I’m up to twenty-four. Twenty-four virgins lost between my legs. Twenty-four mint penises having etched their first notch on the bedpost; although, most occurred in the backseat of my Dodge Charger. (Which incidentally is a highly effective place to seduce very young men.)
Funny thing is, if I were a fellow, I’d be seen as a predator exploiting the newly nubile. Instead, with my welcoming lady-parts and relative youth, I am Santa Claus in the Tooth Fairy’s skin. My beneficiaries get to stay awake all night unwrapping every gift, fondling every coin, opening every box. This is for you, I tell each one, his nose between my round breasts, his teeth snapping with glee.
They are so happy. Someone has finally let them put it inside. All the way inside.
I find them in the university libraries and study nooks in the Maths and Science buildings. These are dedicated scholars, busy, driven, having spent their teen years steeped in equations and theorems. Their necks ache from straining into books, they mumble rules of inference and Aristotelian principles in the shower forgetting to wash, forgetting to jack off, and later, once dry and dressed, forgetting to eat.
I am their savior.
I wear button down sweaters with A-line skirts and panties underneath. This moment of pulling the panties down is seminal. Being able to manipulate the very fabric that shrouds what before they’ve only seen on screens—touching the silk at delicate hipbones and lowering it slowly, watching the thin veil pull away from an amenable, waiting vulva—it’s practically a milestone in and of itself. Some of them quiver. Most of them kiss my cunt before the knickers reach my knees. They can’t help themselves. What does it smell like? What does it taste like? they must be thinking. Their noses and tongues and nerve endings feasting on what Pornhub can’t provide.
They would lick for hours if I let them, too timid to presume more is possible.
Look at me, explore me, I say. What do I feel like? Good? I feel good?
Their fingers don’t know what to do. They want to grope themselves, but here is a Real Live Pussy Wet And Slippery. Michael? John? Theo? I think I need your cock now.
Yes, Here. Now. Would you? Could you fill me?
I spread my legs far. I whimper a fake whimper. Be gentle?
Half of them come right then, before the first push. I suck them back to hard and let them think I don’t know they are virgins. This is not easy work. But it’s oh so fun.
When they are finally ready again, I hold their penises like teeny, naked, hungry babies who want back in. I squeeze that flesh and laugh with them at their good fortune, their eyes wild with Sex. I pause, their head donning my labia—a new hat.
Take me, I say when I take them, because they need to believe that’s what’s happening. And as I slide down over every inch I say, Oh, you’re filling me up. Oh. My whimpers then are real. I clench every shaft with equal gusto. I cling and ride and make dreams come true.
Tonight is twenty-five. Silver.
This post was written for Wicked Wednesday, a site where writers share erotic stories (fiction and non) every week. The fun is hosted by the delightfully energetic Marie Rebelle of Rebel’s Notes, whose endeavors you can support at Patreon.
Read more fab Wicked Wednesday “Milestone” entries here!