R Finch - No longer virgin

She cried out, panting hoarsely and thrashing relentlessly, then she suddenly straightened her trembling legs with a jerk when he finally shoved his stiffened cock fully into her pulsating cunt, filling her with throbbing hardness. He held her struggling hips down with his hands, began to move in her with quick, full strokes that soon stopped her thrashing and had her moaning and sobbing and working her straining buttocks feverishly against him.

She clenched at the covering of the massive bean bag chair, hung on to it tightly, could feel the shifting-sand sensation of the huge pillow under her tits and thighs, could feel Sander's weight slamming against her from behind as his thrusts quickened and became more violent. Her underwear was binding her crotch, was riding up in the back between the damp cheeks of her pumping buttocks, in the front was tight against her cunt-mound.

Sander was driving into her with a fluid, intense motion that let Wendy feel every solid inch of his cock, that let her feel it from the blood-engorged head all the way back to the hairy base of it, the full length of it repeatedly parting and then filling the slick, clutching muscles of her tightly gripping cunt. She was reeling with mad delight, ravaged into a sensual stupor by Sander's throbbing, jabbing hardness.

Her legs were spread open against the bean bag, her knees imbedded into the contour of it, digging yet more deeply with each of Sander's vigorous heaves, her soft inner thighs so sweaty they were beginning to slide on the smooth vinyl. She worked her churning buttocks frantically, enjoying this rape fantasy as she had never enjoyed anything else, was spellbound by the illusion of being taken against her will, of being forced to submit.

And then, to her surprise, she felt Sander's hammering cock slip suddenly from her heated loins. She looked up, was caught by even greater surprise when he abruptly slammed the full hardness of it up into her tight and still extremely tender rectum, made her cry out with a shuddering groan, "Oh, God, you're hurting me! You're hurting my asshole!"

Sander rammed into her, oblivious of her wailing protests, pumped until her puckered anus was even more raw and swollen, until Wendy was groaning with a mixture of acute pain and pleasure, her reluctance lost in the swirling sensations that filled her.

She was grinding the bulge of her slick pubes into the bean bag beneath her, was fast approaching the verge of what she knew would be a staggering orgasm, and then, when she was almost there, gasping for breath, Sander pulled his cock out of her wet anal passage with a soft sucking plop, once again drove his solid stiffness into her lush cunt, thrusting into it feverishly.

Wendy grabbed more tightly with her hands at the bean bag's vinyl covering, hung on, her small fists clenching until her knuckles were white, the sleek muscles in her damp thighs and round buttocks tensed rigid. She felt Sander's stabbing cock deep within her, felt the first spasm of pleasure bit her, jarring her, suffusing her with sensation as it was quickly followed by another after another. Each stab was more intensely delicious than the last, each driving her still further into the moist fog of near delirium that enveloped her. The glistening interior walls of her hot cunt closed with a wrenching convulsion about Sander's throbbing cock, and he jerked deep inside of her with a harsh moan, shooting his thick sperm into her, pumping with a fury.

Wendy cried out, then sagged limply, utterly spent.

They lay sprawled across the bean bag chair, panting for breath, both too drained to move. Wendy felt a trickle of thick liquid running slowly down the inside of her bare thigh, reached back with her hand. She dabbed at it with her fingers, found it warmly sticky.

"You're running down my leg," she murmured quietly, showed him. She laughed softly. "After all of that, and you still haven't kissed me yet!"

He said with a smile, "I haven't licked your pussy yet, either, but that doesn't mean I never will." And with a groan he pulled himself forward slightly, kissed her damp cheek.

"That's certainly a start," Wendy giggled.

At two-thirty Wendy walked down to get Sander's mail. He would he gone for most of the day editing the film Wendy had made her cinema debut in, had told her to amuse herself until he returned. She imagined he wouldn't be home until after seven, wondered what she would do to occupy her time until then.

She wore her snug-fitting jeans; a white blouse, and Sander's bedroom slippers, had not bothered to get dressed until a few minutes earlier, had thrown her clothes on without bothering even to put on socks or panties. She found the rows of mail boxes easily enough, and pulled out two large envelopes and a small package, glanced at them with disinterest, decided they were of no particular concern to herself. She turned around and almost knocked over a slender Chinese girl who was trying to get to her own mail.

"Oh!" Wendy started, "I'm sorry… I wasn't looking where…"

"Don't worry about it," the girl laughed, showing even white teeth. Her face was oval, was classically beautiful, her features finely delicate, as if chiseled from smoky-amber jade. She had high cheek bones, dark – almost black – eyes, and the most kissable, soft-looking mouth imaginable. Her hair was even blacker than her eyes, hung straight to her shoulders, satiny smooth. She said with a smile, "You must be new in the building. I don't think I've ever seen you around before."

"I just moved in yesterday," Wendy smiled back. "I'm in apartment twenty-one. Upstairs."

"We're neighbors then," the Chinese girl said brightly. "I'm in twenty-six, just down and across the hall from you." She bent over to open her mail box, wore jeans and a knit turtle-neck blouse, and when she moved her firm breasts pushed against the fabric, rounded it with their full profile.

Wendy swallowed silently, then quickly averted her eyes, was angry with herself for responding so easily to another girl's body, even one as flawless as the Chinese girl's. She said with studied calmness, "This seems like a nice place to live. It's so quiet around here."

The Chinese girl laughed, "It starts to get a little noisy at night. There's always a lot of parties going on. Of course, I miss most of it because I work nights. Oh, by the way, I'm Kim Lee. I imagine we'll be passing each other in the hallway quite a bit."

"My name's Wendy. So, where do you work?"

"I work at Jimbo's on Sunset Boulevard. I'm a dancer." She laughed. "I show my tits and ass to a crowd of perverts and maniacs. The money's good enough, though."

"You certainly have the build for it," Wendy said without thinking, immediately regretted admitting she had even noticed.

"That's sweet of you to say," Kim smiled. "Say, are you doing anything right now? I have a bottle of Puerto Rican rum and I hate to drink alone. Would you like to come over? I'm just killing time until I go to work tonight."

"I could use something to drink," Wendy giggled, felt a little reckless. "Sure. I'm just killing time, too."

They walked back up to Kim Lee's apartment, and Kim asked, "How would you like your mm?" She motioned for Wendy to sit down. "I've got some mix to make Pina Coladas. How does that sound?"

Wendy laughed from the couch, "It sounds like a medical term for something obscene. What is it?"

"Oh, it tastes like coconut."

"I'll try it," Wendy nodded, and while Kim was in the kitchen mixing the drinks, she glanced around the room, decided that Kim must have been quite a successful dancer to afford such an apartment.

"Here we go," Kim said, handed Wendy's drink to her, then sat down on the other end of the couch. "So," she said, "tell me about yourself."

"This is really good," Wendy said, took another sip. "It doesn't even taste like there's any alcohol in it. It actually tastes good."