First Time Between Them

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(Self-Edited: All mistakes are mine.)

He loves her like the first day. Maybe even more. Nineteen years old, and already a woman. Her full curves, her pale skin, the way she holds her head. Everything about her seems perfect. Almost out of reach. And yet, she's his. She's the one who said yes. Who chose this life with him. He knows by heart the softness of her neck, the curve of her back, and that musky scent she gives off when she's touched, when her hips begin to tremble. Sometimes he senses it before she even lays a hand on him. And already, his body strains toward her.

Tonight, she came back from the tent barefoot, her long dress falling in soft folds to mid-calf. One of those loose, airy, bohemian dresses, made for the beach.

The fire grows slowly. Ethan feeds it with care, laying the logs as if setting up camp--precise, focused. They're alone, lulled by the sound of the waves and the fading light.

When the motorcycles arrived earlier that afternoon, the noise had torn the silence apart. Five men, strong and confident, set up their camp a little farther down, not aggressive, but not hiding either. They kept their distance until now.

As night falls, they come closer. A bottle passes from hand to hand. A bag of beers follows. A tall, broad man leads the group without forcing it. He looks at the couple's fire, then at Amber, but doesn't push. He steps forward.

-- Mind if we join you? We didn't come empty-handed.

Ethan nods. He sees no reason to say no.

Introductions are simple. First names. Smiles. Looks.

Jaro is the leader. He looks at Amber often. He doesn't stare, but his eyes keep sliding back to her. At one point, when she sits down, her dress parts slightly over her leg. Nothing exaggerated. Just the firelight catching pale, almost iridescent skin.

Jaro lowers his gaze. He watches. And he lets something show on his face. Not a word. Just a breath of hunger, barely audible.

-- Mmh...

It's not vulgar. Not heavy. More like... admiration. Raw.

Amber notices. She meets his gaze, a shy smile playing on her lips. Not embarrassed. Flattered.

For days now, Amber had felt a strange tension stirring inside her. This trip, this beach, this feeling of being far from everything... It had unlocked thoughts she never thought she'd allow. Letting herself be seen. Letting herself be wanted. Maybe even... letting go.

Ethan watches too. He's seen it all. The leg, the look, the sound. And he smiles. Because she's his wife. Because she's beautiful. And because he loves that people know it.

A few minutes pass. Voices drop lower. Glances stretch longer. Alcohol hums through veins, slowly setting minds alight. Around the fire, the air thickens, heavier, charged.

Jaro looks at Amber again.

-- You're not cold, are you?

Amber laughed. Quick, light. Shook her head.

-- No, I'm good.

-- "Your skin..." He let it hang there a second, tasting the thought. "Feels like it would keep you warm."

Amber moved a little. Her leg stretched out. The dress slid higher, almost without her meaning to. Jaro leans forward, and sets his hand down. Not high. Just there, brushing the delicate curve of her ankle.

His palm is warm. The touch is slow, almost casual. Then, without taking his eyes off Ethan, he adds, almost smiling:

-- Tell me if I'm pushing too far.

In the soft night air, Amber's tender musk drifts, brushing across faces like some old secret only desire knows how to wake. Around them, the men hardly move, but their eyes grow heavier, darker, drawn helplessly by the scent and the subtle tremble of the young woman.

Jaro's hand doesn't move at first. It rests there, still, on Amber's skin. He keeps talking, voice steady, telling a story about a dry storm somewhere out in the desert.

And while he talks, his fingers slide, hidden beneath the light dress. Slowly. Upward.

Ethan sees nothing. No one sees anything. Only the slight shudder running through Amber, her parted lips, her breath catching.

Under the fabric, Jaro follows his own secret path: brushing first the ankle, where the skin is thin and cool, then moving up the calf, feeling the live heat pulsing just beneath the surface, reaching the hollow of the knee, slowing a little, savoring its delicate fragility, then pressing up the thigh, where the flesh thickens, warms, grows lush.

Amber trembles. A small breath escapes her lips.

-- Oh... No sudden move. Just a calm, steady advance, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And his voice doesn't change. He keeps talking about the wind, the sand, the tents you think are tied down.

Ethan isn't listening anymore. His eyes are locked on that invisible hand. On his hand. On his wife's skin.

He should speak. He knows it. But something stronger holds him down. The dizzy rush of seeing his fantasies take shape. The terror of giving them up, too. He's trapped between two forces--and he stays there, unable to move.

And she doesn't stop it. Worse--she opens her legs slightly.

Under the dress, Jaro feels Amber's tension, the heat building against his fingers. A faint moan rises from her throat:

-- Mmh... yes...

Inside her, a wave swells, stronger than shame, stronger than fear. She had always been the one who held back. Tonight, for the first time, she lets go.

She stays there. Straight. Beautiful. Maybe offered. But above all... present.

Inside Ethan, everything collides. Jealousy, first, biting hard. Pride, wounded. But right after that--beauty. Amber's beauty. What she's becoming, right now. What she embodies. What she awakens.

And that heat low in the belly. The kind you don't choose.

Jaro finishes his story. Then he turns to Ethan. His gaze is calm. Steady. He knows exactly what he's doing.

-- What you're feeling... it's normal, he says simply.

He doesn't speak loud. He speaks just to him.

-- It's not the first time. That mix. Pride, doubt, wanting to say no... and not wanting it to stop.

Then he glances down at his own hand, still hidden under Amber's dress, a little higher now. And he adds, without a smile:

-- But it's not up to me. It's up to her.

Amber says nothing.

Jaro's hand moves forward, still under the dress. The fabric doesn't shift. Nothing shows. But beneath that thin layer, he reaches the edge.

His fingers brush the waistband of her panties. He doesn't stop. He doesn't ask. He just keeps going, slow and sure. Not a caress. A contact. Under the dress, the heat of her desire rises--subtle, sharp, irresistible.

One of the bikers swallows hard. Another leans in slightly toward the fire, like pulled by some underground current. A shiver runs through her, sharp and visible. Her shoulders twitch slightly. A short breath escapes her. A sound, faint. Not a word. Not a plea. Just a low, uncontrollable moan.

Ethan hears it. He closes his eyes for a second.

When he opens them again, Jaro is still there. Bent over, focused. His hand moving now. Slow. Deep.

His movements are precise, steady, like he knows exactly what he's doing. And how long it should last.

And it lasts.

Minutes stretch, swallowed by the crackling fire and the thick silence around them. No one looks away. No one says a word.

Amber breathes faster. Her mouth opens slightly. Her eyes stay open, staring at nothing--or maybe at everything.

Her hips have lifted a little. She doesn't help. But she doesn't pull away either. She offers.

Ethan sees it. He sees everything.

And he says nothing.

Jaro stops.

Without warning, he pulls his hand back. In one smooth, simple motion, he brings it back to himself, resting it casually on his knee, as if nothing had happened. His eyes drift for a moment into the embers.

The silence is immense.

Amber blinks wider. Her body, all at once, feels abandoned. She doesn't move. But something inside her tightens. A hollow space, begging to be filled.

She turns her head toward him. She looks at him. For a long time.

Jaro doesn't move. Still. Impassive.

Then she whispers:

-- Keep going...

He doesn't answer.

She waits. She breathes harder. Her voice shakes a little.

-- Please... Jaro...

A whisper. A breath. Nothing more.

-- Touch me...

Jaro turns to her slowly. Looks her straight in the eyes.

And says, simply, in a clear voice, without harshness:

-- On top, or underneath?

Then he falls silent. He waits.

Amber lowers her eyes. Her face reddens slightly, but she doesn't pull away. Her voice is small, almost shy.

-- Underneath...

-- Underneath what, Amber?

-- Under my panties... please, Jaro... I'm begging you...

Jaro still waits.

The silence is absolute. You can barely hear the fire, the wind. No one speaks.

Then Jaro shifts. He moves behind her. His thighs open, and he pulls her between them, slow and steady. His chest presses against her back, his arms wrap around her. She doesn't resist. She lets herself be guided, slow, willing.

His hands grab the fabric of her dress. And he starts pulling it up. Inches at a time. Like unwrapping a precious gift. He doesn't yank. He reveals.

Amber lifts herself a little, helping him. Now it's her who wants it to go on.

When the dress reaches her hips, her panties come into view. White. Simple. A dark, wet stain spread at the center.

One of the bikers lets out a low whistle. Another mutters something under his breath. Jaro says nothing.

He stays focused.

He places his hands on her sides and murmurs:

-- Lift your arms.

Amber obeys immediately.

With slow hands, Jaro pulls the dress higher, uncovering the pale glow of her skin.

The dress rides up, brushes her hips, grazes her breasts, which emerge into the flickering firelight.

Magnificent. Tipped with pink, trembling, almost aching with need. Every little shiver makes them more real, more alive.

All the eyes around them are frozen. No one moves.

Jaro takes them in his hands, weighing them slowly, savoring their warmth against his palms. Then, without rushing, one hand slips lower. Down her belly. To feel more of that naked, warm, offered skin. He follows the smooth curve of her body, barely brushing it, until he reaches the waistband of her panties.

Without hesitation, he slides inside. Finding his way into her damp heat.

Amber arches slightly. A sharp breath escapes her throat. It's no longer a shiver. It's a wave.

Jaro holds her firmly against him. He explores, stimulates, measures every movement, every pressure, every pause.

She moans. This time louder. She parts her thighs, just a little, but enough for him to feel it: She's his.

Around them, no one moves. But one of the bikers breathes heavier. Another leans forward slightly, trying to see more.

No one speaks.

Ethan is there. Facing them. He sees everything. He sees his wife in another man's arms, bare-chested, gasping, offered-- And he doesn't look away.

He feels hot. Ashamed, a little. Hurting. And he would be hard if he dared watch any longer.

Jaro says nothing. He feels. He listens. He knows it's coming.

He slows his movements. Then starts again.

He looks for the exact spot-- And when he finds it, Amber's little cry confirms it.

She shudders. A spasm runs through her belly. Her forehead drops forward. Her hips push into his hand.

Across from them, Ethan hardly dares breathe.

And Jaro continues.

-- Come on, Jaro... we wanna see...

The voice comes from the right. Low. A murmur slicing through the silence.

Another follows, tense and rough:

-- Show us, man...

Jaro doesn't answer. He keeps his hand working, steady and sure. He holds Amber against him, trembling, offered.

Then, in a calm tone, without letting go:

-- OK. Go ahead.

One of the bikers stands up. He moves forward slowly. He's not smiling. His eyes are locked on her. Serious. Almost respectful.

He bends down. His hand grabs the waistband of her white, damp panties, trembling slightly. He waits a second.

Amber feels him. She understands. She lifts her hips.

He slides them down. Gently. Slowly. He pulls them over her thighs, her knees, then further down, along those endless, pale, soft legs.

When he removes them completely, the firelight reveals her sex--naked, visible, open to the world.

And for a moment, a thicker silence falls over the group. Even the flames seem to hold their breath.

The bikers don't move. Their eyes are locked.

Amber's sex glistens with wetness. Beautiful. Alive. Fragile and powerful at the same time.

Ethan can't take it anymore. He leans in too. Almost kneeling in front of her. He wants to see. He wants to understand what she feels. He wants to burn this moment into his memory: His wife, naked, gasping, sex offered, trembling on the edge, in another man's hands.

Amber parts her legs a little more. Just enough.

And Ethan watches. Fascinated. Spellbound.

She moans again.

And Jaro's hand, still there, resumes its slow, precise circles, driving her even higher.

Jaro murmurs in Amber's ear, calm, almost tender:

-- Show them. Open yourself for them.

She doesn't answer right away.

Slowly, she slides her hands between her open thighs, and parts the lips of her sex-- Holding herself open, bare for all of them to see.

The air around her seems to vibrate. Her raw, warm, dizzying scent blooms like a silent invitation.

A rough breath runs through the group. Their eyes cling to her exposed sex-- As if starving, hypnotized by her surrender and her scent.

A collective shiver passes among the bikers.

Jaro never stops.

His right hand keeps working between her thighs. This time, precise, methodical, relentless. He knows the way. He follows it, switching up the rhythm.

Two fingers inside her, searching for the G-spot. Then pulling out.

His fingers slide over her clit--circular, deep, almost slow-- Then suddenly faster.

With his other hand, he grabs a breast. He squeezes, strokes, claims it as his.

Amber is no longer anything but breath. Her head rolls back onto his shoulder. Her mouth stays open. Her eyes are half-closed. Her legs trembling.

Her hands are still there. Still holding herself open. Because she wants to. Because nothing else exists now except the climb.

The others watch without speaking.

Ethan's mouth is open. His eyes are wet. And Jaro keeps going.

He changes the rhythm, pressing where she tightens, easing off when she moans, speeding up exactly when she seems about to break.

He feels it. She's almost there.

So he presses harder. He slips back inside. He searches, pushes, right there-- And at the same time, his fingers circle her clit with perfect precision.

Amber cries out. A wave crashes through her.

She comes. Hard. Long. Her back arches, her thighs clench, her sex still spread open by her own hands.

And the silence around them is the silence of a group of men frozen in absolute awe.

Amber is still nestled in Jaro's arms. Naked. Relaxed. Open. Offered. Both relieved and empty at once.

In the heavy night, her musky scent still floats in the air-- A silent signature, given to the sky and to the men.

No one speaks. The men seem suspended, bewitched by the invisible echo of her pleasure, and by that stubborn musk filling their lungs.

The fire crackles. The silence weighs.

Then a voice rises from the group. Soft but firm.

-- Maybe they need a moment.

Another follows, without mockery:

-- Yeah. A swim, some cold water. And if they come back... they come back.

Several nods. No smiles. It's serious. Almost ritual.

Jaro leans into Amber's ear:

-- It's up to you now.

Then, looking Ethan straight in the eyes:

-- If you come back... it won't be just to watch. It'll be to take part.

He doesn't wait for an answer. He lets Amber go.

She slowly straightens, picks up her dress, slips it on without a word.

Ethan helps her pull up the straps. Their hands brush.

They walk away, side by side, silent, heading toward the beach. The fire fades behind them, like a burning dream.

Their steps sink into the sand. The waves lick their ankles.

She turns toward him.

He nods.

She places a hand on his thigh, barely moving it.

She searches his eyes.

Ethan doesn't answer right away. He stares at the ocean.

Then he says, voice rough:

-- It's dizzying.

-- Yeah.

-- You really want to? Go back?

She looks at him, for a long time. Then she breathes out:

-- I want to keep being that woman. But I don't want to become the woman who loses you.

And she falls silent.

The silence comes back. The sea surrounds them, warm, restless. The sky above is black, speckled with stars. The echoes of the fire and the voices are distant now, almost unreal.

Amber fixes her eyes on a point lost in the waves. Ethan too.

They're together. But each trapped in their own vertigo.

He thinks of it all: The hand on her thigh. The panties pulled down. The breasts caressed. The sex opened. The pleasure displayed. And that whispered plea: "In my panties... please, Jaro... I'm begging you..."

He wants to run. He wants to grab her, bring her back to the tent, make love to her slowly, like before.

But he knows.

She would be there-- But closed off. Cut off from what she's just discovered.

He turns his head.

She's waiting for him.

No begging. No tears. Just that look. Open. Troubled. Loving.

Then she speaks, her voice so soft it feels like it brushes his skin:

-- If we go back, Ethan...

She leans closer, still sitting, the tide splashing her bare legs.

-- You'll see me bend down. Take them in my mouth... while another takes me from behind.

You'll see me moan for them. Tremble under them. Belong to them for a moment.

Her voice is calm. Unstoppable. Almost tender.

-- You'll see me come in their arms. Offer them my mouth. My sex. Even my ass.

You'll see me beg for more... Until they fill me. Everywhere.

She reaches out. Her fingers brush his wet chest.

-- And you, Ethan... you'll take me after them. When I'm full of them. When I'm overflowing.

And I'll take you-- The way I take your love: Whole. Burning. Still starving for you.

Her hand slides lower. Finds his hard cock under the wet fabric.

She smiles. A huge, radiant, magnificent smile of certainty.

Then she whispers simply:

-- Come.

Ethan rises. Tense. Shivering.

He pulls off her dress.

She's naked. Soaked. Magnificent in the night.

Their steps bring them back toward the fire. Toward the group. Toward what they're about to become.