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Part 9&10 –
Eleventh, No longer a virgin
Jack begins to move.
Not fast, God, not fast, but with a slowness that feels geological, tectonic. He pulls back his hips, and I watch, hypnotized by the way Katie’s body clings to him, her pink labia stretching outward, gripping his thick shaft as if reluctant to let him go, pulling outward like a seal breaking until just the fat crown remains inside her, glistening red-purple against her pale inner flesh. Then he pushes forward again, not slamming but sinking, with deliberate force that makes Katie’s breath hitch audibly in her throat.
“Easy,” Jack murmurs down at her, his voice a low rumble vibrating through his chest which hovers over her small body, casting her in shadow. “Just breathe, baby, just let it happen.”
Katie’s face is contorted, her glasses askew on her nose, fogged completely opaque now. She’s biting her lower lip so hard I see a spot of blood bloom where her teeth break the skin. Her free hand, the one not crushing mine, flails briefly, gripping the sheets, then reaches up to claw at Jack’s shoulder, leaving red crescents on his tan skin.
“Shh, shh, shh,” Jack coaches, his hips rolling in a tight, grinding circle, deep against her cervix. “You’re doing so good, Katie. You’re taking it so well. Better than I thought. Such a tight little virgin pussy, opening up for me.”
She whimpers, high in her throat, like a wounded animal, but then she turns her head toward me, her neck straining, tendons standing out like wires beneath her skin, and she forces a smile through the pain, a trembling, lopsided expression that doesn’t reach her watering eyes.
“John,” she slurs, my name elongated, vowels betraying how drunk she still is, how the vodka and tequila have turned her speech to syrup. “John, baby, you’re watching, right?”
I nod mutely, my own head heavy, drunk, spinning. The room tilts slightly when I move my eyes too fast, the lava lamp’s red glow bleeding into streaks across my vision like paint smeared on canvas.
“Good,” she breathes, then gasps as Jack pulls back again, slow, slow, slow, the friction visible, the way her flesh grips him, reluctant, intimate. “Watch me, baby. This is what I need?”
She’s trying to instruct me. Even now, impaled on a cock that dwarfs anything she’s ever imagined, even with her virginity torn and her insides being rearranged, she thinks she’s teaching me. That’s how innocent she is, how purely without malice. She genuinely believes this is educational, that I’m learning from a master, that this is for us, for our future together.
Jack thrusts forward again, deeper this time, and Katie’s back arches violently off the mattress, her mouth opening in a silent scream that turns into a wet, gurgling sound.
“Fuck,” Jack groans, his jaw clenched, his abdominal muscles rippling with control. “You’re so fucking tight, Katie. Jesus Christ, you’re strangling my cock.”
“Is… is it good?” Katie manages to ask, her voice breaking on the question, her hand squeezing mine reflexively harder now as pain makes her grip tighten.
“It’s perfect,” Jack says, his eyes meeting mine over her shoulder. “It’s the best pussy I’ve ever felt, and I’m breaking it in for him. See, John? See how she’s learning to take me?”
He pulls back until just the tip kisses her entrance, then slides forward again with excruciating slowness, letting me see every inch of his progress, watching her face for reactions. Katie’s eyes roll back slightly, her pupils blown wide, black consuming the brown irises.
“Yes,” she moans, though it sounds more like a question than an affirmation. “Yes, like that. Oh, god, Jack, it’s so big, it’s so…”
She cuts off, gasping as he bottoms out again, hitting that deep spot that makes her legs twitch involuntarily, her stocking-clad heels digging into the mattress.
Katie’s hand moves from mine to my own erection, clumsy with alcohol and distraction. She strokes me with her palm, the friction insufficient because she can’t focus, her movements jerky, irregular. But her hand is warm and soft, and the fact that she’s touching me at all while being fucked by him creates a perverse, electric connection between us.
“You feel that, baby?” she asks me, her voice drifting, floating on the alcohol. “You feel how hard you are? That’s because you love me, right? You’re getting ready?”
“Yes,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Katie, I’m watching.”
“Good, sweetie,” she slurs, then yelps as Jack increases his pace slightly, thrusting harder, the sound of flesh meeting flesh beginning, sharp cracks in the air. “Oh! Oh, Jack, wait, wait, it’s. it’s still…”
“Still hurts?” Jack asks, not stopping, but slowing, his thrusts becoming shorter, shallower, rocking motions rather than full strokes. “Let me know when it stops hurting, baby. Tell me when it starts feeling good.”
He keeps rocking against her, grinding his pubic bone against her clit with each short thrust, and I watch, mesmerized by the mechanics of it, the way his massive shaft glistens with her arousal mixed with traces of virgin blood, the way her labia have begun to darken from pink to red, stretched tight around his girth, the way her clitoris peeks out from beneath its hood, swollen and throbbing, visibly.
Katie’s breathing changes. The sharp gasps of pain begin to soften, morphing into something else, longer exhalations that sound almost like relief, like release. Her grip on my cock loosens, becomes more rhythmic, intentional.
“There,” she whispers, her eyes fluttering open, looking up at Jack. “There. Oh, god, right there. Keep doing that, right there.”
Jack smiles, that predatory smile, but softens it for her. “Yeah? You like that angle? You want me to go deeper?”
“Yes,” she moans, and the sound is different now, lower, throatier. “Yes, please, Jack. Please move. Please fuck me.”
Jack obliges. He shifts his weight, his hands sliding under her ass, lifting her hips slightly, changing the angle, and begins to move in earnest, not the slow, gentle, teaching strokes anymore, but real thrusts, pulling back halfway then driving forward with force that makes the bed frame creak and the headboard slam against the wall.
“Ah! Ah! Ah!” Katie chants with each impact, her body jolting, her small breasts bouncing violently on her chest. “Oh god, oh god, oh god!”
I look. I can’t not look. Katie’s face has transformed, still flushed, still tear-streaked, but now glowing with pleasure, her mouth open in a permanent O of surprise and delight, her eyes locked on mine but seeing through me, seeing something beyond the room, beyond us.
“Yes, baby,” she manages to gasp between thrusts, her hand moving on my cock now with purpose, stroking me in time with Jack’s rhythm. She demonstrates her pelvic floor muscles, contracting visibly around Jack’s shaft, making him groan and pause momentarily, overwhelmed by the sensation.
“Fuck, Katie, don’t do that or I’ll cum,” Jack warns, his voice rough. “You’re too tight. Too fucking tight.”
“Sorry,” she giggles, drunk, giddy on pain turned to pleasure.
Jack increases his speed, his hips becoming a blur of motion, pounding into her now, really fucking her, the way he fucks experienced girls, the way he takes what he wants, and Katie is taking it, her body adapting, surrendering, opening to accommodate his size, her juices now flowing freely enough that I can smell them, musky, sweet, sharp, mingling with the scent of sweat and sex filling the room until it’s intoxicating, suffocating.
“You like that?” Jack grunts, his hands gripping her hips hard enough to leave bruises, lifting her ass off the bed to meet his thrusts. “You like getting fucked, Katie? You like having a real cock inside you?”
“Yes!” she screams, her voice breaking. “Yes, I love it! I love your cock, Jack! Oh, god, John, I’m sorry, but it feels so good, it feels so—”
She looks at me, her eyes wide, desperate, apologetic, but unable to lie, unable to pretend through the alcohol haze.
“You’re next,” she promises, her hand squeezing my cock hard. “You’re next, baby. You’ll get to feel this too. You’ll feel how wet I am for you.”
Jack’s thrusts become erratic, harder, more animalistic. He’s fucking her with abandon now, the teaching moment passed, replaced by pure carnal need. Katie’s moans have become continuous, a high-pitched whine that rises and falls with his rhythm, her free hand clawing at her own breasts, pinching her nipples through the fabric of her dress, which is still bunched around her waist.
Katie’s hips begin to move on their own now, meeting his thrusts, rising up to take him deeper, grinding down when he’s fully seated inside her. She’s fucking him back now, no longer passive, no longer just receiving, but actively participating, seeking her pleasure, chasing it.
“Harder,” she begs, her voice barely recognizable, hoarse from screaming. “Please, Jack, harder. Please fuck me harder. Make me cum.”
“You want to cum on my cock?” Jack asks, his voice taunting but, somehow, tender. “You want to cum while your boyfriend watches?”
“Yes, please, yes! Make me cum! Oh, god, I’m close, I’m so close—”
But Jack stops.
Abruptly. Completely. He pulls out of her with a wet, sucking sound that echoes obscenely in the suddenly quiet room.
Katie gasps, a sharp intake of breath, like she’s been punched in the stomach, her eyes flying open wide, her mouth opening in a silent scream of protest.
“No!” she cries, her hand leaving my cock to reach down between her legs, grasping at empty air. “No, please, put it back in! Please, Jack! I was so close, please—”
She’s frantic, desperate, her hips bucking upward, seeking the emptiness, the sudden void where he was. I can see her pussy, gaping slightly open now, swollen, red, pulsing, contracting around nothing, juices flowing out of her in a slow trickle down to the sheets.
“Shh,” Jack soothes, his hand on her thigh, stroking her sweaty skin. “Shh, baby, I’m not done. I’m just changing positions.”
He moves quickly, efficiently, his strength evident as he grabs her hips and flips her over onto her stomach. Katie tries to assist him, but she’s too drunk, her limbs heavy, uncoordinated. She ends up on her knees, forearms on the mattress, face turned to the side, her glasses falling off completely now, landing on the pillow beside her head.
“Up,” Jack commands, slapping her ass lightly, making her yelp. “On all fours, Katie. Ass up, head down, like a good girl.”
Katie complies, her movements sluggish, drunken, her knees sliding apart on the sheets to give him access. She arches her back, presenting herself to him, her pussy visible from behind, swollen, gaping, dripping, wet, and ready, glistening in the red light of the lava lamp.
Jack positions himself behind her, gripping his massive cock in one hand and guiding it to her entrance. He rubs the head up and down through her folds, teasing her again, making her moan and push back against him, seeking penetration.
“Please,” she whimpers, her voice muffled by the pillow, her face turned toward me, her eyes meeting mine. “Please, Jack, please put it back in. I need it. I need you inside me.”
She’s begging him. My girlfriend is on all fours, begging another man to put his cock back inside her while looking at me, and there is nothing but desperation and need in her expression, no shame, no awareness of how this looks, how this feels for me.
Jack looks at me too, one hand on Katie’s hip, the other positioning himself at her entrance. He pauses there, the tip kissing her opening, her labia parting around him, ready to receive him again.
He begins to push forward, slowly, entering her from behind, and Katie’s mouth opens in a long, silent scream of pleasure-pain, her eyes rolling back, her fingers clawing at the sheets.
And there he stops.
Just the head inside her. Just that fat crown stretching her open again from this new angle, filling her just enough to make her crazy but not enough to satisfy.
He stays there, poised at the entrance of my girlfriend’s pussy, buried just an inch inside her from behind, while she writhes and begs, and I watch, frozen, my small cock in my hand, my heart breaking and hardening simultaneously in my chest.
Katie’s face is turned toward mine, her eyes glazed with alcohol and arousal, her mouth open, panting. She reaches out one hand toward me, her fingers trembling.
“John,” she whispers. “John, kiss me. Please kiss me while I wait.”
I lean forward, my body moving on autopilot, and press my lips to hers. She kisses me desperately, her tongue pushing into my mouth, tasting like Jack’s precum and her own arousal and vodka and tears. We kiss while he waits inside her, while the room spins with drunkenness and desire and the certain knowledge that everything has changed forever.
And there we stay, suspended in that moment, Katie on all fours, Jack poised to take her, me kissing her, my hand on my cock, waiting for Mark to arrive with protection so that the real fucking can begin.
Twelfth, He really thought
Jack begins again.
Not with the teasing, tentative probing of before, but with a sudden, brutal snap of his hips that drives a scream from Katie’s lungs, a sound that starts as shock and ends as a moan, guttural and deep, every throbbing ridge of his cock as it disappears into her.
The sound is different now, sharper, wetter, the obscene slap of flesh meeting flesh echoing off the dorm room walls, punctuated by the creaking protest of the bed springs and the wet, sucking friction of her body reluctantly yielding to his size again and again. Katie’s head hangs down, her hair a curtain of sweaty, tangled brown that obscures her face, her forearms trembling where they brace her weight on the mattress, her knuckles white.
“Fuck,” Jack grunts behind her, his hands gripping her hips with a possession that leaves red fingerprints on her pale skin, his abdominal muscles flexing as he establishes a rhythm, hard, deep, punishing strokes that rock her entire body forward with each impact. “That’s it. That’s my girl. Take it. Take all of it.”
Katie can’t speak. She’s making sounds, unintelligible, animal noises, whimpers and gasps that escape her open mouth in time with his thrusts. Her glasses are gone, lost somewhere in the sheets, and without them her eyes look smaller, more vulnerable, squeezed shut in concentration or overwhelmed sensation. Sweat drips from her chin, from the tip of her nose, falling in dark spots onto the pillow beneath her face. Her back is arched, spine curved like a bow, presenting her ass higher to him, her thick thighs spread wide, the lace of her stockings twisted and stretched around her knees.
I watch from the side, kneeling on the mattress, my own nakedness pale and insignificant in the dim light. I’m hard, painfully, achingly hard, my small cock standing up rigid and flushed, four and a half inches of desperate arousal that seems to pulse with its own heartbeat. Watching them, watching her body move, watching the way her small breasts swing violently beneath her with each of Jack’s thrusts, the way her stomach muscles clench and release, the way her toes curl inside her ruined stockings—I’m transfixed, hypnotized by the violence of their coupling.
But then I remember.
I remember earlier, the way she had looked up at Jack from this exact position, on her knees, her mouth stretched wide around his massive shaft. The way she had worshipped him, hungrily, desperately, her eyes watering, her throat bulging. The way she had swallowed his cum like it was communion, like she was starving for it.
I want that.
The thought rises up from my drunken, aroused haze with a clarity that shocks me. I want her mouth on me. I want to feel that heat, that wetness, even if it’s just for a moment, even if it’s not the same. I want her to look at me the way she looked at him, hungry, needy.
I move.
My knees slide across the sheets, damp with sweat and spilled alcohol and her arousal. I crawl around to the front of her, positioning myself between her forearms, right in front of her face. My cock bobs in front of her, level with her mouth, small and circumcised, the head shiny with precum, throbbing visibly.
Katie opens her eyes.
She has to tilt her head up slightly to see me, Jack’s thrusts are pushing her forward, rocking her body rhythmically, making it hard for her to focus. Her face is slick with sweat, her mascara running in black rivers down her cheeks, her lipstick completely gone, her lips swollen and red from biting them. She looks up at me, through the haze of vodka and endorphins and the overwhelming sensory overload of being fucked by Jack, and she sees my cock.
She smiles.
It’s a drunken, lopsided smile, sweet and devastating in its innocence. Her eyes crinkle at the corners, and she giggles, a high, breathy sound that cuts through the room’s heavy sexual atmosphere like a silver bell.
“Oh,” she breathes, her voice hoarse from screaming, thick with alcohol. “Oh, baby. There you are.”
Jack doesn’t stop. If anything, he fucks her harder, sensing the shift in attention, his hips slamming against her ass with audible *cracks* that make her body jerk forward, her face inches from my straining cock.
Katie looks down at it, really looks at it. Her eyes focus with drunken difficulty on my small shaft, comparing it unconsciously to what she’s currently feeling inside her, to what she had in her mouth earlier. Her smile widens, soft, maternal, teasing without malice.
“It’s so cute,” she slurs, her head bobbing forward with Jack’s thrusts. “So small. My little baby.”
The words hit me like a caress and a slap. My cock twitches, leaking more precum, and she sees it, sees the way it bobs and throbs at her words.
“Look at it,” she giggles, her voice breaking into a moan as Jack hits a particularly deep spot, making her gasp. “Look how hard it is. So tiny but so hard. Like a little… little…”
She can’t find the word. She’s too drunk, too full of Jack’s cock. She just giggles again, the sound dissolving into a long, guttural moan as Jack adjusts his angle, grinding upward against her g-spot.
“Katie,” I whisper, my voice cracking. “Please. Can you… like you did for him? Please?”
She understands. Even through the haze, she understands. Her eyes soften with that infinite, destructive tenderness she has, the sweetness that makes her cruelty so much worse because she doesn’t even know she’s being cruel.
“Of course, baby,” she breathes. “Of course I’ll kiss it. Come here.”
She leans forward, or rather, Jack’s next thrust pushes her forward, and her lips meet the tip of my cock.
It’s just a peck. A soft, dry kiss, her lips pressing against my glans for a second, no more. But it’s electric. I gasp, my hips bucking involuntarily, seeking more heat, more contact.
Katie pulls back, laughing softly, her breath hot against my wet skin. “Easy,” she coos. “Easy, little one. Don’t be so eager.”
She reaches up with one hand: the other is still bracing her weight on the mattress, her arm trembling with the effort of holding herself up against Jack’s relentless pounding, and extends one finger. Her touch is feather-light, teasing, as she places her fingertip right on the sensitive slit of my cockhead.
Then she wiggles it.
She presses down slightly and moves her finger side to side, making my small shaft bob and weave in front of her face like a metronome, like a toy. She watches it with drunken fascination, her eyes crossed slightly trying to focus, and she laughs, a genuine, musical laugh that contrasts horribly with the wet, slapping sounds of Jack fucking her from behind.
“It wiggles,” she says, delighted, like she’s discovered a new game. “Look at it wiggle. So small it just… just dances.”
She does it again, pressing her finger against my frenulum, making my cock sway back and forth, up and down. Precum drips from the tip, stringing down onto the sheets, and she giggles at that too, watching the viscous fluid stretch and break.
“You’re leaking, baby,” she teases, her voice sing-song, childlike in her drunkenness. “Making a mess. Such a small little thing making such a big mess.”
Then Jack hits her hard, really hard, deep, grinding thrust that makes her cry out, her back arching violently, her head thrown back for a moment. When she comes back down, her face is transformed, eyes glazed, mouth open, lost in the sensation.
“Oh god,” she moans, her hand falling away from my cock, forgotten. “Oh god Jack right there please don’t stop please fuck me—”
She’s gone again, lost in the rhythm, in the fullness of him inside her. Her head hangs down, hair swinging with each impact, her moans becoming continuous, a high-pitched whine that rises and falls with the slap of his hips against her ass.
I’m left there, my cock twitching in the air in front of her face, ignored, teased and abandoned. I should move back. I should give up. But I stay, transfixed by the sight of her face in ecstasy, by the way her expression shifts with each thrust, by the sweat dripping from her nose onto my thigh.
Then, slowly, she remembers me.
Her hand comes up again, finding mine where I’m bracing myself on the mattress. Her fingers intertwine with mine, squeezing hard, so hard it hurts, her grip desperate as Jack increases his pace, fucking her with abandon now, animalistic, grunting with each stroke.
She looks up at me again, her eyes meeting mine through the veil of sweaty hair. Her face is a mask of pleasure and pain, her mouth open, gasping, but she forces another smile, overwhelmed, but genuine.
“I love you,” she gasps, the words punched out of her by Jack’s thrusts. “I love you… so much… John.”
She squeezes my hand tighter, her palm slick with sweat, her fingers cold despite the heat of the room.
“You’re next,” she promises again, her voice breaking into a scream as Jack hits her cervix. “You’re next baby… I promise… just let me… let me feel this… oh god—”
She can’t finish the sentence. Jack’s hands slide up from her hips to her shoulders, gripping her hard, pulling her back against him as he sits up on his knees, changing the angle so he’s hitting her deeper, lifting her ass higher off the bed so her face is pressed down into the pillow, her hand still clutching mine with desperate strength.
This goes on how long, I don’t know. Minutes? Hours? Time has dissolved into the rhythmic slap of flesh, the smell of sex, the sound of her moans. She holds my hand, sometimes looking at me, sometimes lost completely, whispering “I love you” between gasps, her face a picture of absolute submission to the pleasure Jack is forcing from her body.
Then Jack stops.
Not gradually, abruptly, completely, pulling out of her with a wet, sucking sound that makes Katie cry out in protest, her body jerking, her hand nearly crushing my fingers.
“No!” she whimpers, her face turned into the pillow, her ass still high in the air, glistening and open, pulsing visibly. “Please no don’t stop please put it back in—”
“Shh,” Jack soothes, his hand coming down to stroke her trembling back, slick with sweat. “I’m not stopping, baby. Just changing positions. You’re doing so well. So fucking good.”
He moves with that fluid strength of his, grabbing her hips and flipping her over like she weighs nothing. Katie flops onto her back, her legs falling open, her chest heaving, her small breasts bouncing with the motion. She’s disoriented, drunk, her eyes unfocused as she looks up at the ceiling, then at Jack, then at me.
Jack moves to the center of the bed and lies down on his back, his massive cock standing straight up like a monument, the condom glistening, tight around his girth. He reaches for Katie, his hands on her waist, guiding her.
“Come here,” he commands, his voice soft but firm. “On top. Ride me.”
Katie blinks, confused, her drunken mind struggling to process the instruction. “What?” she slurs.
“Get on top,” Jack repeats, pulling her toward him, arranging her legs so she’s straddling his hips. “You’re going to ride my cock, Katie. You’re going to do the work. You’re going to fuck me.”
She understands. Slowly, clumsily, she positions herself over him, her hands braced on his broad chest, her knees on either side of his waist. She hovers there, looking down between them at his massive cock pointing up at her entrance, at her own pussy, swollen, red, gaping slightly, dripping with arousal and the evidence of her lost virginity.
She looks at me then, her hair wild, her face flushed, her eyes pleading and apologetic and excited all at once.
“Watch, baby,” she whispers, her voice trembling.
And she begins to lower herself down
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