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I took a pledge in high school to remain a virgin until I was married. I came from a conservative religious family and the church was my harbor in the stormy sea of adolescence. Frankly, it didn’t seem like a big decision at the time. My best friends were members of the same church and several of us took the pledge together. We bolstered our pledge by prayer as well as counsel from the preacher and church elders on how we should conduct ourselves to avoid stoking the carnal fires of teenagers.
Not that panting boys besieged me. I was as ordinary as a girl could be: average height, average weight, brown hair, and brown eyes. The only exceptional thing about me was my tits. They were exceptionally tiny. Barely an angle interrupted the geometry of my chest. My nipples, however, seemed, well, large and obscene and embarrassing. I kept them well covered as I did the rest of my body, usually wearing loose skirts that reached below my knees.
My senior year, when I was eighteen, I had my first boy friend. Donald was in my church and had also taken the pledge. Neither of us had a car so our dating was mostly confined to church parties, studying together, and watching television. We cuddled some on the sofa in our TV room and kissed chastely — but we never, never allowed our hands or mouths to stray to forbidden zones.
That remained true for several weeks, but one night, sitting on the sofa together, Don moved his hand from my shoulder to my waist, his fingers running slowly over my chest. It was an accident and I giggled but his mouth found mine and he pushed himself close to me and his hand ran down my back and under the waistband of my skirt.
We drew apart after a minute, both embarrassed by our unseemly grappling, but we sat a little closer than usual the rest of the night and I opened my lips when he kissed me. Our next date was another descent down the slope of sinful acts. We sat together on the sofa and his hand again found its way to my breast and, this time, it stayed there while we kissed, and I broke one of the rules I had learned for preserving my chastity. I took my feet off the floor.
We had several sessions after that and I got used to his hand on my breast and even allowed his fingers inside my blouse and under my bra to feel my large, embarrassing nipples. His hand often ran over my buttocks and pulled me close to him and I could sense the hardness of his penis beneath the fabric of his blue jeans.
Well, all this kissing and feeling, we agreed, violated neither the letter nor the spirit of our pledge of chastity. Rather, we were experiencing a permissible sample of the delights that would await us when we were married — as we would be within a short time after graduating from high school. And, oh dear God, how we looked forward to fulfilling our religious obligation to procreate.
It was Christmas vacation when Don came over late one night to watch a movie. My parents had already gone to bed. I was in my flannel pajamas: long, loose trousers held on with a drawstring and a untucked top that buttoned down the front. I thought about getting dressed, but the pajamas were modest, and, sinful though it may have been, the thought crossed my mind that his hand could find my breasts easier under the loose top of the pajamas than if I put on a bra and blouse. It didn’t take long for him to discover that.
We lay on the sofa side-by-side and, for the first time, a boy’s mouth found my nipples. They were so hard and big and embarrassing and Esenyurt Escort he sucked and sucked them as I turned onto my back and he rolled over on top of me and he pressed against my groin. He began to hunch, his body driving harder and harder against mine, and I spread my legs, and he pitched wildly back and forth, breathing hard and moaning in ecstasy, and then he collapsed, his labored breathing hot against my neck.
I wasn’t quite sure what had happened — but I thought he had “climaxed.” I was not entirely innocent of climaxes. I had discovered masturbation much earlier in my teens and, although I considered it a minor sin, I didn’t resist doing it on occasion. But I didn’t have much idea what happened when a man climaxed. “Cum” was a word that still wasn’t in my vocabulary.
What I now knew was that the hard member in his jeans quickly went away after his last spasm and he relaxed in my arms, not even able to respond when I twitched my hips to enjoy better the feel of him. He laid his head on my bare breasts — only a month before the notion of uncovering my breasts for a man would have been unthinkable. Once, in the community swimming pool, my top had slipped and exposed a breast to a whole crowd of boys. It had been weeks before I got the courage to return to the pool. The boys called me “buttons.”
Don was concerned that his passion had repulsed me. I assured him it had not and we prayed over the matter. We concluded that our passions were a healthy sign from God of the wedded bliss that soon awaited us. We should restrain ourselves, of course, to demonstrate our strength and avoid temptation. But God recognized that mankind was weak and sinful and would forgive us. We would, we affirmed to each other, keep our solemn pledge of chastity.
It was only two nights later that the same thing happened again, and this time I wrapped my legs around Don to and moved in concert with him. He cummed again, and I suppressed the wish that he had lasted longer for I was nearly ready myself.
A few days later while we were sitting together on the couch, Don unzipped his jeans and pulled my hand down to his penis. I didn’t take my hand away.
“I need….” he muttered, “some…ah…relief. I’m afraid I’ll want to do something bad if…ah…you don’t help me.” I helped him. It was dark and I couldn’t see much but I felt his hot cum gushing out on my hand. I really, really wanted to ask him for some relief for myself, but I didn’t have the courage.
The next time we met I “helped” him again and this time his cum got all over my best white skirt. “I’m so sorry,” he said, wiping at the cum stains with his handkerchief. “I’ll never do that again. I promise.”
I was worried, because I realized I wanted him to do “that” again — although I realized I had to protect my clothing from those noticeable stains. “It’s all right,” I said, to reassure him. “I love you. I want to…ah….meet your needs.” But not violating our pledge of course,” I quickly added.
“Of course not.” he answered.
The next time we met on that on that same sofa I had my needs met. At last! I had begun to worry that I was one of those “frigid” women I had heard about. Despite a dozen times when he had rubbed against me I had still not cummed. This time, however, my skirt had worked its way up to my waist and his hand found its way beneath it and he felt my slit cautiously through the thin fabric of my panties.
He was surprised when I didn’t sweep Esenyurt Escort bayan his hand away. “Just your hand,” I gasped, “not your finger.” I didn’t want to lose my virginity. I didn’t know whether a finger inserted in me would cause that loss or not — but it seemed too risky.”
“Okay,” he said. He rubbed his hand over my panties and into my slit and against my clitoris and I hunched in pleasure, unzipping his jeans and pulling his hard penis out and playing with him.
A woman’s first man-made climax is a wondrous thing. I was 18 years old; I had never been popular with boys; I was repressed; guilt-ridden; I had little self-esteem. I was a puritan. All of that changed as Don’s hand rubbed me to a climax that left me shaking like a leaf, my body wildly agitated and he just hanging on to me like a rider on a wild horse.
When I could talk again, I said, “I’ve never felt anything like that before.” He was holding me, and I was naked except for my panties, wet with my juices, and his penis was rubbing against my thigh. I touched him, and he exploded, cum spurting all over my panties. “Oh, my god,” I said, leaping up. “I’ve got to get this off before I get pregnant.”
I rushed into the bathroom with him following me. I pulled my panties off and jumped into the shower, turning the water as hot I could stand it. He followed me. “I don’t think you’ll get pregnant,” he said. “I didn’t cum inside you.”
“I’ve got to scrub it off,” I answered. “I have to be sure.” It was the first time we had both been totally naked together. Don helped me wash myself. He was hard again. He rubbed his soapy hand over my clitoris and felt for my vagina. “Don’t,” I said. “I love you, but it might violate our pledge if you put your finger in me.”
“I won’t stick it in you,” he promised. But he did. He began to rub my clitoris and I rubbed his penis and when his finger slipped down to my vagina I didn’t resist and it was inside me and we cummed together in the hot shower. I maintained enough presence of mind to ensure that his squirting penis was pointed away from me.
Oh, God, this was new and exciting! The next morning Don came over to the house to walk me to school. My parents had already gone to work and as we greeted each other in the kitchen he slipped his hand up my dress, reached under my panties, thrust a finger in me, and made me cum learning there against the stove. I unzipped his pants and returned the favor, catching his cum in a paper towel.
I had to change panties because mine were so wet. After that morning I always greeted him in the kitchen, panty-less. We masturbated each other, then I put on a pair of panties and we walked to school. At school, whenever we had a moment alone and at night while studying we cummed. We were besotted with each other. Three or four times a day his finger would find my clit. I jerked him off an equal number of times. (Our language with each other was getting much more forthright and descriptive.)
However, I still had this terrible fear of having an errant cum shot find its way into my vagina and becoming pregnant and disgraced in the eyes of my parents, friends, church, and God. Birth control was, of course, immoral. We quickly found a way to avoid the risk of pregnancy: oral sex.
It was my initiative, a sign of my increasing boldness. I was jerking him off one evening on the couch in front of the television and I suddenly decided to lower my head and kiss his cock. The response Escort esenyurt was encouraging — to say the least. In record time he cummed in my mouth and I realized I had found a solution to the pregnancy problem. I couldn’t get pregnant if the cum was in my mouth — and besides that it was fun to feel his hot, throbbing dick in my mouth and to taste the salty, sticky cum. I began to give him blow jobs whenever we had the opportunity and jerking him off when we didn’t.
He returned my favor a few days later with my first experience as a recipient of oral sex. I had never, never felt anything half as good as his wet tongue licking my clitoris and plunging up my vagina.
We were the horniest couple in the world! I discovered that I was one of those fortunate women able to enjoy multiple orgasms, especially by mouth, and Don would often spend an hour or more making me cum over and over again. Nor was he a one-shot male. I could blow him to a climax three or four times an evening, and next morning he was ready to be jerked off in my kitchen.
He acquired a car which facilitated our lovemaking. And also facilitated some discoveries. My best friend, Sue, and her boyfriend had also taken a pledge of chastity. But we double dated with them and after a movie we parked on a lonely road. Don and I were kissing in the front seat — to shy to do more than that with another couple present. But I stole a look at them in the back seat. Big-titted Sue was naked and her boyfriend’s pants were around his knees. He was fucking her.
On a later date, they made no pretense. It was a hot summer night and Sue’s boy friend leaned her over the fender of the car, pulled up her dress, and fucked her from the rear. There was enough light to see her tits flopping around. Don and I were in the front seat of the car. We masturbated each other as we watched them through the windshield. It was exciting, but I was disturbed at how little the pledge had meant to Sue. At church she was Ms. Goody-Goody.
Don, it seems, enjoyed watching Sue all too much. We had kept the pledge. In nine months of frenzied orgasms, his cock had never been inside me. I was still — in the eyes of God a virgin
As summer came to an end, and Don and I prepared to go to college, our sex life took a down turn. I didn’t see him nearly as much. We both had summer jobs. Our morning jerk off sessions came to an end and he was busy a couple of nights a week. Still, it never occurred to me that our relationship was in trouble. I anticipated we would continue as before and get married within a year. That’s what girls did at the religious college where we were going.
I went over to Don’s house one day just before I was to leave for college. As I walked up his driveway I heard him talking in the back yard. It was a very private back yard, surrounded by a high wooden fence and large leafy trees. I approached the gate and looked over the fence.
Don and Sue were lying on a chaise lounge on the patio. They were both naked. He was on top of her, his cock inside her. Don had broken the pledge. They didn’t know I was there; I turned away without a word. Don called me later; I didn’t answer the phone — nor did I ever talk to him again although he made several efforts to reconnect with me. I was heart-broken. Thus, ended my first, never-quite consummated love affair. While Don and I went off to college, Sue stayed in town, worked in a restaurant, and became the town slut. My relationship with her continued to be good, although distant. Perhaps she wondered why.
I wish I could say that I had sexual adventures in college worth telling. Nor is there much to say about the first ten years of my marriage to a preacher. But one of these days I will tell the story of my sex life after thirty. It got better.
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