The First Time Inside
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The fan rattles in the dark as I wait, restless, my mind spiraling through every possibility, every image I can’t help but imagine. When the door finally clicks open, Milly steps in quietly, bathed in the honey glow from the streetlights outside. Her blue dress is rumpled, her lips look bitten and soft, her cheeks shining with leftover excitement. But it’s the scent that hits me – sharp, heavy, unmistakably male, lingering around her mouth and clinging to her hair. It’s Frank, raw and intimate, and it makes my cock jump with humiliation and hunger all at once.
She closes the door, leans against it, and meets my eyes with a nervous, wild spark. I can’t hold back – I need to know, need to make it real.
“Tell me,” I say, my voice low and raw. “Everything. From the beginning.”
Milly stands there, chewing her lip, her arms crossed tight under her breasts. I can see her hesitating, searching my face for anger or shame, but finding only desperate curiosity and hunger. That seems to steady her. She speaks, her voice trembling at first, then growing more sure, more eager.
“I went straight to Frank’s. He opened the door before I could even knock. He wasn’t dressed up or anything, just… normal. But his cock was already out, hard, and I could smell him – strong, thick, almost sour. Dirtier than before.” She glances down, blushing, and I realize she’s squeezing her thighs together, reliving it. “He told me to get down, so I did. I knelt right there in front of him. He made me clean him with my mouth, said he wanted to see if you’d done a good job earlier. He was rougher than before, pushing into my mouth, holding my head. I could taste him everywhere, Tom. It was so much, so strong, I could barely breathe. I… I think I liked it.”
A bolt of jealousy shoots through me, but I’m hard, painfully so. I imagine her, knees on Frank’s ugly rug, lips stretched around him, her tongue cleaning the sweat and salt from his skin. My mouth waters, my hands clench.
She hesitates, then goes on, voice smaller, almost ashamed. “When he was ready, I tried to use the condom we bought. I rolled it down and… it just wouldn’t fit, Tom. I was so embarrassed. He laughed a little, not mean, just… like he was used to it. He got his own, these XL ones, and even then it was a struggle. I had to use both hands, really work it on.”
I picture her small, pale hands struggling with Frank’s cock, the rubber stretching, Frank grinning down at her. The image fills me with a mix of helplessness and arousal that burns all the way down to my toes.
She swallows, her voice hitching. “He told me to turn around on the couch, get on my knees. I tried to guide him in, but he was too big. He spat on his hand and on me, and even then, it took a minute. He just kept pushing, slow, but when he finally got in…” She shakes her head, biting her lip, eyes wide and almost afraid. “It hurt at first, like I was splitting open. But then – I came, Tom. I just… I couldn’t help it. After maybe thirty seconds, I was shaking. He grabbed my hips, started fucking me harder, and I came again, and again. It was like I couldn’t stop.”
My chest tightens – part jealousy, part awe. I can see her trembling, flushed and raw, the way her voice shifts from shame to something that sounds like pride, or maybe surrender. Every word makes me harder, even as it makes something inside me twist.
“He was saying things the whole time – telling me I was tighter than he expected, that I was his, that you’d never fuck me like this.” Her breath comes fast, her eyes locked on mine, daring me to be angry, to be turned on, to need her more. “I screamed, Tom. I know the neighbors heard.”
She finally falls silent, staring at me, waiting. I cross the room, unable to hold back, and pull her close. She melts against me, lips sticky and still faintly reeking of Frank’s cock.
I strip her dress away, laying her out on the bed, her legs falling open, the insides of her thighs still glistening with sweat and faint traces of latex. I bury my face in her pussy, licking her, desperate for any trace of her, for any last taste of what he left behind. The flavor is different – bitter, rubbery, Frank’s ghost hovering behind it all. Still, I keep licking, circling her clit, sucking, probing, trying to make her come one more time, to erase his touch and fill her with mine.
But she’s spent. Her hips jerk away from my mouth after a while, breath shallow, her hand stroking my hair in silent apology. “It’s no use,” she whispers, eyes half-closed. “I don’t have anything left.”
I nod, aching with frustration and longing, my cock throbbing. I move beside her, stroking myself, eyes fixed on her flushed skin, her swollen lips, the mess of her hair, the faint, ripe scent of Frank still clinging to her. I come in hard, desperate spurts, groaning, the ache inside only dulled by the pleasure.
She pulls me close as I catch my breath, tucking herself into my side, her head on my chest. The smell of Frank lingers around her mouth, mingling with my sweat, my release, our exhaustion. We drift off tangled together, my mind a storm of jealousy, pride, shame, and love, already aching for her even as she sleeps.