All characters in this story are age 18 or older.
The next day I saw Lisa in the morning, for I would spend the balance of the day preparing to relieve Nakita of her virginity. Our big date was set for eight o’clock. Her father had paid for my services for a full night.
Lisa was at home, curled in a soft blanket on the couch, adoring an early snowfall. It was just a light dusting, a harbinger of winter. The roses on her deck still had flowers facing skyward. I imagined their confusion, or maybe disappointment, that their time was drawing down.
She hugged me lightly in greeting. “It seems like just yesterday I was raking leaves in the yard.”
I remembered that day very well. I remembered setting her down somewhat brusquely for attempting to touch my cock. These days I longed for the feeling of her feminine hands on my manhood. Yet I was compelled to remain professional for as long as possible.
After the contract, I reminded myself. Then we can be together.
It didn’t seem like a good idea to share my thoughts with her until our official business was complete.
Still, thoughts are not always communicated in words. As I undressed her to the waist, our eyes were speaking. Gently I parted her brassiere’s front clasp and took her breasts in my hands.
Her face flushed. I took my time massaging her creamy mounds, varying my strokes so as not to be too repetitive on any area of skin. We did not speak as I made love to her. The grey morning light crept in through the white sheers; in between the panels, snowflakes danced in silent pirouettes.
We stood for a while in front of the big bay windows. Occasionally I would quietly ask, “How does that feel?” and she would smile, “Wonderful,” or ask me to move to a slightly different spot.
One might think that a man would grow bored of handling the same pair of tits every day for two weeks, but anyone who thought so did not know me and Lisa. I never tired of handling her lovely body, and she always seemed to welcome my touch.
At last we sat down on the sofa and I ministered to her orally. As I sucked and lightly bit at her nipples, I kept squeezing her breasts, encouraging them to let down their milk. They did seem larger. I took one breast in both hands and worked my thumbs from the base up the hill, like a skier making a herringbone up a slope. I traced the chevrons with my tongue.
As I repeated the technique on her other breast, she made a little sound. By now I knew her range of noises. I lifted my head.
She gave me a gentle smile and touched my cheek. “I think so, for now.”
I resisted turning my face to press a kiss into her palm.
“How was your measurement yesterday?”
“Good,” she smiled. “Another three millimeters.”
“How much is that in English?” I figured I knew, but I wanted to prolong our time together, even by a fraction.
“About an eighth of an inch. Every little bit counts.”
“Yeah, I guess it does.”
For a moment we just looked at each other. We were making some kind of journey together. I asked her where the balm was.
“It’s in the bedroom. I’ll get it.” She started to rise.
“No, stay put, I’ll get it.” Our voices were tender with one another.
The little jar was on the nightstand. Next to it was a petite, spiral-bound, lavender book, beside which lay a pencil. I couldn’t help wondering if she had written my name in those leaves, but of course, I didn’t look. There wasn’t time, and even if there was, I would never violate her privacy.
Besides, if she had things on her mind where I was concerned, I’d rather hear them from her own lips. I plucked her bathrobe out of the closet and wasted no time returning to her side.
She was cuddled in the blanket again. I parted the folds and dipped my finger into the cream pot. Lisa drew up her shoulders, holding up her bosom to accept my attentions.
Smearing the lotion on, bit by bit, was almost more erotic than suckling her. Her wet nipples stood at attention. I took my time, starting at each apex and working my way out and around.
“Looking good,” I commented.
“Thanks, I grew them myself.”
We shared a chuckle as I finished up. I peeled the blanket away and settled the robe around her shoulders.
“Thought you might want this.”
“Thanks.” Her eyes glowed warmly at me. More than ever I wanted to kiss her and lay her down, then and there, and make love to her. It would have been so easy to slip my hand inside her robe. I had a feeling she wouldn’t say No. My cock looked up, asking, Now? Now?
Not now, I mentally hissed at it. Down, boy.
Lisa looked at the lump in my pants and grinned. No remark was necessary. We joined hands and stood up.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Doctor.”
She held my coat for me and opened the door.
“Until tomorrow, Mr. Goodbody.”
* * *
It is so old-fashioned to write with pencil and paper but this is the only way I can think of to write it all down and keep it for one person — me, Nakita. If I wrote about it on my laptop, someone might find it. And I want to remember this magical night for always.
Papa said he would buy me a stud when the time came, since Uncle Teddy is in Heaven with Mama, and he kept his promise. Obviously it’s wrong to own people, but Papa explained that this is just renting, and the people being rented don’t mind. I guess it is kind of like being an organ donor.
I had Becka braid my hair special, with gold extensions, and a tiara of tiny white shells. This was also the time to wear a fine dress from the trunk in the attic. It was Mama’s. Very short, with a high tight neck, and slits like rays of the sun spreading out all around below the collar. I wish my breasts were bigger, but I still felt very pretty.
Mr. Goodbody (I think this is not his real name) (his first name is Mark) came to pick me up exactly at seven, and we went for a romantic private dinner in a big round greenhouse. I will have to look up the name again. It was some kind of special Botanic garden.
Anyway the important part is how romantic it all was. The fountain was shaped like donuts within donuts, and there were little twinkling white lights woven through the trees, as if it were Christmas, and it isn’t even Halloween yet.
The driver swept right into the big glass palace, so we never had to set foot outside. Even the garage was grand, two stories high at least, with tall sheer curtains. There were trees that grew in spirals. It was like a fairy tale. My family has money, but I had never seen anything like this.
Over dinner we got to know each other a little bit. I explained to Mark that I am training for the Olympics, and I will someday win a gold medal.
“Track?” he guessed.
“How did you know!?” I put down my fork and smiled wide in amazement.
He shrugged and looked modest. “You have the legs for it. Which is your favorite event?”
“The marathon. I’ve been training since I was fourteen. I ran my first half-marathon when I was fifteen. This year will be my first Boston.”
“So, no time for a boy friend?”
Maybe he thought he was joking. Of course there is no time. Training is my life. I have no idea what other girls do, much less boys. This I tried to explain. My friends are my private tutors, coaches, and the house staff.
“What about the internet?” he wanted to know. “Don’t you meet people online?”
Again I shook my head.
“There is only one internet computer in the house, in Papa’s office. It is strictly forbidden. I have a laptop to write school assignments on.”
He was curious about what Papa did for a living, and I was proud to say my father is a self-made man. Papa is a marine merchant, always directing big boats to go from one country to another.
Mark’s eyes were friendly and understanding. He was a very good listener. I felt more and more comfortable with him, and knew I had made a good choice.
Dinner went by quickly, and we went for a walk through the beautiful gardens. There were flowers like white gloved fingers of brides, and some that changed color halfway through. Some had no smell. Some smelled like apples.
Then we came to a section of trees, which I thought was not as interesting, but Mark wanted to go through. He paid particular attention to the little pines, learning their names and touching their branches. I watched him and it came to me that everybody has their favorite. Flowers to me are prettier. Maybe this is the difference between women and men.
At last he took my hand. My heart raced at his touch. I gave his fingers a squeeze, and we looked at each other, and smiled. He gestured toward a padded bench, and we sat down.
It seemed the most natural thing in the world for his arm to drape across my shoulders. I leaned against him. His warmth radiated through me. The blood in my veins jumped and sang as I lifted my face to his, and he kissed me.
His lips were softer than I thought they would be. I slid my hands inside his dinner jacket. Under his shirt I could feel his body, his back and chest and ribs. My heart pulsed in my throat.
His lips traveled to my ear, where his warm breath made me shiver, and then he found my neck. I discovered my neck is so — I don’t know the right way to describe it — sensitive. For the longest time he kissed me there. All I could say was “ohh … ohh …” over and over again.
A funny throbbing started between my legs. Even writing this I feel it again. Some kind of liquid leaked into my pants. That part of me felt, sort of heavy and fuzzy. And alive, so alive. Every bit of my skin tingled when he slid his hands up my thighs. The throbbing grew more intense. I knew he was going to touch me there, and I wanted so badly for him to, yet it felt just dangerous too.
His mouth was exploring the sun-ray slits in the fabric of my dress. Honestly, I had not thought of that when I put the dress on. I shuddered as his kisses went from my collarbone to just above my breasts. My nipples were standing up and I wondered if he could tell.
Ever higher his hands rose up my stockings. I threw my head back and let him kiss me wherever he wanted to. I was even sorry that the design of the dress only went so far. This did not stop him and to my shock, he kept on kissing his way down, his mouth landed on the very point. Through my dress and corset I could feel his tongue working. It was wet, and warm, just like the place between my legs. My head started to swim.
Just as his fingers played with the garter snap of my stocking, he spoke.
“Nakita, are you okay?”
I opened my eyes and saw him as if in a dream.
“Yes, yes,” I answered.
“You’re sure you want to do this?”
“Yes.” I felt like I was melting. My tongue felt thick but I knew what I wanted. “Make me a woman.”
“Okay,” he agreed.
He rested the palm of his hand on my mound and I tried to hold still, to let him do it. I felt like we were walking through a forest, and he knew the way.
Lightly he brushed his fingertips along the top edge of my panties. The wetness in my crotch increased — it was thick and hot. I helped him lift my skirt, so he could see me.
“You’re beautiful, Nakita.”
His hushed words, and the look on his face, made me feel queen of the world. He stroked his hands all over my groin and thighs, making me squirm. I sighed in delight as his lips fell to my bare tummy. Though he was so gentle and sweet with me, something inside me was clanging as if I were running beyond my stamina.
Then — oh then — he kissed my crotch. I startled. He looked at me again to see if I was okay, and I nodded and smiled. But when he lifted my leg and moved it so I straddled the bench, I struggled up. My limbs were wide apart.
“What if somebody comes?”
“No one will bother us. I promise.”
“I have made it so.”
“Okay,” and I leaned back and let him touch me some more. The feeling of magic surged back. His tongue darted against my panties, like it was making a tattoo. I moaned at the luxurious pleasure. I was so slick now, I could feel my parts rubbing against each other, and when he inserted a finger, I burst open like a flower.
He probed my secret place, feeling the warm liquid gold that my body made, and then put in two fingers. If this is what sex was like, I never wanted it to stop, and was only sorry I had not done it sooner.
Inside and out, he felt me all over. Sometimes I put my hands on the back of his head, especially when he was kissing me in places where no one had kissed me before; sometimes I rested my hands on his shoulders. I really wasn’t quite sure where to put my arms, but it seemed like Mark knew what to do. So I laid back and let him do it.
Then he fondled the little button of pleasure, moving around it in circles at first, around and around like a whirlpool, building a tension in me, almost like I had to sneeze. Then he touched it hard, and a wave of pleasure crested through me. I cried out. The noise I made echoed off the walls.
Even as I squirmed and rolled, breathless, Mark was above me like a reassuring presence. I gasped and panted.
“Are you ready?”
I didn’t see how this could get much better, but I told him I was. He unzipped his pants and pulled his thing out. It looked scary.
He saw my fear and offered to let me touch it.
It was strange. The skin of it was soft as anything, yet it was so firm and upright. It sounded so stupid to my own ears, but I had to ask:
“Will it hurt?”
“It might. You tell me if it hurts too much, and we’ll stop, okay?”
I watched him very carefully, and he looked like he was telling the truth. I leaned back and told him I was ready.
He rolled on his protection, lay on top of me, and fit the tip of his arrow between my legs. It was big — bigger than his fingers were.
“Does that hurt?”
“It feels so big, but I think I’m okay.”
He pushed in a little more. It started to hurt a little, but in the strangest way, the pain felt good. My hair stood on end.
He sort of murmured to me, like one of my coaches. He said things like, You’re doing great, and he said my name, and I don’t remember what else. Mostly I was just so aware that the most incredible thing was happening to me, and as he started moving back and forth, I knew I had only ever seen the world in black and white, and now it was in full color. It was marvelous. How anybody could ever live without this, I have no idea.
Faster and harder he thrust, and the tension that had built in me before seemed to be building in him. My breath caught in my throat and I shivered. Little needles of pleasure spiked through me, and then inside me he felt stiffer than ever, and he groaned: “God, ” as if he were dying.
His body pulsed inside mine, and we held each other tight. A last little shudder of pleasure sprinted through me. His weight felt good on me. We panted, our breathing slowing, slowing, and his hardness went soft. Everything was sticky and wet down there.
I hardly remember getting dressed, or even the midnight ride home. What I will never forget is that last, final glimpse of my stud. After he gently kissed me good night, on my cheek — as if he really were my Uncle Teddy — he climbed into the limo — and the last thing I saw was the pale blur of his face.