath. Another. I could feel it building like sound, a crescendo, and when it crested, my whole body was tense and lightly shaking. I laid there in a haze, a smile and a daze lit my face in the night. The clock blinked 3:14 and I drifted back to sleep, cursing and worshipping the hot succubus that had slung me through the precipice of innocence.
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/3xy118/my_first_orgasm_mf_age_play