Last Time, First Time

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After living together for nearly five years in the same tiny apartment, Patrick and I were about to become a “legal” couple and finally marry. Our parents were definitely relived by our decision, and wanted to throw a huge wedding and an even larger party for us. Fortunately, Patrick and I were a bit more rational, and eventually convinced them that we would be happy with a simple civil ceremony with just immediate family and close friends as witnesses, and that if they wanted to spend a lot of money, they should instead put it toward a down payment on a house – after all, after living together for so long, we really had everything we needed to make a house a home.

They did, and we bought a small “starter home” in the suburbs shortly thereafter.

The evening before the marriage ceremony, Patrick and I went ate dinner at a favorite local steak restaurant, something we did only once every few months to celebrate something important; clearly, the upcoming marriage ceremony was “something important.” Afterward, we drove past our new home, pausing to gaze upon it fondly as we held hands and thought of the myriad memories to soon be made within its walls, then drove back to our apartment for our final night there as an “illegal” couple.

“You’d better enjoy fucking me tonight,” I quipped as Patrick parked the car. “This is the last night you’ll be inside me with me being your fiancée!!!”

As soon as he had shut off the engine, Patrick groped my left thigh en route to my crotch, squeezing roughly, possessively. In the light of the nearby streetlamp, I saw the glimmer of deviousness in his eyes, the wicked grin spreading across his lower face. Apparently, my words had ignited something within him, triggering a very welcome change.

He had slipped into his tiger persona, which was itself causing me to slide into my tigress persona. I felt the change washing over me as my lips curled upward in response to his expression and his actions between my thighs.

Somehow, we were able to make it into our apartment without causing a scene. While Patrick closed and locked the door, I turned on the lights long enough to turn on the stereo to something loud, and light the dozen or so pillar candles scattered around the edges of the living room.

Then he turned off the lights. We kicked off our shoes and took off our jewelry, then we met in the center of the living room.

The primal combat was about to begin.

I seized my tiger roughly, tipping my head upward to kiss him violently. He practically bear hugged me, forcing the air from my lungs even as his tongue dove deep into my mouth, causing me to squeal in surprise with my scant remaining breath. I wondered if he could feel my nipples, already as hard as pebbles, pressing against him through our clothing. I loved it when he held me so tightly against him, crushing my tits between us, and I responded by sliding across his lengthening cock.

I broke the kiss, gasping for air, but his mouth continued the attack. One hand reached up and grabbed a fistful of my hair, painfully yanking my head back and exposing my pale throat. I love to have him bite me hard enough to leave teeth marks upon me for days, but he instead laved my neck with his tongue while he maintained the terrible pressure on my scalp. My body quivered in his arms as a low growl rumbled past my parted lips. My fingers curled into his back in instinctive response, my recently-cut fingernails now short enough that his thin shirt might have been enough to prevent me from scratching or hurting him… for the moment.

“That remark you made in the car,” he whispered hotly in my ear with husky breath, just loud enough to be barely heard above the Lords of Acid CD that had been left in the stereo, “I was thinking the very same thing all throughout dinner.”

Releasing my hair, his lips descended upon mine again, and the clash was beautiful. Our teeth clanked together, our tongues jousted, and animalistic growls rose from our throats as we groped each other, our hips making prominent humping movements even though our difference in height and our clothing meant that we could not truly fuck each other… yet.

This was not love. This was not romance. This was not passion. This was not desire. This was not even lust. This was a primeval combination of all those elements, no longer able to be contained, threatening to explode – an all-consuming luxuria blossoming with the speed and power of a detonated nuclear warhead.

He suddenly released me, and before my mind realized what was happening and attempted to react, he threw me to the floor and was pouncing on me even before I had landed upon the carpet. The small white plastic buttons snapped from their threads and shot haphazardly in various directions as, with a throaty animalistic rumble, my tiger grabbed the collar of my blouse and yanked the two sides of the garment apart, exposing my upper breasts to the slightly-cool air of the apartment. While most people in this situation would first and foremost attempt to defend themselves, I instead grabbed his head and smothered Samsun Escort his face against my chest, yelping as he bit into my left breast just above the lacy cup of my bra; from the pain, I instinctively knew that I would proudly sport a bruise from this bite for at least a few days.

Wresting his head from my grasp, Patrick rose up on stiffened arms. Although I was unsure what he had in mind next, I quickly rose with him, and succeeded in surprising him and rapidly rolling him to his back upon the carpet. My hands gripping his shoulders, I ground myself fiercely against him. He responded with feral kisses, wrapping his legs around me, trapping me to him. He manhandled my ass, helping me to hump him as I grunted aloud with each descent upon his body.

I was wet – so very wet. Although I had never done it before, I felt as if I could squirt with such power that I would be airborne… and my tiger had yet to touch me between my legs since the possessive groping of my crotch in the car.

We continued to devour each other as his hands suddenly took on a new task: removing my buttonless, now-useless blouse, working in such a frenzy that I heard the material actually rip, but I did not care. The white garment had just barely been shoved past my wrists when I felt the telltale fumbling at my back.

Purposely making this a little more difficult for him, I rose up on stiffened arms, positioned my crotch directly over his, and humped him as fast and as hard as I could, sweating with effort and panting loudly between moans of delight as my clit was pleasured – albeit indirectly, due to the clothing – by his meaty cock. As expected, he faltered, allowing me to support myself with one hand and use my other hand to expose his chest, yanking at his black shirt and sending those buttons scattering as they were snapped from their threads.

Just as I felt my bra suddenly loosen, I ground my clit against him one more time, and screamed as my cum soaked my skimpy black thong. I collapsed upon him, my body spasming uncontrollably as my fingers clawed at his shoulders and the carpet. Even with the music playing loud enough to cause the floor to vibrate, every cell of my body rocked with the vehement might of The Big One hitting California, decimating all coherent thought as I screamed myself breathless.

Somehow, while I had lost control of my own body, my tiger had shoved me off him and positioned me on my hands and knees, for I suddenly felt my blue denim skirt bunched up around my hips and my bra sliding to the floor, the straps “trapped” around my wrists. I was still panting loudly with my own heartbeat thundering in my ears when I felt the drenched crotch of my thong being pulled aside.

In one swift, possessive motion, my tiger speared me. We yowled together like rutting felines. My tits swinging wickedly beneath me, I backed against his cock as hard as I could, setting a savage rhythm which he matched almost immediately. He leaned forward, his large, strong, work-hardened hands ensnaring my tits like a pair of toothed vices, his fingers curling in on my hot, sensitive flesh to hurt me again.

Using his painful grasp on my tits as leverage, my tiger rutted deep into my body, claiming me as he roared his ownership of me to the world. Tears of pleasure and pain rained upon the carpet as I wrawled accordingly, yet I kept up the frenetic pace, slamming my ass back against him. We fucked each other with such wild abandon that his cock felt as if it was scalding the inside of my body, setting my pussy aflame.

Then my body tried to extinguish that blaze. My cum surrounded the massive cock spearing me. My arms gave out, and I collapsed upon the carpet, my voice growing quickly hoarse as I proclaimed my primal pleasure to the world.

But my tiger was not done with me yet. He mercifully released my tits, but then spanked me hard several times before grabbing my hips and fucking me even harder and deeper. I was clawing at the carpet yet again as he simply made use of my body, grunting loudly with each dominating thrust as he tried desperately to hold back the imminent climax of the evening.

Just as I lifted myself up on my shaky arms, it happened. With a thunderous sound unlike any I have ever heard, his molten urges erupted deep inside me, renewing and reinvigorating my own primal cries. He fell forward onto my sweaty back, his arms wrapped around my torso and seizing me uncontrollably as his yowl ricocheted in my ear and his body trembled violently both within and upon me.

Several seconds later, my arms collapsed again. It was another few minutes later that he finally disengaged from me, allowing our joined cum to at last spill from me as he lay beside me on the floor and held me close, mauling my highly-strung body long into the night and causing my spirit to soar…


Our parents, two of Patrick’s co-workers, and my best friend and her visiting niece were all in attendance at the marriage ceremony. Despite being late-morning on a Friday, we were all dressed as if we were attending a semi-formal Samsun Escort Bayan dinner party. As we walked into the courthouse, I was just thankful that a full-body inspection is not required prior to marriage; otherwise, Patrick would have been arrested on suspicion of domestic violence due to the many markings from the past few nights hidden underneath my dress.

Then again, I had marked him a bit as well, as I had realized that morning as we were showering together.

Following the ceremony, we went out for lunch – my father’s treat. Unfortunately, Patrick’s co-workers both needed to return to the office while the rest of us enjoyed a Chinese buffet. It was a very low-key affair despite the significant life-changing step of becoming a married couple, but, while my parents in particular seemed a little disappointed still that Patrick and I were not having a big church wedding as they had hoped since before my birth, nothing detracted from the solemness of the day.

Following lunch, while our families and friends returned home to have an early start to the weekend, my husband and I drove to our house. Our new home was only sparsely furnished and decorated, but it was more than adequate for our first night as a “legal” couple. Traditionalist that he often is, Patrick insisted upon carrying me across the threshold, a romantic gesture that set the tone for the rest of the day.

The afternoon passed slowly. We first lovingly undressed each other, taking our time, almost always caressing and kissing each other. Then we made our way to the bathroom, drawing a hot bubble bath which we shared until the water turned cold and our skin caused us to resemble raisins. Ultimately, we returned to the bedroom, where the bottle of herbal-scented massage oil was put to very good use for the several hours until dinnertime.

It was with some sadness that we finally dressed so that we could go out for dinner. This time, however, it was just the two of us, and neither of us wanted to do anything formal. So we drove, finding ourselves at a hole-in-the-wall barbeque place near the ocean, making a true mess of ourselves as we savored the tasty fare. It was our first visit to that particular establishment, and – while it was perhaps one of the most unromantic places we could have eaten – certainly not our last.

As the sun slowly sank toward the water, we walked along the beach, arm-in-arm, practically oblivious to the many people around us. At the end of the beach proper, we strolled along the semi-wooded trail leading to the next beach, passing only a few other couples also enjoying the cool evening. We bought ice cream cones and strolled back along the trail toward the first beach and our old beat-up Volkswagen Rabbit, heading toward our first night together as a married couple.

Once home again, I asked Patrick to wait for me in the living room. Some ten minutes later, I emerged from the bedroom, wearing only a black fishnet bra and g-string set I had bought earlier in the week, and my ring. I had applied his favorite cherry-flavored lip gloss and added just a hint of perfume to each wrist and behind each ear. In my absence, he had lit a single candle in the living room, its pine scent quite noticeable in the air, and removed his dinner-stained t-shirt to reveal his well-sculpted torso and arms.

My husband made a move to stand, but I motioned for him to remain seated upon the sofa. Slowly, I sauntered toward him, twirling twice for him knowing how much he enjoys admiring my body. Upon reaching the sofa, I straddled him, my fingers entwining behind his neck as his arms enveloped me.

“Last night, you fucked your fiancée silly,” I whispered softly, looking deep into his eyes, into his soul. “Tonight, your wife wants to make love to you.”

“My thoughts exactly,” he acknowledged with a smile. “Slow and sweet and romantic.”

Our lips joined, and I heard his murmur of approval upon tasting the cherry upon my lips. The kiss lingered, lengthened, extended, as his hands gently caressed me with the cautious wonder of a teenage boy exploring a girl’s body for the very first time. When at last I needed to stop and breathe, I buried my face in his neck, gasping happily, feeling admired, cherished, loved.

“My sweet, beautiful wife,” he whispered, and my heart seemed to grow both larger and warmer within the confines of my chest. I licked his neck, short and quick strokes of the tongue like a kitten lapping at a bowl of water, his sigh encouraging me to continue. He tipped his head backward, exposing more of his neck to me, and I licked toward his throat, moving upward underneath the chin, noting the rough texture created by the short, pointed stubble which had grown there since the morning.

Through it all, his hands continued to explore my body, one hand finally moving to my chest to heft and fondle a hard-tipped breast. I mewed softly between licks, and he squeezed my breast gently in a slow, steady, respectful rhythm. With one hand gripping his shoulder, my other hand moved slowly down his chest to Escort Samsun his shorts, stroking and squeezing the solid manhood hidden within. I felt and heard him kick off his sandals, then felt his other hand reach between my thighs, causing me to gasp softly into his neck as he discovered my moist arousal.

Words definitely were not needed for us to communicate how we felt for each other that historic night, how we had felt for nearly seven years. In the dim light provided by the lone pine-scented candle, we gazed into each other’s eyes, slowly masturbating each other through the clothing. For a long time, our only sounds were occasional gasps or whimpers or moans.

“Who knew,” he finally whispered in my ear, “that when you moved to the neighborhood in high school, that one day I would be the one honored to call you my wife?”

I kissed Patrick’s forehead, rising up on my knees upon the sofa to place my chest at the level of his face. He took the silent cue and took a breast in each hand, kneading each swell lovingly, gently kissing each breast through the bra. Cradling his head to my chest, I sighed happily, my eyes closed as I focused on the sensations surging through my entire being, fully aware of the love filling the living room, filling the house.

…trickling down my thighs, in part due to his manipulations just moments earlier.

I thought of our relationship, of how it had begun. My father having been transferred here just after the end of my junior year of high school, I felt completely alone – no siblings, and no relatives whatsoever on the west side of the Mississippi River. This muscular boy from the neighborhood – Patrick – had seen me as I was washing my mother’s car, and had stopped to chat… and instantly, I felt as if I truly did belong here. By the time classes had started again, we had become rather close friends, and were dating by Thanksgiving. When I turned eighteen on Prom Night, he had taken me to one of the area beaches for a moonlight stroll, to a well-secluded area between centuries-old boulders which the city planners had decided to leave in their natural state, and he made love to me repeatedly until we had exhausted his supply of condoms. Less than two weeks and another box of condoms later, I had begun taking birth control pills, which came in quite handy once we moved in together during that summer, despite our parents’ wishes.

This was somewhat like our first intimate experience together… only inside and a bit more comfortable. It was just as groundbreaking for me, even though I unfortunately would not bleed for Patrick on this occasion.

I wanted him inside me. I needed to feel his eyes and his hands upon me as he probed inside my body. I longed to quiver around him as I cried out his name. But first, there was the clothing to be removed.

My husband’s hands reached up behind me and, with much more ease and dexterity this time, he unhooked my bra. I released my hold on his head long enough for him to push the straps off my shoulders and allow the supportive garment to flutter to the floor behind me, then I held him to my chest again, his lips affixed to my right breast, gently suckling the nipple as if I could feed him. “Yes…” I whispered, the pleasure from his lips and tongue sending sparks from nipple to clitoris. As he held me with one arm, he reached for my left breast, lovingly massaging it and creating yet another source of pleasure to send sparks to my clitoris.

I gasped aloud as Patrick bit around the nipple, although not nearly as harshly as he had bitten me the previous night. His teeth slowly closed in upon the base of the nipple itself, increased the pressure on my sensitive nub, then pulled his head back, entrapping the nipple, causing explosions of delight to emanate from my breast and waves of passion to spill down my thighs. My body trembled as I gave in to his sweet, beautiful manipulations, a soft cry piercing the near-darkness of the living room.

When he finally released the nipple, I sat back on my knees, still straddling him as he sat upon the sofa. I needed a moment to catch my breath, and Patrick simply held me, caressed me. It was a long, beautiful moment, simply being held in his strong arms, feeling his love surrounding me, feeling protected.

Once I had calmed myself again, I slipped backward to the floor, and began unbuckling his belt. With Patrick’s help, he was soon completely nude before me, his remaining clothing cast aside. His erection was already rather meaty and looked quite tasty. I took my time licking up and down his solid shaft, my fingers squeezing firmly around the base, looking up at his face and watching his various expressions of delight. He thoughtfully kept my hair away from my face, but did not otherwise attempt to control my actions.

“You look so obscene like that,” he whispered, “so wanton…” Then he gasped and shuddered as I engulfed him in my warm wet mouth and giggled around him, continuing to bathe him with my tongue. As I worked him, I worked myself, slipping a hand between my legs, stroking myself through the sodden g-string, causing me to whimper and moan softly around the invader in my mouth, which caused him to gasp and twitch and curl his fingers against my scalp, which somehow propelled me onward in my self-appointed task. It was a lewd circle, yet one which we both enjoyed heartily.

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