(M19) Technically prostitution. [FM]

At the time of this story, I was 19. I no longer am. Regardless, I hope you enjoy.

When I was nearing the dusk of my teens, I moved away from all of my friends due to my family losing their jobs. Primarily, this meant that I spent a lot more time on MySpace. Secondarily, it meant I had the chance to reinvent myself. I squandered the latter, but the former was certainly useful in this story.

New friends are always on the horizon for those with the time, energy, and inclination to seek them. Being uprooted meant I had the time, while being a desperately lonely teen provided me with the energy and inclination. I ended up making a small group of friends and was invited to a get-together with some of them.

I’d like to regale you with an attire that would seem flattering, bold, or at least unique. The truth is that I dress in as unassuming a fashion as I can, and did so at that age as well. Neutral colours, blue jeans, dark sneakers, and a dark but well-worn hoodie, all without ornamentation or labeling as often as possible. I was bland enough not to warrant a second glance, and had it not been for a six foot, broad frame, I wouldn’t have garnered a first.

That does not, however, mean that I fit in. Arriving at a party in such drab apparel made me stand out in a way that bordered on comical, considering the irony of it. After manuevering around the party and checking in on my friends, I skirted around the drinking until I found Breann.

Breann stood out to me as the only other person not drinking, but I’d be lying if I said it was all that drew my attention. She had a pretty face set with hazy, green eyes. Her soft, pale skin was something akin to Kryptonite to me, and she had a short, voluptuous figure that would have been called “thick” five years later. Her teasing smile coaxed me back into the room and out of my head.

To call it chemistry is a mistake. I would never again hit it off with someone as easily and quickly, nor mesh with someone as completely as I did with Breann. She’d broken the touch barrier more than once, and I knew she wanted more. The distance between us dwindled as time ran on, though I’d be hard pressed to tell you how long it took. What I do know is that our limbs ended up tangled together in rather public display of attraction.

My mind was numb to my surroundings. My fellow party-goers could have been cheering us on, ignoring us, or screaming bloody murder for all I’d known or cared. Nothing mattered more than the lips pressed against mine, or ger tongue between my teeth writhing in what I’m certain was cursive Latin near good enough to summon a demon. Only one denizen of the nether seemed to answer its call, though, much to the disappointment of languishing demonologists around the world. This is around the time Breann started to bite my neck.

Some would call it unmanly to moan at such a thing and clutch at her like I was afraid of being blown away. Some would call it unsightly or unbecoming. Me? I just called it ecstasy. It felt like I’d fallen out of my body and was floating in an ocean I’d yet to see for myself. It was almost jarring when she stopped and started laughing at me. Smiling, she asked, “This yours?” and held up my wallet. She pulled it back as I reached for it, and said a sentence I’ll never forget.

“If you want it back, you’re going to have to earn it.”

As a relatively young man in a new place, my wallet was decidedly empty save for twenty or so dollars. Oddly enough, the inability to afford a replacement wallet was more motivating than the contents of said wallet. Compared to the weight of my libido, however, neither even registered. I nodded dumbly, and she soon led me by the hand to some stairs. Either I’d failed to notice the stairs on the way in, or she’d sucked the memory of it out through my face or bruising neck and shoulders. Regardless, we soon found ourselves alone in a smoky, dimly lit bedroom.

Our clothes came off, and I marvelled at Breann. Much like my attire, my nude body is unremarkable. Aside from some odd scarring on my torso and freakishly muscular legs, I’m painfully average in every way. Yes, every. Breann, however, was a work of art. This is not to say she was perfect, far from it, but perfection is merely an unobtainable form of “boring” labeled as desirable by society at large. Her pale skin guided me like a beacon, inviting me to take in all of her. My hungry eyes followed her curves and my already erect cock, unable to swell further, merely throbbed with every heartbeat. While she put the condom on for me (thank the heavens she’d brought some!) I reached down to touch her. She was just as ready as I was.

When she laid back on the bed, she wasted no time in guiding me inside of her. Just entering her made it feel like fireworks were going off in my head, and we soon fell into a rhythm we both agreed with. Her breathing turned to gasps, which turned to moans, which came faster and faster until her back arched, pressing her ample chest against me. Her powerful thighs squeezed me like she thought to juice me, and in a way she succeeded. The sounds of my rapture mixed with hers as she quivered beneath and around me.

This is where my inexperience with women shows. Breann was merely the third woman I’d had any sort of sexual contact with, the second I’d actually had sex with, and the first to have multiple condoms (a pack of three.) I disposed of the condom in a nearby bin after wrapping it in some convenient tissues, wiped myself, and began putting on another condom. Breann noticed, and, staring at my still erect cock, politely asked me what the hell I was doing.

“Getting ready to go again.” I said, rejoining her in bed.

“You… you can do that?” She asked, gasping as I took her nipple into my mouth. I grunted something that was thankfully taken as affirmation and parted from her long enough to ask her something that seemed obvious to me.

“Can’t all guys?”

She shakily told me that no, not all men could. As my member teased her entrance, she said I was the only one she’d ever met. After that, she only said my name as we continued.

The second time was much like the first, albeit with a different atmosphere. I still needed her like I needed air, but I could appreciate her as she filled my lungs. She smelled vaguely of warm spices and citrus peel under the musk of our sex. Her sweat smelled faintly sweet, and her voice was rising as her moans became more frequent, and breaking at the apex of her pitch. Her spasmodic quivering that accompanied her orgasm passed through her entire body, not just her legs. I had to slow down each time she came to accomodate her sensitivity, not that I minded the brief break. Her lips tasted cloying and metallic, and they grew cold whenever she was close to orgasm. She could never maintain the kiss as her body was wracked by pleasure, but she would find my lips again after.

Needless to say, I lasted longer this time. She got off three times to my one, I noted with a dulled sense of satisfaction. I was less energetic getting off of her the second time. My body ached and my throat was dry. My cock, however, showed none of these complaints. It was still happily standing at attention and still eagerly throbbing with each heartbeat. I held the last condom up in front of Breann, asking her simply.

“More?”

She grabbed the condom, tossed it across the room, hooked her feet behind my hips and pulled me closer. She bit her lip before sighing out exactly what I wanted to hear.

“Mmmmmm, fuck yes.”

With age comes wisdom. As an adult, I know that condoms are important for hygienic reasons as well as contraception. I know about the risks associated with all manner of STI’s, understand the woes of unplanned parenthood, and still can’t imagine paying eighteen years of child support.

As a teen, I literally plunged in without a second thought.

I’d never had unprotected sex before this moment. It’s the closest I’ve ever been to a spiritual experience. Every sensation felt so good that it almost hurt. Every thrust pushed cold, electric fire down my shaft and collected it in my spine. I could feel every twinge, contraction, and quiver inside of the woman beneath me. It was now that I realised she was constantly aquiver, shaking lightly like a leaf in a breeze. I doubt this was some sort of long-lasting orgasm on her part, but her erratic breathing definitely suggested a pleasant experience. Her teeth were set in my shoulder, and they would sink in every time her shaking grew stronger, and would relax every time it ebbed. I never wanted it to end.

Naturally, it ended shortly after that.

I didn’t know much about pulling out, but I did a servicable job of it for my first time. A few strokes later, and I was ready to engage in some amateur body painting. I thought I was running on empty due to being dehydrated and having already gotten off twice. I was very, very wrong. I made a mess that would horrify me if it had been my bedroom to clean up. Instead, I merely felt guilty. Shot after shot coated Breann’s chest, stomach, chin, and vagina. Some ended up on her thighs and, surprisingly, in her hair as well.

Oddly enough, she just… lay there, not reacting as I did my best impression of an armless man painting a fence on her. After I was finished, she collected some of my semen on her fingertips and began lazily rubbing herself. Earlier, this would have driven me crazy, but now my libido had finally been conquered. In almost no time, her legs clenched hard on her hand and her back stiffened as she soundlessly brought herself to orgasm in front of me. My head was pounding as I did my best at cleaning her up, and she slowly went about trying to assist me. Her every movement was lethargic, and her body glowed with a sense of zen satisfaction as we wordlessly mopped up.

I dressed. She did not. She laid there and began to doze, so I tucked her into a bed that I sincerely hoped was hers. She pointed slowly to my wallet in what I took as an indication that I’d earned it back, and descended the staircase. The party had wound down considerably. There were a few people scattered around, sleeping. Somehow, five hours had slipped by since I arrived at the party. How much of it had been spent where eludes me to this day. All I know for certain is that the three glasses of water I took from the tap are respectively the best, second best, and third best I’ve ever had. The walk home was long, cold, dark, and ultimately worth it.

The next morning, I would come to the realisation that I had just been paid for sex with my own money.

Source: reddit.com/r/gonewildstories/comments/mgsarx/m19_technically_prostitution_fm