She was nervous, really nervous as I could feel her shaking. It drained me of all of my worries, for now there is only a strong passion.
“Dara?”
“L-laric?”
“Language.”
“Ah… yes?”
“We don’t… we don’t have to do this.” I was already kicking myself for having said those words.
“Nou… I want… want.” Her arms grew tighter as though becoming possessive.
Shit… well, okay. For a moment, I thought on how best to proceed. It is different to already be lost in the throes of passion and sex, the buildup its own artistic process with wrong and right ways for each woman… or so I knew.
Better go slow.
I brought my right hand up, careful of the healing cut, cupping her chin as she seemed to lean in, tilting her so that her green eyes could gaze into mine. They glimmered like lily pads on water, wide and filled with hope, and they drew me in.
My finger tapped her nose. “Boop.”
A giggle left her as she smiled goofishly.
The other hand played with some of the locks of her hair, resting on her collar as she started to tiptoe to give easier access to her lips. We shared a quick kiss, and another, and another. Locked into slow, inexperienced make out, I guided us away from the entrance (the doors closing on their own), sitting us on the sofa with her hands moving along the sides of my bare midriff, lacking surety on where to move them.
“There,” I whispered between kisses, “up and down.”
She kept them there, repeating a rhythm, pressing too soft and then too hard, the discomfort its own pleasure, the friction along my bare skin adding to the heat. Every now and then, I moaned.
Fuck, what do I do? With our make out persisting, the invading taste of cinnamon became distracting to my thoughts, trying to draw on past experiences. Shit… shit… Maybe undo her scarf? One hand, from Dara’s chin, slowly reached toward her bare calf, the other undoing the red scarf around her neck. When the cloth was tossed aside, my hand returned to her collar where a chain necklace was felt.
Dara broke away. “A mo-ment,” she hastily said, her hands reaching to the back of her neck, undoing the chain. Pulling it out from under her dress, dangling from it is an unmistakable Christian Cross made of the same, silvery metal, with a sexless figure crucified to it, she sets it aside on the coffee table beside us. Like that orange, it was the strangest sight in an inherently strange place, another reminder of home in an odd sense. So they made it to space, or maybe it’s just style?
Dara stole my gaze when her lips eagerly met mine again, and any more thoughts of that necklace were lost.
Our kissing fell into a delicate motion, hands exploring each other's curves and crevices as though we were blind (with me ‘stumbling’ more). I felt my heart dance as she became enthused, finding courage to slide my injured hand along her calf and thigh, moving under her dress much to her delight. Shuffling closer, Dara shifted so that I had an easier path, and just as her underwear was found her hands slipped up and under the back of the sports bra, stretching to accommodate as nails started to dig into my shoulder and spin.
“Yeah… there,” I grunted.
In an agonizing moment, my left hand moved to tug the back clasps of her dress, fumbling for too long. “Col mayrie xiysas,” she groaned, eliciting my worry, pulling away as her arms went behind her. It was not long before our explorations resumed in earnest, more passionate and heated.
Dara’s shoulders became bare as the dress fell off, sliding around her arms. My hand snaked well under her thong, resting on her rear, the other moving from her neck, along her shoulder, and down her arm as I searched for erogenous zones.
“Does that feel good?” I asked between kisses.
The answer was in the form of her hands scratching along my spine, one hand slithering past my pants for my own rear, the other moving to my neck. If she was a Christian girl, she was showing off far more than typical, somehow inducing borderline shock therapy for how she played with my nerves. “Fadamsa h'afl?”
“Fuck… keep doing that.”
We kept this stimulation going for a minute before I had the urge to go further. From her ass, my hand down in its crevice, fingers reaching her lower, wet lips and brushing.
“How about there?”
“Laric!” she hushed.
Legs became overlapped, intertwining as we brought ourselves closer, her hand cupping my ass, used to press her hips into me. It was tricky to again adjust my fingers, but once I had they were inserted deeper.
“Col xiyeli.”
“Huh?”
There was a grunt. “Ha-and… for-th.”
… Forth? I inserted deeper.
“Nooou,” she growled, “For-th!”
Fingers were pushed toward her front, and there was a gentle sigh. “Virfiets…”
The juggle between kissing and rubbing was an awkward thing, hot for how Dara kept tolerating every mistake. Soon, our lips were forgotten, for I started kissing along her neck, removing more of her dress, the girl twisting herself so that she was more exposed. Tapping lips down from there and to her shoulder, I arrived at the side of her bra-covered breast.
Without assistance, that article was unclasped and removed, exposing two perfect orbs that might have been smaller than mine. I went straight for a nipple.
My titty play had been interrupted when she started pulling away, hands removed, and feeling that I made a greater mistake my heart sank, only to relax as she started removing the rest of her dress.
Once it had been thrown aside, all that she wore was a loose thong, one that seemed without elastic straps, not too loose that they could easily fall off but were strangely like drawstring boxers.
As I kept staring, Dara covered herself, crossing arms over her breasts. “E-egala vsarsc?”
“Language.”
She looked down beneath my waist. “Pa-aunts…”
It turned out that removing pants, while sitting, with a raging hard-on was not as difficult as imagined when there was certain motivation. Both the pants and boxers were tossed aside, my cock standing to attention as it was no longer constrained. The only thing that covered me was the sports bra.
Her eyes widened as she took me in as she sat motionless. There was half an instinct to shy away, the other part screaming to remain disciplined and decisive. Leaning forward slowly, we again started kissing, again falling to a rhythmic make out. She sprawled herself out on the couch, and breaking away I moved to her hardened nipples sucking on one of them, eliciting grunts and moans that fueled the fire.
I broke away again. “Can’t wait.”
“Thelamein?” Perhaps on instinct, her legs started spreading.
Grabbing my rod I paused, a sudden fear taking me, the same kind that had been there on my first day here.
“Thel?” She nearly begged, seeing my hesitation, her voice doing something to me.
“… Do you want this?”
You’re going to get another chick pregnant…again. The idea had sent a shiver along my spin, simultaneously fanning the heat and cooling my blood. Since birth control or condoms still hadn’t been found, and since (like an idiot) I hadn’t asked about them, I had conditioned myself in accepting certain consequences.
There was no immediate answer as she was taken aback. “Yes.”
We kept staring. Fuck…
Sitting up, Dara shuffled closer, careful in her approach, again nervous. “Wh-att is… wroung?”
When I still said nothing, she laid her hands on my shoulders. I responded in kind, my hands meeting her hips though looking away. “I… need to ask you some things.”
Her hands tensed, and I added, “You’re… You want to become a mother?”
There was a slow nod. “Ddon xiysar sarexiysa,” she answered without hesitation.
It became a struggle to ask the next thing, a hypocritical question given what I had done before. “Ok… but I’m… I am… not ready…”
“Red-eey?”
“I… do not want to be a parent.”
A range of emotions ran across her before she seemed to relax, smiling as her hand cupped my chin. “You do not need to.”
The answer created warmth, my hands rubbing along Dara’s hips. “Wouldn’t you be a single mother?”
“… Sing-gal?”
“Alone… raising the child?”
She formed a perplexing look. “Nooou…?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nou chi-eld ever alone… not in home… Tuffietaery.”
“There would be others?”
“Yes, my friends… fam-ily… our con-gre-gae-tion.”
It never sat right with me that one or both parents would abandon a child to their own fate (or to the government), not without reassurance that they would have some normal upbringing. Part of me doubted that her solution, her ‘family,’ wouldn’t be the best alternative, yet she offered it so assuredly of it as though village parenting were the most normal thing.
Do I trust her?
Do I trust myself?
“Thelamein?”
I was broken out of thought as my mind was made. “… Ok, Dara.”
She was brought in closer, closer than before and our lips press to her surprise with that enthusiasm returning, our fear gone, our heat and scents mixing, hands slipping and sliding along our bodies and my fingers again inserted into her sex as I pumped and rubbed with her screams and my moans cascading and echoing like blasting 90s rock music without worry we would be seen or heard as our hands tug and pump and pulled us closer. She starts to remove her thong as I help by extending her legs and I threw the thing aside and then with both of hands grabbing and pulling on her thighs to bring us skin to skin as I rub my sex above hers with our fluids as lubricant and I pull away, heaving to recover, riding on the high of this. Staring down at Dara’s sweaty form, legs again spread as she laid on her back with half lidded eyes, hands resting above her bosom, shot heat through my length.
With one hand, the rod was adjusted, the tip pressing into her lower lips, and with a push its head slid in. Green eyes widened, a quick sigh leaving her as she said, “Xiysas aur heth!”
“How does that feel?” I wanted to be certain that I wasn’t going to tear her apart.
She and I grunted as I gently pushed back and forth, letting her tight sex become accustomed. “Ah… goo-ud.”
Leaning forward, bridging over Dara, I placed my hands just above her shoulders and splayed them on the couch, positioned in a not-quite cow pose, hips and the rod adjusting before moving back and forth. “And here?”
There was a moan of approval. I kept on.
The willpower to hold it remained as strenuous as before, a challenge of endurance for sole purpose making her cum. Immense satisfaction had drawn from how Syvis and Nushala had enjoyed themselves, a full on fellatio of the ego knowing that they got off from me, feeling them shutter because of me, singing their pleasure because of me, emanating their lustful scent because of me, all because of me. It might have been that night that I made a promise that I would always finish last… at leastmost of the time. There is no fairness that I’d spend myself before them.
I leaned in closer, kissing and nibbling her neck, pushing just a little bit deeper as she gave me access to herself, twisting just enough so that the effort is easier.
Down her arm and to her collar I went, pushing in more as I pumped. If Dara was in any discomfort, she did not say or show it, having clung to the back of my head as a semi-tight vice grip, hands knitting through marble hair to pull me closer, our groans and sighs becoming pronounced.
At the top of her breast, I heard her whisper, “Laric… laric…,” and so I kept tickling that spot. It was hard to keep it in.
Pushing forth a little more, she suddenly screams, her walls clamping around my cock as something wet and warm spreads from my base and I lose myself. Deep groans and huffs left me as that fire shot through my length in streams, feeling my cum fill her insides, adding to a high sensation, riding it out as long as possible.
At the end of it, I rose to tower over, her hands falling wayside, looking down to my still erect and partially inserted, monster-of-a cock and the fluids seeping past it, witnessing her heave with wide eyes.
“Thel…”
“Are… are you done?”
She did not immediately answer. “Nou.”
“Good,” I felt my lower appendage surge. “We still have an afternoon to spend.”