Into The Middle Ch. 02

INTO THE MIDLE/IN MEDIAS RES

Unfolding over ten chapters and an epilogue at a slow-burn pace, this psychological erotic drama takes the reader on the protagonist's emotional rollercoaster.

Reading the story chronologically will lead to a better understanding of the narrative.

The erotic scenes do not cross into extremes that might offend or distress anyone; all characters are consenting adults above the age of eighteen.

Editor MikePaulWrites (from Literotica. com) deserves a great deal of credit for this story; I could not have published it without him, given that English is not my native language. His patience, support, and knowledge are invaluable.

SECOND CHAPTER

Death is certain, the hour is uncertain/Mors certa, hora incerta

It was somewhere around four in the morning when it became clear there was no point in tossing in bed and staring at the ceiling. Dragging myself lazily through the flat to the kitchen, I became aware of how much memory was still trapped in this space.

The flat is beautiful, with those high ceilings and enormous windows, stuffed with antique furniture and antiquities passed down through generations and purchased with the intention of preserving the Art Nouveau atmosphere. Fucking inheritance! I've kept Mum's design even after the flat's renovation. Dad's study is only opened by the cleaner, and the only room truly mine in the flat is the one I've decorated myself into a library and workspace after graduating.

I'd wanted to move out somewhere while preparing my master's, and then Mum got ill, seriously ill, terminally ill, and soon I stayed alone in the flat that was suffocating me then. I still don't feel like this is my home. It's still my "white elephant" that generations before me have loaded onto my broken spine.

Suddenly, as if watching a family album, images of memory lined up one after another: Mum and Dad at their wedding, so young and so happy with that look of love in their eyes that disappeared somewhere after my birth. Mum, Dad and me leaving the maternity ward, Mum's exhaustion and Dad's sour smile. He'd wanted a son, and it's not that he didn't love me—in his cruel way—it's just that I wasn't a son and Mum had to have her uterus removed due to some post-partum complication. Me at four years old, too serious and always with a book in hand.

A painful flashback of all Dad's ambitions he wanted to pass on to me, and he got a daughter - with dyslexia.

Never a raised voice in our home, never open punishment, only disdain, silent disappointment and eternal criticism, never praise.

I'm running the „film" in my head... No, I can't remember a single word of praise from him.

The "movie" goes on: Dad in his study with all his dissertations, diplomas and doctorates, at the end of the table my assignments, an oversized pile. Mum in her room sometimes with blueprints, mostly with romance novels and wistful sighs. Passion and love were killed in this flat.

A photo from my graduation with that stupid cap and overly serious expression, Mum absent in some daydream of her own and that strict father who couldn't bear that his daughter would never be able to reach his polyglot status and pride. The gentleman, the esteemed professor, couldn't hide deep disappointment and contempt that I'd chosen communications studies. Not even in the photograph. It was my first rebellion, but I had to. I had to learn somehow to communicate differently from what I'd learned at home.

We never sought professional help for my dyslexia, that would have been admitting to a "manufacturing defect," presumably. I was torturous through endless studying, homework, exercises and criticism behind the closed doors of this flat! Children were playing in the park. I watched from my bedroom window. They were laughing. We didn't laugh. I was allowed to learn, never to make mistakes.

Play and friends were considered unnecessary distractions. Torment with Latin and Greek. Torment with every possible foreign language that flowed fluently from him, while all that decoding and encoding, spelling, correct pronunciation, phonology were the cruelest torture devices for me. It didn't work. But one thing I learned perfectly. How to avoid criticism, how not to show emotion, how to disconnect from emotions, and how to survive a look always filled with disappointment.

And then, so unexpectedly, the way death usually comes, a phone call a few days after graduation and Mum's almost anaesthetized voice: "Darling, your dad died in a car accident."

I didn't cry. Tears were yet another of the unspoken prohibitions occuring somewhere around my fifth year of life, while from Mum's room came poorly concealed sobs of an unfulfilled life, and on Dad's face perfectly unconcealed contempt towards this "weakness." If I was ever allowed to cry, it was probably only when I was still a baby.

Mostly, all emotions, if you asked my father, were a weakness. Only contempt and disappointment were allowed—for him.

Sexuality didn't dwell with us in our small and successfully unhappy family, it simply didn't exist. At my first teenage attempt to dress like a girl... well, one look at that cold face was enough to make me go back to my room and dress like a "proper human being." Words were no longer necessary, there was only reading micro-expressions in a desire to avoid contempt.

And then suddenly Mum and I were alone. By then he'd already ensured we were completely cut off from the wider family. For him, they were people insufficiently worthy of his greatness who unnecessarily interfered in his parenting and our family's private affairs. I only experienced grandparents in their funeral caskets when their time came.

It would have been somehow natural to think we'd both breathed a sigh of relief after his death, in our own ways, but no! Actually, Mum certainly didn't, her life had for too long existed only in romance novels. I at least thought I'd come alive, completely unaware of invisible shackles that remained buried deep in the foundations of my being.

The evening's trigger returned: "Now Daddy will teach little, dirty whore how to reward him properly!" Kaboom! Like a punch to the plexus.

Shaming, punishment, pain—in a completely different way and with a completely different intent, and yet a trigger to the root of trauma. In medias res!

Memory of the day I felt freedom for the first time—and my body. Exactly twenty years ago from today.

I was a bloody twenty-four years old and still had no idea what it felt like to have a cock inside me. I'd researched the theory and it wasn't overly interesting or uninteresting. I didn't know what to do with that information. I lived for my brain, I lived in my brain, while my body was only its residence. And I'm sitting in my study just two days after finishing my master's degree, already preparing for a doctorate with the idea of also enrolling in psychology studies, because, of course, I wasn't supposed to stop learning, and Mum going through her third round of chemotherapy and it's clear to all of us that the end is actually near. She'd given up long ago, just waiting for it to finally be over. And me? What am I waiting for?

I remember exactly the moment I stood up from the desk with such a wave of rebellion and such a clear decision that I overturned the chair. I showered, dressed in something relatively feminine, and left the flat with a clear decision that this bloody hymen, this traitor's proof of complete inexperience and absence of physicality, would be punctured tonight.

It wasn't hard to find a candidate, it was enough to show up at his legendary Friday party, to which he'd persistently invited me, and I'd never responded—until tonight. Truth be told, I went back to the flat three times before the final departure. The first time to completely change clothes. Boring, flat, grey skirt to my ankles and a shirt with a V-neck that didn't even hint at a bit of cleavage. No! I needed something... something different. Everything in that wardrobe was grey, flat and impersonal. Only somewhere at the end hid a black suit I'd worn to Dad's funeral, three-piece, with a waistcoat. I went to his room, all his clothes still hung in the wardrobe. A white shirt, oversized, gave some cool addition to my overly serious suit and his cufflinks, so it wouldn't be too common. It wasn't revenge, at least not consciously. It was an organized and practical solution.

Quietly on my tiptoes, to Mum's room for a long necklace with black pearls that looked as though it had travelled from the Charleston era. I'd always wanted to play with it as a child, but a scorned look stopped me before my child's hands tried to put it on myself.

Shoes were the biggest problem. All my shoes looked the same. Practical, comfortable, and efficient for movement. Mum's, heeled, uncomfortable as hell, inefficient for movement, but they do something special when you see how the gluteus maximus forms above them.

The second return to the flat was because I realized I had cotton underwear on, faceless and boring and I looked like a child in it. Why had I never bought even a slightly more feminine set? I was going to take it off at some point anyway, so why put it on at all? The waistcoat would hopefully cover excessive breast exposure.

The third time I came back out of panic. It was brief, so I decided to throw my hair into a quick bun to calm myself, as the taxi was already nervously honking under the window.

Every Friday he stayed alone over the weekend and, with his parents' blessing, threw parties. A spoiled brat of wealthy parents, with no boundaries set, no responsibilities or obligations, with an unlimited budget. I think I was almost the only female being in our year, maybe even on the entire faculty, whom he hadn't shagged—the missing piece. It shouldn't be impossible to provoke him, nature presumably takes care of us, inexperienced in such a moment.

Theoretically, it was clear to me where everything should go, but practically... another panic attack came in the taxi. I'd never seen a penis in the flesh, let alone held it in my hand. Maybe I should say "cock," penis sounds somehow sterile. I should learn some breathing techniques for these panic situations, in the meantime, I'll count the pearls on the necklace, counting always calms me.

The house was relatively full. I'd expected a bigger crowd. Condom! Uh, I hadn't thought about that! Okay, calm down, someone like him surely has supplies.

What do you do at events like this? Everyone has a glass in hand. Okay, I suppose I need a drink. Which one? I had no idea and somehow doubted I'd come across a smoothie. A smoothie had a purpose. What purpose do alcoholic drinks have for the mind other than stopping quality functioning? Are these my words or Dad's? I wonder.

The bar was really impressive. A sympathetic girl was pouring drinks and mixing cocktails. They were colourful and looked fun. Someone next to me ordered a Negroni. Okay, let's try that.

"Nice image!" she winked at me, finishing the ordered cocktail with a light stir of that deep red liquid.

I learned quickly: posture, body language, facial expression, everyone looked like the most self-confident being on earth. Okay, copying posture. Wasn't hard.

"Thanks." I said casually, as if I were used to such compliments.

"What's your drink?" she asked, ready to pour.

"Negroni." I said.

"Give us two, but mine." A voice from behind surprised me.

Warmth of a body a little too close to my back, I could almost feel the touch.

"So, she finally decided to show up." he whispered in my ear.

The touch of his breath, the closeness of his body and a hand that descended to the lower part of my back produced an absolute brain shutdown for a couple of moments - and arousal in my body. If only I'd watched even one porno in my life! I hadn't even tried to masturbate. Certainly not at home in the flat, God, absolutely not. Even the thought would bring the stern figure of Dad to mind. Actually, I did once, in our house by the sea, in summer, when you hear all sorts of things through open neighbouring windows. But it was somehow weird and I felt uncomfortable with paralyzing shame. But no, shame tonight wouldn't exist. I'd set a goal, and I'd stick to it!

I turned toward him, with the only successful tool I possessed—nothing could be seen on my face. Emotions were locked away, only my hand secretly counted the pearls on the necklace.

"A little break before throwing myself at a doctorate." I said.

"Mmmmm, the girl who always has some book in her hand." He took the glasses from the counter and handed me one. It wasn't the deep red drink I'd ordered, it was the colour of dark amber.

"Well, here I am now with a glass in my hand."

He bowed theatrically and gallantly, extended his hand and said, "Milady, allow me to lead you to somewhere more comfortable where we can peacefully... chat. It's a bit loud here."

And of course he kissed my hand when I took his, between the knuckles, at that tender junction, looking directly into my eyes. I felt pleasant vibrations in the abdominal region that descended toward my most innocent vagina. She was still only a vagina, she didn't know yet how to be a cunt or a pussy. It was interesting and affected a change in breathing and circulation. Adrenaline. Good, that's what I need.

All the other shames, fears and prohibitions I'd accumulated by the age of five, completely unaware I was accumulating them, they were built into the foundation that you actually can't see, even though it holds the "house", and you don't even know that you have them and why you have them. Shame about sexuality came last. I was aware of that one, you could work with that because you know what you're dealing with, I just hadn't had time for it until now.

Holding me by the hand, he led me through the space. The main area was filled with people in conversation or dancing, but as we moved further, hidden corners began to reveal themselves where couples, and in some places even more of them, were pretty openly and passionately exploring each another. Yes, my brain couldn't think of a better word in that moment than "exploring." I felt like Alice in a very interesting Wonderland. My brain, trained to scan every change in posture or facial expression (in the original, conditioned to avoid criticism), was now scanning at incredible speed how their hands moved, what places they descended to, what they did. I felt like a child in a sweet shop.

Passing through a hallway in one of the rooms with the door completely open alongside loud moaning, before my eyes "it" was happening. She was bent with her hands on the bed, he was standing behind her, and the moment I looked was when he pulled his cock out of her and began slowly inserting it back. So that's what a cock looks like. Interesting. And even if I'd wanted to, I couldn't have moved another step. My legs were rooted and stopped listening to any command.

Fuck, that's big! Okay, think, concentrate, if a child comes out of a vagina, a penis isn't such a big deal. You'd read, you understand the theory, it'll be okay.

"Shameless!" he said, closing the door with such a sweet smile on those decadent lips that I immediately wanted to take the same position leaning against a wall and ask him in the most humane voice I could produce in that moment to make the same moves on me. "Maybe a bit too explicit scene for a lady?" he asked, still holding my hand.

"Certainly unexpected." I said, completely composed, mirroring his posture and energy as if I was used to watching people fuck before my eyes every day.

"Maybe it would be wise to take the lady to my rooms far from these debauchees who behave like uncontrolled animals?"

Oh, no! I mean yes, but also no! Some wild, animal, aroused curiosity seemed to suddenly take complete control over me. My God, I wanted to stay, watch, learn, see every detail, I wanted to be that uncontrolled animal.

"Of course, if the gentleman thinks his rooms are appropriate for a lady." Where did that come from? Some movie, some series? Probably in a different context, but it fit.

He drew closer, wickedly close, putting my hand on his chest—oh God, that sensation under my fingertips produced indescribable pleasure. He wrapped one arm around my waist, rattling ice cubes bathing in his glass, and his other hand freed my hair from the too-tight bun and joined his other hand. So close, and yet that closeness wasn't enough to satisfy this need that had arisen, whatever it was called.

"Nina, I won't bullshit you, I won't insult your intelligence... if we go into my room, you know what's going to happen? I've been waiting way too long to taste you and I'm not going to miss this opportunity, but only if we go into my room. You can still change your mind. You're a challenge to me, immune so far to all my attempts... you know I'm not offering you love or a relationship, but I want to fuck you."

That moment was a beast grown in a cage, released into the wild. Open desire, saying the word "fuck," without any shame with such sincere lust... yes, that's what it was called. Lust. I liked that feeling.

"Lead me to that room or you'll have to fuck me in this hallway, now!"

I don't remember the space, I don't remember us climbing the stairs, I don't remember anything until the moment the door closed behind us, when he took the glass from my hand, set it aside, and then his body pinned me to the door with a kiss so intense I forgot to breathe. The only desire was to remove the fabric between us and feel bare skin on bare skin. I started unbuttoning his shirt, but he took my hands, raised them above my head and paused for a moment to watch my struggle to catch breath.

"Does the young lady have any special wishes? Something you particularly like or, perhaps something you don't like?"

"I have no idea!" burst out of me.

He stopped, and then slowly lowered my hands.

"How do you mean you have no idea?" There was something different in his gaze, disbelief and a cautious look. "Nina, there were stories at university... please tell me it's not true."

"You mean that I'm a 'frigid, cold bitch'?"

"No, geez, not that, you're anything but frigid from what I can see. You're strange, I won't lie to you, always with some bloody disciplined control. I can never read any emotion on your face. Fucking attractive and terrifying at the same time. I mean the other thing." he moved away, sat on the edge of the bed and watched me with a great change. He began controlling his breathing.

"You mean that I'm still a virgin?"

"Yes."

"And that's a problem?"

He looked at me as if I'd asked him something absolutely unreasonable.

"Fuck, Nina, I'm a fucker, not a lover! I don't want to be responsible for your potential traumas on your first time. I've been hard since the moment I saw you come in without a bra."

Oops, it seems the waistcoat from the suit wasn't much help.

"And? Isn't that what's needed at this point?"

"Fuck, do I really have to draw it for you? Nina, I'm not... I'm really not a tender and attentive lover. I get turned on, I'm passionate, overly passionate for someone as controlled as you. I don't want to hurt you, I don't want you to get scared and stop exploring sex. I'll probably regret this decision later, hitting my head against the wall, but now, while I'm still thinking with my head, please, turn around and go home and find someone who'll do that for you, I don't know, out of love, maybe, that would be fine, to start with love instead of just fucking."

It was interesting to hear how he perceived me.

"You think sex is something that could scare me?"

"Yes."

"Interesting observation."

"Geez, Nina..."

"And if I don't leave? And don't I also have the right to a decision no matter what it brings?"

"Nina..." There was something painful in his voice. "Don't do this to yourself. You're... you're just different, from some other world, a rational girl, an intellectual. I'm a waster, different views on the world... honestly, it wouldn't be indifferent to me if you hated me tomorrow."

One thing my fucked-up upbringing brought as something good: if I decided to do something, I'd do it, without giving up, until I achieved the goal—except for fucking foreign languages, I'd drawn the line there.

I removed the necklace, the suit jacket slipped to the floor, the waistcoat, I started unbuttoning the shirt... His eyes changed in the quality of his gaze, the muscles in his face tightened slightly; his breathing accelerated again.

"Nina..." he said my name softly, simultaneously with passion and rejection.

The shirt opened with the last unbuttoned button and exposed my breasts to his gaze, not completely uncovered, not quite hidden either. It was indescribably thrilling to see a gaze in which there was neither disappointment nor contempt, only genuine appreciation.

I was surprised not to feel even a hint of shame. My whole life, dressed and completely asexual, I felt shame, and here I stand half-naked with the undisguised intention of sex, and I feel free. That new, incredible sensation of freedom flowed through my thighs. His gaze radiated admiration. A completely unknown feeling, but thrilling! He didn't move, sat with increasingly rapid breathing, rejection melted away. I came to him and held out my hands to undo my cufflinks. Without objection, he did so and placed them on the small table next to the bed.

"You're one stubborn being, you know."

"At least I'm not a frigid bitch. Now you can call me a stubborn bitch."

I don't know what that statement triggered in him, but he grabbed me by the waist and pulled me between his legs. I could feel the warmth of his breath on my breasts. He let the shirt slip from my shoulders and almost hungrily took my nipple in his mouth. It was pleasant while he moved from one nipple to the other... mmm, that soft and wet touch... but I'd read that women can experience orgasm from only nipple stimulation, an orgasm should be something much stronger... Oh? Uh! Okay, now something started happening. He increased the pressure with his lips while his other hand cupped the other breast, thumb and forefinger twisting nipple with a slight squeeze. Stimulation of the nipples activates the same area of ​​the brain that is activated during stimulation of the clitoris, vagina and cervix. That makes sense.

During arousal, the vagina should lubricate so penetration wouldn't injure the walls and would be easier and more pleasant, that makes sense too.

And then he stopped. Yes, we should both get completely undressed. I started unbuttoning my belt, but he stopped my hands.

"Okay, stop! This won't work."

"Why?"

"Because I can see you turning the wheels in your head instead of relaxing and starting to feel pleasure. I don't want to be responsible for your possibly, actually definitely, painful first time and without an orgasm either, and if you don't relax and shut off your brain, there's no orgasm or..."

"... or bodily secretions lubricate so penis can penetrate, I know."

"Geez, you really know how to kill a fantasy."

"Okay, instead of being cynical, let's go completely open." I started removing my trousers. "What will turn you off? Because what I'm doing now is controlling an unbridled need to jump on you, rip that clothing off you and fuck you if you won't fuck me and I don't know if that's okay with you or..." I stood naked in front of him.

I'm not sure if I managed to finish the sentence before I landed on the bed and felt how he spreads my thighs and plunges his tongue into my pussy. The next few moments I wasn't quite sure what was up and what was down, maybe I didn't even know my own name. Only his wet, warm tongue was present, circling, touching, licking and creating pleasures that weren't quite so detailed in the literature I'd read to be experienced at an experiential level.

"Open your mouth!" came almost like an order.

"Huh?" was all I could coherently answer.

"Open your mouth, don't clench them and let that sweet fucking whimper out of you because if I'm going to fuck you, I need to hear that you're at least enjoying it."

"A-ha, ha, a, aaa, aaa, huh, o God! Mmmmmm aaaa, a, a, a, a," that's roughly how I heard myself the same moment I released my lips from their clench. Anyway, it served its purpose because he undressed in the shortest imaginable time and returned.

It didn't take long. Everything blurred absolutely, every muscle on my body tensed, I moaned now quite loudly with indescribable pleasure and with absolutely no chance of control while his tongue caressed my clit, playing simultaneously with his finger at the very entrance inside me, actually, he was everywhere. The orgasm came so suddenly that I literally jumped off the bed's surface.

"Easy, girl! We've only just started."

Oh God, where are my hands, where are my legs, where is my brain, and where is my pussy? Somehow there was no difference in sensation. My entire existence was in some undefined spacetime of universal pleasure while I gasped for air and tried to regain control of my senses and body.

After some time, an unstoppable laugh burst out of me. Nothing was funny, that laugh simply had its own will, its own logic and a completely different meaning. Something like joy, maybe? He lay on his side, head propped on his hand, stroking my stomach and the area above my pubic bone.

"Okay, filly, there's potential in you." he winked.

"Wait, that's not all, I mean, we haven't yet..."

He laughed so sweetly I would have gladly smacked him.

"We've only just started, dear, we've only just started." He raised himself and again favoured my breasts with attention. And then he stopped.

"Okay, can you explain to me your logic for why every time I start to enjoy these beautiful pink buds you activate those wheels in your brain?"

"How...?"

"I can see. I can't read any emotion, okay, except that one a moment ago, but I see when you bury yourself in thought. Okay, what is it now? Tell me!"

"Well, I can't just lie there and not participate. Sex is action and reaction, both sides participate with equal engagement." My gaze fell to his cock. Oh wow, up close and with my full attention for the first time, that thing looked really big, simultaneously attractive and terrifying.

He watched my reaction and seemed to like the way I was looking at him.

"There will be time for that. This is your first time. You have that lovely privilege of just lying there and enjoying, okay? That's for another lesson."

"And will there be another lesson?"

"I'm not promising, but if I ask him..." and then he moved his muscles, and it looked like his cock nodded in agreement.

The laugh somehow found its way to expression again. It didn't bother him, on the contrary, he seemed to enjoy my spontaneous outbursts.

"Okay, this is definitely the strangest sex I've ever had, but I'm not complaining. Come on, get that out of your head so we can continue because this is starting to hurt."

"I understand, excessive stimulation can cause..." he covered my mouth.

"Nope, no analysis! Explore, ask, touch, but no scientific explanations, textbook theory and analysis, okay?"

I nodded.

"You're fucking sexy, you know?"

"I don't, but thanks."

"Okay, tell me, what else is bothering you?"

"Well, I have to at least touch it before, look, I'm face to face with... it for the first time; I'm curious."

"First of all, feel free to say cock."

"Cock."

"Fuck, you're a dream I didn't even know I was having."

He touched my clitoris, gently, just lightly caressing it.

"Say 'pussy,' tenderly, the way she deserves when she's so irresistibly cuddly."

"Pussy."

"Okay, when we get more serious and when I get turned on, I might say I want your cunt more than anything. That's passion, not an insult, okay?"

"Cunt. I like it, it's more alive than vagina."

He closed his eyes and let out a husky tone. "Okay, filly, can your further questions not wait? Somehow I'm more for hands-on work than theoretical."

"I have to touch him first."

"The moment you put those sweet hands on him, I can't guarantee how long I'll last."

"Before an orgasm?"

"Yes, darling, before an orgasm! Geez!"

"So how long do you need to recover?"

"Oh, fuck!" he rolled his eyes, grabbed my hands and placed them on his cock, guiding me in exploration. I jerked when he increased the pressure.

"Does that hurt you?"

"No, it's this waiting that hurts me. It's not too strong, just let me guide you."

This was an otherworldly experience. We glided together with all four of our hands across his cock's body, from root to head, exploring the sensitive head and rim; each time we reached the end of the shaft, he pulled my palms all the way to the top, gathering them, it lasted some time in simultaneous wonder and excitement at this miraculous moment until I freed one hand and lowered it to his testicles. They were the ugliest thing I'd seen on his body, but it wasn't repulsive. I'd barely started to massage them lightly when he let out something like a semi-cry.

"Nina! Fuck!" and then came a series of short gasps with simultaneous sudden acceleration and a final, almost cutting, sound of satisfaction with convulsions in his body. Sperm sprayed everywhere. "Fuuuck!" his voice vibrated, his breathing was completely arrhythmic. I felt a drop of semen on my face and didn't dare to move, keeping my hands in the same place. I didn't know what to do with a cock after orgasm. He felt the hesitation. Several more times, far more gently, we glided across him until he completely stopped our hands.

"I see this is going to become a very advanced course soon." he said it in a still slightly unstable voice and picked semen off my face with his finger. "Okay, this isn't quite in the beginner's course, but it's so damn sexy when a woman tastes you."

I watched the semen on his finger, very undecided. The colour and texture reminded me of glue, it didn't look edible.

He laughed.

"I appreciate, young lady, that you know how to say what you don't want."

"It's not that I don't want to, it's just..."

"Stop! Men in your life will hate me, but listen to me: never apologize for something you don't want in sex, okay? Never! Draw a line, even if you change your mind later." He winked and wiped his hands on his shirt, and then my hands too.

He got up from the bed and went for the glasses we'd left at the entrance to the room. It was lovely to watch that naked, self-confident body, accustomed to pleasure, move freely through the space. He returned to bed with glasses, an ashtray and a lit cigarette.

"I think that's the first time I've heard you laugh like this, so openly and loudly, actually at all." he clinked glasses with mine; the ice had already melted.

"Probably." I took a sip, it was uninteresting to the point of discomfort.

"Whisky, give it a chance. Liqueurs aren't for you. Do you smoke?"

"No."

"Of course not, stupid question."

He watched me openly with piercing curiosity. I reached out my hand, took the cigarette, inhaled the smoke, it was revolting, and I handed it back to him. He still looked motionlessly at me.

"What?" I asked, expecting some criticism or something unpleasant.

"What's your story? I mean, you're strange, in a twisted, attractive way. Always so withdrawn, serious, focused only on learning. But I have to give you credit for today's outfit. Please, explain to me how it's even possible for women these days to be virgins at twenty-four."

"I don't know about others. For me, it's a matter of upbringing, conditioning."

"Well, the esteemed professor didn't strike me as some religious fanatic, if I may observe."

"No, on the contrary, a convinced agnostic, if those two words together make sense. But his real faith, actually, was exclusively "The Mind". Everything physical didn't exist, silently forbidden. You can translate that as some weird cult brainwashing. You believe everything when you know nothing else."

"Still, the body has needs."

"Not if you shut it down and force it to serve only as logistics for the mind."

He didn't say anything for a long time. We sat in silence and sipped. With time it became more palatable.

"Nudity suits you well." he said suddenly with an almost tender smile. And then he sighed heavily. "You're getting under my skin, shorty, you know, that really wasn't the plan."

"Then revive your monster and let's get to work, I need to get home at least before dawn."

"Oh? Improved version of Cinderella?"

"No, really I need to get home... Mum, I have to give her medicine."

"Is she ill?"

"Yes."

"Flu? Pretty rampant these days."

"Cancer." I said it as if he'd asked what the weather forecast was for tomorrow.

He fell silent, stubbed out his cigarette, drained his glass, took my glass from my hand and set them aside. I expected lesson three and the achievement of my goal, instead, he pulled me into the bed and embraced me with arms and body. An embrace. I stiffened. I stiffened at a damn embrace, and not at the moment when he'd plunged his tongue into my pussy or when I'd held a cock in my hand! Something was seriously wrong with me. It's not like I didn't already know. I'd long recognized that I was off some kind of normal. This was such a strange experience that I didn't know what to do with it. An embrace, the most ordinary embrace, and I'd lost my mind more than from anything that had happened all evening. A slight panic attack.

"Just lie here, feel this, don't analyze." he whispered, stroking my hair, wrapped around me like that. I don't know how much time passed before my muscles began to relax. I felt somehow safe and warm and began to slowly enjoy the caressing of my face, shoulders, arms, back without stiffening or jerking at every new touch. That was a much bigger surprise, even than the orgasm. I had confidence that nothing bad could happen to me beside him. Warmth in my chest, and that area was usually filled with emptiness or coldness.

When tender kisses came, this strange moment slowly started to take on an excited note again.

"It looks like you've managed to turn a fucker into a lover, shorty." he said. His voice shocked me with its tenderness.

My hands began sliding across his body, exploratory, with curiosity. My lips followed. It seemed I could spend hours breathing in the scent of his skin and kissing the area of his neck, torso... No, down there I still didn't dare with my lips. Theoretically it was clear to me, but with this little experience, I didn't want to risk catching him with my teeth in some clumsy attempt. At least, not while I was still a damn virgin.

"Okay, can you please explain to me what's going on? Are your nipples overly sensitive, maybe?"

"What?" I notice that he was gently playing with them again, stroking them. It wasn't strange that I hadn't noticed when I felt his touch so present on absolutely every part of my skin that I couldn't distinguish where exactly he is, and where was the memory of touch.

"Third time I try to enjoy these fucking attractive nipples and you activate the wheels again."

"Orally, I mean, to you... how can I be sure I won't catch you with my teeth?"

"First of all, that's not in today's education and second... we'll solve that when the time comes. ... Nina, are you sure that's what you want? Why is it so important that you're no longer a virgin today, today specifically?"

I think it's about that damned word "virgin", it instantly angered me and woke something wild in me. Before he could react, I straddled him, flipping him onto his back and settled in, enjoying being able to freely explore that lovely chest with my hands.

"Because if I don't do it today, I don't know when I'll get another chance, given the schedule and plans, and because I decided I'd do it today. If you're freaked out by a twenty-four-year-old virgin, imagine how someone would react if I came to him like that at thirty?"

His nipples were smaller than mine, okay, we knew that, but I was surprised with what pleasure he enjoyed that touch.

"Why exactly thirty? Does desire come once every six years?"

"No, but by the time I finish my doctorate, and I'm thinking of also enrolling in psychology, start a business and make it a brand, just enough time will pass that I'll allow myself this lovely hedonism again."

I felt him waking and growing beneath me.

"That's not hedonism, filly, that's a need, elemental, like the need for food, and you're starving, darling! Screw books! "

I slid across his increasingly firm length with my increasingly wetter pussy, rubbing my clit with that lovely head. He enjoyed it just as much as I did, pushing himself toward me. Our movements were getting faster and faster, his eyes darker, his breathing deeper with such lovely sighs. He let me explore both him and myself. I felt pleasure at his pleasure. It became very intense.

In one movement, he flipped me and found himself above me, looking directly into my eyes, looking for consent. Instead of answering, I put my hand down and positioned him at my slit. That first penetration took my breath away. He didn't take his eyes off mine, pushing slowly but surely deeper and then that stupid physical barrier. He stopped.

"We'll stain your sheets, maybe some towel..."

Sharp pain cut off the sentence and left me breathless. He stayed motionless inside me, calm and lowered his lips to mine. I don't know if it was to make me stop babbling or as comfort. He kissed my face, forehead, neck...

"I want you, filly, I want to fuck you wildly and without restraint, but we have to go slow now, okay?"

"Okay."

"What are you doing to me? Still inside you, and already I'm dying at the thought that I'll eventually have to pull out."

"Well, this is your pussy now while the lessons last, it's not like she won't be available."

I felt him jump inside me, almost like the wave of passion, and I felt he was barely restraining himself from wanting to continue the movement.

"Geez! You're destroying me!"

After some time, he slowly began to move again and pleasure began to change pain. I wanted to keep my gaze on his eyes, but with each new wave of pleasure, my eyelids failed obedience.

His fingers exploring me, gentle stroking my clit creating a different sensation of pleasure from this divine sensation of his cock rubbing against my walls. I floated on those two different and simultaneous intense waves of satisfaction. Our movements aligned into a joint hungry rhythm, which was getting faster and more intense. I felt my fingers digging firmly into his back, my brain was filled with a complete fog of incredible pleasure, each new movement expelled breath from my lungs and turned it into a gasp, a moan and then... he suddenly pulled out of me, took my hand and put it on my pussy and began stroking with our hands, together, while he climbed and descended with his other hand along his own pleasure.

"Fuck, I forgot the condom." he managed to say through the convulsions of his own orgasm.

"Touch yourself, Nina, touch yourself!" he ordered in that deep, so attractive rasping voice before he cried out, moaned and tensed in yet another orgasm.

He held my hand in place, and I didn't move until after some time he lay down beside me and continued guiding my hand with his.

"Explore yourself, find what you like. Forget the books, it's your pussy, find what excites you the most."

I don't know what was more exciting, feeling my own pleasure under my own fingers or the fact that there were actually ten fingers at once, each touch delivered small pleasant electric shocks throughout my entire body until I clenched in final pleasure. He embraced me. This time there was more pleasure than discomfort in that unknown act of attention.

"I told you I'd fuck up. We should have gone for a mutual orgasm, that would have been the full experience. We'll do it tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

"Well, we're not stopping now that it's going so well for you. It's my pussy now, isn't it?" he made a small pause and hesitated for a moment. "I'm traveling with the friends in two weeks, a little Goa psychedelia in life won't hurt, it's already planned."

"Okay, I'm a good student, I learn fast. Two weeks is more than enough."

"You're a wonder! And a little fool. Are you aware of what you've done tonight? I could have been far more bastard than I am, and you could have experienced serious trauma instead of two orgasms."

"I'm immune to new traumas. I think my 'inbox' is full."

"You know, I'm somehow starting to believe that."

"Why was it so repulsive to you that I was a virgin?"

"It wasn't repulsive to me. I told you, I didn't want that responsibility."

"No, that's not it."

He sighed.

"Because I misjudged you. I thought you'd stiffen up, that you'd be uncomfortable in your body, in my body, and that I'd feel like I was assaulting you."

"Funny, why did you think that about me?"

"Weirdo!" he laughed sweetly.

"I need to go."

"Geez, you're worse than me!"

"No, really I need to go... Mum..."

"Come on, get up, I'll drive you home."

"You don't have to drive me home."

"You won't drive alone after such an intense experience."

"I don't drive, so I will take a taxi."

"The taxi driver won't be driving you home with that smile on your face in a shirt with no bra and no knickers, no way! Come on, first a shower, then I'm driving you home. Move! No discussion!"