First-Time Sex Erotica
The Princess and the Pearl
a sex story by Tricia Gonzales
It was late, yet John was still busy patrolling the corridors of the Holmwood dormitories. Usually he would stop to stare out the bay windows and into the lake below. It made him feel like he was in a different century, when Gothic architecture was all the rage, just like the very building he was in.
He would imagine that he was a prince, clad in furs and wearing a multitude of rings, and that he was strolling through the arched hallways with a bevy of tittering ladies-in-waiting at his heels. His mother, the queen, would be incensed, since the gently-bred women were straying from their duties. But his father, the king, would simply dismiss the matter as inconsequential. His son was blessed with the king’s good looks, after all, and it was but natural for a bachelor – and a royal one, at that – to attract scores of eligible females.
So, with a toss of his night-black hair and a cheeky grin that showed off straight white teeth and emphasized the dimple on his chin, Prince John became known throughout the land for his intellect, benevolence, and most importantly, his captivating countenance. He was so famous for his charisma, in fact, that people simply dropped the “John” and substituted it with “Charming.” He would then live on in history as the well-loved Prince Charming who made his appearance in all fairytales concerning tormented stepdaughters, poisoned apples, and deadly spindles.
It was silly, John knew, for a man of his position to weave fantasies like this. But it made his duties, as prefect of discipline, a little more amusing. After all, he had five floors filled with rowdy, randy, and irrepressible teenagers to monitor. He didn’t particularly enjoy having to be the one to break up a make-out session or a drinking spree at one in the morning. His only consolation was that none of his peers seemed to resent him for doing his job.
John was at the end of the wing when he saw pale yellow light streaming from the crack of a door he knew so well.
“Angela?” It was unlocked; he let himself in quietly. Sitting on the bed was a girl, baby tee clinging to her small frame, pajamas pooling at her slim feet. She looked up from a book she was examining, and with a surprised squeal, bounced off the bed and flung herself at him.
“Johnny!” Her lavender eyes sparkled underneath wheat-colored bangs, silky long hair in a carelessly tied ponytail. John smiled down at her benignly.
“What are you doing still up?”
Her smile turned into a frown, and she went back to sit on the edge of her bed. She pulled the book from where she sat on it accidentally.
“I was reading this.”
The Pleasures of Debauchery Court.
What the hell?
“Where’d you find it, Angel?” he asked, sitting down beside her.
“Clarisse lent it to me.”
He should not be feeling aroused by this. Oh, of course John noticed when his longtime neighbor began growing curves and mounds of flesh in certain (delicious) places. But fuck, Angela was like a sister to him! Her mother was so glad that she’d been accepted to the same university he was in.
“You’ll take care of her, won’t you Johnny?” the woman asked, placing a hand on her daughter’s shoulder.
“Yes ma’am,” he promised.
That meant he was supposed to be protecting her from whatever dirty things she might learn so far away from home. That he was supposed to be shielding her from the boys who’d want to place their hands all over her.
But how was John supposed to guard Angela from himself?
Shit, she was hot. And so innocent. How could he resist?
“Clarisse lent you the book, did she? Let me give this back to her, then.” He tried to pry her hands away from the thick tome.
“Why? It’s an interesting story.” She clutched it to her chest and refused to hand it over.
“I don’t think you should be reading it.”
“Why?”
“Uh, well…” He had a 4.0 average in English Literature, Speech, and Communication. He should’ve been able to come up with a reasonable explanation.
Angela turned back to her book and promptly forgot about him.
John stayed beside her, knowing she couldn’t ignore from him for long. He saw a grin tug at the corner of her pretty mouth. He smiled. Any moment now…
“Okay!” She spun to face him. “You can have it!” She thrust the book at him.
“Thank you, Angel.” With that, and all his strength and self-control, he got up, tucked the book under his arm, and caressed her cheek. “Good night.”
Her forehead furrowed and she gave his hand a little tug. He raised his brow in question.
“There was… um… something I was wondering about.”
“What is it?” He sat back down beside her, concerned. She shifted in her seat and took her lip between her teeth. The picture shot straight to his groin.
“There was this… um… thing.”
“A thing?”
“In the book.”
“Oh.”
“A… pearl… thing.”
“A pearl? Like a necklace? What about it?”
“Not a necklace! But something… down there!”
“Where?”
“Here!” She pointed to her lap. Realization dawned.
“Oh! What about it?”
“Um… the prince… was touching it. And the princess… she felt good.”
John laughed, a little too loudly. He suddenly realized that they were the only people in the room, and that the bed looked very inviting indeed. Angela gave him a questioning look and he forced himself to adopt a more solemn expression.
“Why is it funny?” She asked, eyes round and wide.
“It wasn’t funny. I was just… Are you sure you want to talk to me about this?”
“Yes! Clarisse will just make fun of me for not knowing, and you’re… you’re my friend.”
His heart warmed at that, and he put an arm around her slight shoulders, bringing her closer to him. “Alright then Angela. What do you want to know?”
She burrowed herself into his side. “Can you show me the pearl?” She looked hopeful, her entire posture entreating. “It sounded nice, in the book.”
“It is nice baby, it’s just that… you can find out about it on your own.” What grave sin did he commit in the past that he had to be subjected to this kind of torture?
Angela sat up, indignant, shaking his arm off of her. “Stop calling me that! I’m not a baby!”
“Alright, alright. You’re not a baby anymore. I’ll stop calling you that.”
“Good!”
“Good.”
“So will you show me?”
“Sorry Angel, but I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because I shouldn’t.”
“Why not?!”
“Because, Angel! It just isn’t done!”
“Says who?”
Says who indeed. “Just… let it rest, okay Angel? I’ll see you tomorrow.” He stood up, determined to get away before he did something stupid.
Heartless. He was heartless. But better heartless than horny without being able to do anything about it.
He was at the door when he heard a hiccup.
Oh no. It was skinned knees, playground bullies, and the first time Angela got her period all over again.
She was crying.
“Baby, don’t cry… Please don’t cry…” John sat back down and placed the book on the foot of the bed. Then he held his arms open. She immediately launched herself at him, and was promptly enfolded by his big, capable body.
“I just want to feel it!” she sobbed.
“Alright baby, alright.” He stroked her hair, letting the sleek strands sift through his fingers.
“Really?” The shudders ceased as she looked at him through violet eyes.
“Yes, really, Angel.” He gently faced her away from him and she willingly went. His arms enveloped her tiny waist. “You’re sure about this?” Although he wasn’t sure if he could actually stop if she said she wasn’t.
“Yes. Show me please.” She wriggled into his lap, the cleft of her bottom brushing against his burgeoning arousal.
To distract himself, he delved his hands under the hem of her shirt and spread his palms on her stomach. Small circles, bigger ones, he rubbed them around her bellybutton and under her ribs.
Angela giggled. “That tickles!” No more laughter, though, as his large hands warmed her skin and made their way up to slide over the peaks of her luscious breasts, molding the twin globes into the curve of his hands. “Aaah, that feels nice, Johnny. Please, please…”
“Shh… I’ll make you feel good. Just let me, okay?”
“Okay…”
He pushed her breasts up and tight against her body, squeezing as she whined and pressed her bottom onto his groin.
Mercy.
He trailed his fingers to pinch at her hard nipples, rolling them and playing with them as the pads of his thumbs saw fit. She cried out happily.
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Caught in the Shower by Mark Roberts
“Pearls, Johnny?”
“No, baby, not yet.”
“Not… a baby.” Her breath floated far, far away from her.
“I know.” He let his fingers scratch and flick lightly at the yearning nubs of her breasts. She cried out, her eyes clenching shut. His next fondling brought out a mewl from her parted lips, and she pushed herself back into the body that was supporting her no matter what sudden move she made.
John pulled her shirt over her head and her eyes flew open.
“It’s cold!” she exclaimed.
He gave her breasts a firm squeeze. “Look at them, baby.”
She seemed mesmerized at her own arousal, eyes glued to her snowy skin, the milky mounds cupped by the tan of John’s large hands.
“Your nipples are so pretty. Dark and plump,” he said, watching her watch herself.
“How do they feel to you?” she asked, looking up at him. His eyes had lost all friendliness. They were just… hungry. Angela shivered, and her breasts lifted even more.
“Juicy.”
She glowed at the praise. John brought her hands to her chest and guided her fingers to twirl over her swollen nipples. The sigh it elicited from her was long and deep.
“Keep touching them,” he ordered, his hands now massaging her thighs.
“I feel… kinda funny. My… down there, it’s… clenching.” She sounded bewildered, eyes no longer focused on John but on a distant spot on the wall.
He chuckled. “That’s a good sign, Angel.”
“Why?” Her delicate fingers kept toying at her nipples, as lightly as one would a field of touch-me-nots. Her breathing became sharper, coming in bursts rather than in calm inhalations.
“Because that means I can do this.” He allowed his hands to slink inside her pajamas, letting them fall off her feet. Only her panties were left now, pink and – good, damp. With both hands he covered the triangle between her legs, relishing the feel of the soft, cloth-covered female flesh. “This is where I find your pearl,” he said against her neck, his hot breath raising the fine down over her skin. “Open your legs for me, Angel. That’s it. Wider. Yes.”
And he slid his middle finger in a slow glide just at the fold of her tender vagina, feeling the muscles there jump at his unexpected touch.
“Ahhh,” she sighed. He probed his finger back up, the slit leaking through her underwear and seeping onto John’s finger. He scratched roughly through the fabric and Angela’s thighs quivered.
“Please! No panties!” She clamped her hands onto his and made him pull the cotton off, chucking them at the floor. “Touch me properly, Johnny!”
“Alright baby.” And he let his finger slink through her slick pussy, pulling the hood back with his other hand to reveal the tactile nub hidden beneath. “Look, baby. That’s the pearl.”
“It’s not very pretty.”
“But it is. And it’ll feel very good, honey.”
“When?”
“Now.” With that, he slathered her cream all over her cunt, circling the velvety protrusion of tissue again and again as she gasped.
“O-oh, oh… Oh! Oh! Johnnyyy!” Her eyes shut tight, her mouth parted in a wordless plea, her hips rising erratically… She was no baby. Definitely no baby. She was all woman, her hips rolling instinctively, rocking to meet his fingers.
“Johnny, Johnny, help me!” Now his strokes went faster, harder, and her whimpers grew louder, more frequent. Her core was dripping wet now, and he gathered her milk to rub it all over her sensitive pussy. He pushed her clit harder, rubbing fiercely, pressing, pressing until he was sure that she couldn’t take any more.
“You like that baby?” he growled.
She squealed in reply. Convulsions racked her body, her legs seeking to find purchase in the sheets, just as her thighs trembled. Then John let two of his fingers get sucked into her opening, then slid them out, in, out, in, even as his thumb kept pressing at her clit.
“Ahhh!” she screamed, shaking all over. “I can’t!” Her hips canted into John’s palm, forcing her soft pussy onto the heel of his hand, slip-slapping, harder, faster. And she went over the edge, sobbing, shaking.
There was only the sound of her ragged breathing.
John removed his hands from her vagina and ran them over her thighs, easing her into stillness. He imagined he could hear her heart beating wildly.
When she finally slumped into his arms, she smiled at him tiredly, dreamily.
“There was this… sword… the prince had, too.”
Copyright September 14 2011
Published with permission from author on OystersandChocolate.com. Copying or reprinting this work in part or in whole without permission is illegal.
