Just before giving up… [FM][slow burn]

Claire sighed at the mirror in front of her as she went through the final motions of primping. She used a q-tip to clean up the lines of color she’d applied on her lips, another one to clear the extra eyeshadow dust that had settled under her bottom eyelashes. This was so much work for just a date, so much investment with not much history of a return.

She was frustrated, but so much so she didn’t know how to explain it. She was 26 and on her own, in what felt like a twilight phase of life without the plainly laid-out direction of college but before she had figured out what she wanted, and this was extremely evident in her sex life. She had hooked up back in the dorms but never truly saw the point. She wasn’t even sure she had ever had an orgasm. Sex felt like an obligation, just like putting on makeup did right now. The past few months had been about trying to change that: signing up for dating apps, putting herself out there, being up for new people and experiences, but none of this work had paid off yet.

Hence the sighs in the mirror at was sure to be another waste of effort.

—

Claire arrived at the bar a few minutes before their date was to start. She checked his profile again after settling down with a starter drink to get in the right headspace. She wasn’t naturally very social. He had a warm smile, something that had piqued her interest. If she was honest, this wasn’t about much more than the inevitable sex at the end of the night, but she was going to try to enjoy the in-between too.

Sam was right on time. He smiled when he saw she already had a drink in front of her, as if relieved that he didn’t have to go through the song-and-dance ritual of procuring one for her. He got one for himself at the bar and sat down in front of her at the table she’d already chosen, not quite the corner but not in the busiest part of the room either.

“I was really glad that you kept our date. Is it just me, or do half your dates never happen because you get a chickenshit excuse an hour before?”

She was shocked at his immediate social honesty. Even the tossing in of a swear word in one of his first sentences cracked a smile on her lips, he had put her at ease immediately. She exhaled.

“That does happen to me often, although I try not to take it personally.”

“I don’t either, but it still feels like a missed opportunity.”

Their conversation continued like this, an easy back-and-forth that she found unwinding her social anxiety. This was new.

It continued through a few more drinks and he paid their tab. He put his hand on the small of her back as they went out the front door, but otherwise he didn’t touch her. Yet.

“I’m going to be honest: I’d like to call a car to take us to my apartment. I’d like to touch you, but if you don’t want to, I won’t mention it again and I’ll call you your own car home.”

She was caught off-guard. This wasn’t how dates went, the car was usually called as a formality. A means to an end.

“I’d like that.”

“Which one?”

“The touching. In your apartment.”

—

She sat on his comfortable couch in his loft apartment. Usually she didn’t like studios: it felt aggressive to see someone’s bed when you first enter a home, it was too intimate a space for a first greeting. But this time she glanced over at his neatly made navy-blue and grey bedspread and felt… intrigued.

He sat down after placing a glass of red wine in front of her. Just looking at the color in the glass was warming her, she noticed for the first time how erotic the color of blood was. Still though, she was here for a purpose. Not necessarily to crudely get another notch in her bedpost but to figure out what people got out of notching their bedposts at all. This would be attempt number… seventeen at figuring this out? It was difficult to maintain high hopes.

Claire’s side of the couch sunk a little when a Sam sat across from her. Instead of tensing or backing up, she leaned into it. She went to kiss him with some force but was surprised when he, instead of meeting her force with more of his own as men usually do, slowed her down.

He licked her lips. He traced with his tongue the lines she had drawn in the mirror a few hours earlier. It tickled. She liked it. She felt something between her legs begin to tickle too when he did it.

When she opened her mouth to use her own tongue, he again slowed her down, breathing slowly and massaging her tongue with his. After a few minutes of this, he stopped her altogether and pulled back a few inches so they could make eye contact.

Usually, the man would use this moment to remove some clothing, grab a condom, and get to the orgasm. Sam didn’t move a muscle. She felt caught in his stare, and felt something new. She wasn’t afraid, she was excited. For the first time she didn’t know where the night would take her, but she wanted to find out.

Out of instinct she began unbuttoning her top, but again he stopped her. He held onto her fingers, gathering them in his hands. They weren’t huge or even strong, but they were calloused and rough. Why did she like that so much? She wanted to feel the texture of his fingertips on the most secret parts of her skin.

He unbuttoned only two buttons, stopping at the point when her cleavage led down into the lining of her black silk bra. He kissed her almost chastely, not going straight for her nipples but instead enjoying the softness of her skin. This was new, too. She felt like she could barely breathe. Every move he made heightened the feeling in her clitoris, a part of her body that had seemed useless until now. Most men spent the short phase of foreplay trying to yank her gentle sex into submission, but this slow warmth from Sam woke her entire cunt from a deep, aching slumber.

It wasn’t long before this warmth led to wetness, and before her gasps at his tickling tongue led to soft moans. She hadn’t even meant to. These weren’t porn-star moans, they were tiny eruptions of pleasure she couldn’t control.

With every kiss, Claire relinquished more to him, and Sam fed off of it, but never too greedily. He took his time in earning it until she gave it away freely. Only after using his tongue to separate her swelling, soft breasts from the restrictive cup of her bra did he remove another button. And then another. And then another. He backed away from her skin again to face her.

“You’re so beautiful.”

She looked into his eyes, and for the first time she felt that the person saying those words meant it. He wasn’t saying it to gain entry to what was between her legs, he had taken his time to explore and smell her skin and wanted more of her. He wanted her to know he wanted her.

But when his calloused hand traveled up her spine to remove her bra she felt an old fear fly back into her consciousness. She had asymmetrical breasts that were more large than perky. Her stomach wasn’t hard with disciplined muscle, it was soft and when you touched it, it gave in a little. She had always looked in the mirror and seen a body that was neither voluptuous nor sporty, and she didn’t enjoy the initial undressing before sex.

That was, before Sam.

He did more than gaze hungrily, he drank her in. He gently stroked the sensitive underside skin of where her heavy breasts rested on her ribs, and she felt another drip down the lips housing her ever-swelling clitoris. Oh god, he hadn’t even unbuttoned her jeans yet. Had she ever felt anticipation like this?

She undid her snap and zipper, feeling for the first time like she truly wanted what he had to give her. When she untangled herself from him enough to wiggle out of her skinny jeans, she glanced over and saw the outline of his cock and how it practically yearned to be out of his pants. Had she done that to him? Had the chest and extra skin she’d always scrutinized in the mirror really woken this desire in him?

She took a sip of wine, trying to both get her head straight and also extend this light, tipsy feeling in her over-thinking brain.

He placed his hand on her thigh but didn’t move another muscle. She looked again into his eyes and noticed that they were brown with rings of green around the edges.

“May I touch you here?”

She purred. In the romance novels she’d read that verb always seemed like a silly exaggeration, but now she understood. He trailed a bit closer to her cunt, which was now aching. He stopped at where her lips began, she still had her panties on.

“And here?”

She shut her eyes. It was a sensory overload. If she was to truly take in all that his touches were giving her she had to stop looking.

He actually tickled her. Not in a giggly way, not in a juvenile way. He set his fingers so lightly upon her flower’s lips that they were teasing. What else do you want me to do, his fingers seems to ask.

She didn’t know how to answer. Luckily, he did.

He grazed her clitoris with his fingertips so lightly that she wondered if he had actually done it or if she had imagined it from pure desire. The wet spot on her panties grew, and she knew he noticed. It hadn’t seemed possible, but his cock grew and she could see his head over the waistband of his pants, swollen and glistening with anticipatory come.

“May I kiss you?” he whispered.

She put her arm around his neck to bring his face to hers, but he stiffened.

“No, I want to kiss you *here*.” And he touched her clitoris again, but this time she didn’t question if it was real. The growing heat in the deepest parts of her body answered his question and he listened.

He didn’t pull off her underwear, he kissed her through it first. He exhaled his warm breath onto her cunt, just like how you heat your fingers when you first step into a cold winter’s night. She melted. He awkwardly got on his knees onto the floor while she stayed sitting on the couch. It was after a few moments of this position that she knew she wanted to settle into this. She stood up and guided him to the bed that had so intrigued her earlier.

—

She laid down before him without a single hesitation. She offered her entire body: the lily-white and stubborn stretch marks on her ass left over from an awkward puberty; the heavy breasts she’d already surrendered to him on the couch; the cunt between her legs that, somehow, felt more virginial now than her first clumsy encounter freshman year.

And she wasn’t afraid.

He slid her panties down slowly and she held her breath. He opened his mouth a little when he saw her bare sex for the first time, as though this was a first for him too. And wasn’t it? Should sex lose its power over us the more we have it? It was a question Claire had never thought to ask until now.

The first thing he did with his tongue surprised her: he flicked her clitoris. After such a slow and gentle foreplay up until now, it felt literally shocking. She buzzed. He played not just with her hard knot but with the hood surrounding it, not hesitating to put pressure on this button of pleasure.

The first time he sucked her, she spasmed.

Waves of pleasure crashing down her thighs, rising up to her nipples, throwing her mind into an ocean. The pull and release of his tongue and spit and teeth around this concentration of nerves between her legs. How did he do this. Why hadn’t anyone done it before. She surrendered not just to him but to the orgasm: letting go of any anxiety over her body to make room only for pleasure.

It was then that she remembered she hadn’t taken his clothes off. She sat up and put her fingers under the bottom hem of his shirt, taking his skin in her hands as he had done to her. She surprised herself again: she licked his stomach. She liked the sweat and salt. She wondered what his cock tasted like.

Oral sex had always felt like an obligation to her, but now it felt like an adventure. The preview of his cock straining against his jeans had not prepared her for the swollen, hard member she saw now. Truthfully, what she wanted in that moment more than anything was to mount him, but first she wanted to see if she could pull pleasure out of his blood vessels like he had done for her.

She teased his cock, licking around the base of his head. She imagined how such a rigid head would massage her pussy until it found her magic, what she hadn’t known for sure that she had until she saw his cock and felt the pangs of desire. She ran her tongue down his shaft and it was his turn to moan, which only spurred her on. She took him into her mouth and he tensed. His breath caught when she salivated onto his cock, they were both caught up in the thrill of anticipation yet they felt no need to rush. She didn’t quite deep-throat him but took him in as far as she could. Every time her mouth involuntarily wetted his cock, her cunt responded the same way.

Straddling him on top while she slowly bobbed her head onto his cock, her hair draping his thighs, inspired her. She was hardly ever in control during sex. She viewed it as something done to her. Not tonight.

She shifted upwards until her bloom, now fully wet and aching beyond belief, hovered over his rock-hard cock. She knew she was teasing. She didn’t care.

She looked into his eyes while she pulled his torso up from the bed and towards her breasts, scratching his back a little in the process. She guided him inside her while she crossed her legs behind his back, their parts aligning into lotus flower. She wanted no space between the warmth of her breasts and his body. He buried his face in her cleavage, taking nothing but pleasure at the body she’d always found inadequate.

She trembled. She actually trembled.

Her clit was too hard, the grinding of his stomach onto her mound too intense. His cock went so deep, she could hold nothing back. She was going to come.

Another surprise: her reaction to her first true orgasm wasn’t loud. It was small, quiet breaths he practically exhaled into her mouth. Their eyes were both open. She couldn’t look away. No one had ever touched her this deeply, she hadn’t even touched herself this deeply.

She let go of all of it. The self consciousness, the anxiety, the worry that something was wrong with her because she hadn’t figured out what pleasure was all about. As she let go, he took more control. He gripped her ass and guided her onto his cock, their rhythms working together as for the second time she lost herself to the waves of orgasm he gave her. She wasn’t aggressively squirting, but their thighs and stomachs were soaked. Her body wanted him so badly she lubricated herself. She was queefing quietly, a turn-on for them both. Nothing about her desire was hidden.

She closed her eyes again and remembered the taste of his cock, letting all five of her senses bask in how he filled her. She felt tears starting to gather at the corner of her eyes, and she sighed in a way that was all surrender, no tension.

When he gently began to pull out, she remembered he hadn’t come yet and felt a pang of guilt. Then, she found his eyes and realized he was hungering for her, and that he wasn’t finished with her yet either.

He pushed her onto her back and his lips went for her cunt again, but with less of the gentleness in the beginning. She liked his aggression. She was breaking him out of his own shell. He put his arms around her hips, practically pulled her pussy into his face, and devoured her. Sucking, licking, spitting, swallowing. There was no part of her he did not want.

He flipped her onto her stomach, put his arm between her rib cage and the mattress beneath her, and found her clit with his calloused finger as his cock found her warm and waiting cunt.

This was the intensity she knew the lotus flower penetration had been building for. He held her down and gave her everything: his finger working on her knot of nerve endings and his hand putting pressure on her stomach while he worked her from behind. That swollen head she had admired with her tongue was now begging to explore her depths, and with every buck of her thighs and arch of back she let him take her farther.

Who was she? Claire was coming all over the bed, all over his hand that was still pushing her tightened knob closer to his soaked cock as he thrusted like an animal. She could feel him edging closer to his own release. For the second time she was surprised that he could get any harder, but she could feel from the way his cock was desperate for her pussy that his orgasm was close and he was yearning to burst.

Sam surprised her one last time. In a quick, seamless movement he pulled out of her, flipped her again onto her back, and found her gaze as he released his hot, white orgasm directly onto her now throbbing clitoris. The heat from his release was almost too much to bear: she curled her toes and bucked once more as it ran down the petals of her flowered sex. She opened her eyes to get a final look at the come still pumping from his cock onto her, more with each beat of his heart.

Claire moaned in both pleasure and agony: it was actually a little painful, if only because she wished it could last forever. This was what she’d been waiting for.

Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/8z6jc7/just_before_giving_up_fmslow_burn