R Finch - No longer virgin

Wendy said, "Hello. I've come to look at the apartment. The ad was in the paper…"

"I'm in 215," the girl said. "Just come right upstairs and turn left. The front door down there should be open."

Wendy crossed to the stairs, walked quickly up them, went directly to apartment 215. She knocked lightly.

The door opened arid Wendy found herself facing a young girl probably in her mid-twenties, a very slender, almost to the point of being boyish, girl who was taller even than Wendy. Her dark hair was cut in a shag, close to her head, and she wore black hip-hugger slacks and a matching halter top that showed a swath of her bare tanned middle and her navel. It was obvious the girl wore no bra but, unlike Wendy – who's round breasts jiggled with each little step she took – this lack of restraint served only for the girl to show gentle slopes of flesh and the distinct outlines of what must have been very large, and very pointy, nipples. In contrast to her lack of curves, however, the girl's face was decidedly feminine and, Wendy thought, extremely pretty.

"Hi," Sherry Hartman smiled. "Come in and look around." And she stepped aside to let Wendy in. "I was just fixing myself a rum and Coke. Would you like one?"

"Oh! Yes, thank you," Wendy answered uncertainly, thought if she refused it might cast doubt upon her age. She was immediately impressed, captivated actually, by the decor of the apartment.

"Take your time," Sherry said, and disappeared into what Wendy assumed was the kitchen. The thin girl called out, "Do you want a lot of rum or a lot of Coke or what?"

"Mostly Coke is fine," Wendy answered, looking round the room. A deeply padded leather and chrome-framed couch dominated one wall, right above it a large abstract painting done in vivid colors. Two matching chairs sat across from it, were offset by chrome lamps of varying height, and chrome and glass end-tables. The gold shag carpeting was deep, the matching drapes heavy and definitely not inexpensive. Smaller abstract paintings, some framed and some not, graced the other walls.

Sherry Hartman came back into the room and handed Wendy a drink.

"What a beautiful apartment!" Wendy said. "I love it. I absolutely love it!"

"I'll show you the rest," Sherry laughed, and led Wendy through the bright kitchen, the small bathroom, finally to the bedroom Wendy would have if she moved in. It was decorated in brown and gold, lacked only sheets and blankets for the huge double bed.

"Are there two bedrooms?" Wendy asked, had not noticed another.

"Well, of course!" Sherry giggled. "My room's right there." She pointed to a closed doorway. "It's really a mess," she laughed, took a large swallow of her drink.

Wendy glanced around the apartment again. She was enchanted by it, could find absolutely nothing wrong with it. It was almost too good to believe, both that she could afford it and that she had even found it. "It's still available?" she asked.

"So far," Sherry answered, and invited her to sit in one of the leather and chrome chairs. "Well, what do you think?"

"It's perfect!" Wendy said, took a very small sip of her rum and Coke and managed to swallow it without a pained expression. "I love it. It's just what I was looking for."

"When would you want to move in?" Sherry asked, had apparently accepted Wendy as her new roommate.

"Today?"

"Sure… that's fine."

"I feel really good about finding this place," Wendy said. "It was just so lucky!"

"I know what you mean," Sherry nodded. "Sometimes it's murder trying to find a place to live."

"I can imagine," Wendy said.

And then Sherry said with a smile, "You seem very young to be out on your own."

"I'm eighteen," Wendy said casually. "I'll be nineteen in September."

"Do you have a name?" Sherry asked, laughed.

"Oh! I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, I guess. It's Wendy. Wendy Winkler."

Wendy lounged in the bathtub, soaked in hot water to her neck, only her pretty face, her knees, and the scarlet tips of her breasts above the water line. She relaxed completely, wanted only to drift without purpose or problems, found herself thinking of Marshall Tucker, and of the somehow not alarming fact that she was no longer a virgin. "My, God, I've actually done it!" she thought with a giggle, was surprised at her lack of panic or even remorse at the loss. Even the pain she'd expected that night in the sleeping bag had never fully materialized, had not detracted from her ecstatic enjoyment of the act at all. She seemed to be having a lucky streak, she thought with a small smile.

She ran her hands lingeringly down over the gentle curves of her naked body, slowly, starting at her heavy breasts, then down along the silky expanse of her waist and over the soft bulge of her copious pubic hair, to her thighs, the backs of her knees, finally to her rubbery warm buttocks. She squeezed herself with a bright little sigh, felt no different, really, than she had before Marshall had made love to her, had skewered and ravished her trembling virginity with the throbbing head of his huge cock. If anything, she felt better, relieved somehow, was actually glad she had abandoned the oppressive responsibility of protecting her innocence. She sighed again, happily.

She sat up slightly, giggled at the squeaking noise her firm round bottom made when she scooted along the tub, then put both of her hands between her smooth thighs and began absently to squeeze and cup the plump hairy mound of her tight cunt. She closed her eyes, lowered her head on the edge of the tub, examined herself intimately, leisurely, with her fingers was already sending tiny flickering sparks of sensation through her loins, fanning them slowly into burning coals deep within her. For some reason she thought of Christine Westoff, was reminded of the exquisite pleasure the woman had inflicted upon her, blushed even alone when she remembered her wantonly indecent writhing and squirming under the woman's rapt attention. With a little shiver she realized she could never fully accept the way her body had responded without her permission, the way it had virtually acted on its own without her consent and had actually enjoyed the violation of its most inner recesses.

Wendy pulled with her fingers at the thick pouting lips of her hot cunt, slowly spread the slick folds open, was soon gently massaging her tingling pink clit, pausing to touch at it every few seconds with a trembling fingertip. Dots of perspiration beaded on her smooth forehead and she felt her face flush, her breath quickening.

She tensed slightly as the fiery excitement of her burgeoning built steadily and became more delightfully intense, was penetrating her to the quick. She began to work her slender middle finger into her tight pussy, pushing it through her sensitive wet labia and up into the throbbing slippery hole of her, exploring and stimulating herself at the same time. The tremulous interior of her swollen cunt felt no different than before Marshall had crammed his hardness into her, had certainly not been damaged in any way that she could tell.

She pushed her middle finger yet more deeply into the tightly gripping passage, the fingers of her other hand still caressing with quick, fleeting touches the distended nub of her acutely sensitive clit, inciting her to greater and greater passion, the keen spasms of pleasure spreading warmly through her young loins.

The bathroom door opened without waning.

"I'm sorry, I simply have to go…" Sherry said, and she stopped abruptly when she saw what Wendy was doing. "Oh! I am sorry! I didn't mean to…" She had pushed her black hip-huggers and panties down while she talked, was already sitting on the toilet. "I must have weak kidneys, I guess," she added with a laugh.

Wendy reddened from her face to the puckered tips of her perfectly white breasts. She didn't know if she was more angry with Sherry for walking in unannounced, or with herself for not thinking to lock the door. She kept her face to the tiled wall, was discomforted even by the girl's presence while she sat naked in the tub.