He rose, his cock pressing against my thigh, thick and pulsing. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his voice rough, his eyes searching mine. “It’s perfect,” I panted, my legs spreading wider, my pussy aching to be filled. “Fuck me, Aakash. Make me yours.” He positioned himself, the head of his cock nudging my entrance, slick with my arousal, and pushed in slow, stretching me inch by inch. The burn was intense, my virgin walls clenching around his girth, but it melted into a deep, throbbing pleasure as he filled me completely, his balls pressed against me. “God, you’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, pausing to let me adjust, but I didn’t want slow—I bucked my hips, urging him deeper. “Harder, Aakash, please,” I begged, my nails digging into his back. He thrust hard, each stroke slamming into me, my tits bouncing wildly, nipples grazing his chest as he pounded me into the mattress. His hands gripped my hips, bruisingly tight, angling me to hit that sweet spot inside, his fingers slipping between us to rub my clit in furious circles. “Come for me, Sana,” he growled, his thrusts relentless, the wet slap of our bodies obscene and intoxicating. I screamed as another orgasm tore through me, my pussy clamping down on his cock, milking him as waves of ecstasy shattered me. He tensed, his rhythm faltering, and pulled out with a guttural roar, his hot cum spilling across my belly and tits, thick ropes of it marking my skin with his release.
I lay there, trembling, my body sated yet humming, the warmth of his cum a raw, intimate claim on my skin. Curiosity and a reckless hunger stirred in me. I dragged my fingers through the slick warmth on my belly, bringing them to my lips. I tasted him—salty, musky, with a faint bitterness that hit the back of my tongue, like the sea mixed with something primal, forbidden. It was thick, coating my lips, my tongue, a taste that was both shocking and intoxicating, like the essence of him burned into my senses. I licked slowly, savoring it, my eyes locked on his as he watched, his breath hitching, his cock twitching at the sight. “You taste like… us,” I whispered, my voice husky, a shy smile breaking through. He groaned, pulling me close, his lips brushing my forehead. He grabbed a cloth, cleaning the rest of me gently, his touch tender now, his eyes soft with something deeper than lust. “I love you,” he said, his voice raw, his hand finding mine. “I love you too,” I whispered, my heart full, my body alive with the memory of him inside me, the taste of him still on my tongue. That first time was ours—a collision of trust, love, and untamed desire, my skin still singing, my heart anchored in the certainty of us.
That first fuck with Aakash was the pinnacle of everything I’d ever imagined sex could be—a raw, earth-shattering explosion of sensation that claimed my virginity in a storm of pain and pleasure. The initial stretch as he filled me, that sharp burn ripping through my pussy like a blade, made me gasp and dig my nails into his back, my body tensing in protest. But oh, how it transformed, melting into a throbbing ecstasy that built with every thrust, waves of bliss crashing over me until I was screaming his name, my pussy clenching around him like a vice, milking every drop of pleasure from the agony. “Fuck, Sana, you feel so good,” he groaned, his voice thick with lust as he pounded deeper, his cock hitting places I didn’t know existed. Nothing since has touched that feral intensity, the way pain twisted into pure, mind-melting rapture, leaving me soaked, spent, and utterly addicted.
We couldn’t get enough. Our stolen moments turned into a whirlwind of forbidden heat. We’d sneak kisses in the shadowed corners of school corridors, his lips devouring mine with that same hungry fire, his hands slipping under my skirt to tease my wet folds while I ground against his thigh, my breaths coming in desperate pants. “You’re so fucking wet for me,” he’d whisper, his fingers dipping into my panties, circling my clit until I was trembling. In empty classrooms after hours, we’d escalate—me pushing him against the desk, unzipping his pants to wrap my fingers around his thick cock, stroking him slow and firm until he was throbbing in my hand, pre-cum beading at the tip. “Stroke it harder, baby,” he’d growl, his eyes dark with need. He’d retaliate by hiking up my skirt, his fingers diving into my panties, circling my clit with expert pressure while plunging deep inside me, finger-fucking me until I came shuddering against him, my juices dripping down his wrist. “Look at you, coming all over my hand,” he’d murmur, licking his fingers clean, his gaze burning into me. We’d masturbate each other like that, frantic and filthy, my moans echoing off the walls as I jerked him off faster, feeling him swell and pulse before he erupted, hot cum spraying across my thighs or belly, marking me as his. Those sessions left me trembling, my pussy alive with aftershocks, craving the next hit of his touch.