syd

note: because this is an intimate shaving fic, reader is described as having pubic hair. reblogs and comments are very much appreciated!

It’s past midnight, and you’re scrolling in bed with your phone screen’s brightness turned down low. You just want a basic wax or a facial to relax for thirty minutes. You type body waxing near me to scroll through the results until a place called Angel Estetica catches your eye. The website looks exactly like what the actual place looks like. You click the link to check the menu.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀──⠀⠀ ꒰ ︎ WELCOME TO ANGEL ESTETICA ! ♡ ︎ ꒱ ︎

SERVICES ╱ treatment menu ﹙ click to view ﹚ ❣

Full body waxing

Bikini laser

Sugaring

Dermaplaning

Intimate shaving

“Intimate shaving?” you mumble. You tap the option to see what it is, and a new page loads up with the logo in the corner.

PACKAGES ╱ choose your service ﹙ select one ﹚ ❣

Bikini line ꒱ This treatment focuses on the edges only to keep things neat for a swimsuit. The session includes a warm towel and an application of our aftercare balm.

Brazilian soft ꒱ This option removes all hair from the front to the back for a completely bare finish. The package includes an optional rinse, a calming balm, and a warm towel.

Signature bare ꒱ This service focuses specifically on the labia and excludes the backside. We use a sterilized razor with hypoallergenic cream for a perfectly clean shave. A warm towel and aftercare balm are included at the end.

REMINDER⠀♡⠀The technician will walk you through each step, and they may request gentle repositioning to ensure full access. This service is strictly non-sexual, discreet, and performed only by trained hands.

Your eyes read the offers on the screen, and you realize that paying a stranger to use a razor near your cunt sounds crazy, but it also sounds really nice. Your legs squeeze together beneath the blanket as you think about it. It’s been a long time since you let someone get that close to you. You just want to lie there while a professional takes care of you without making a big deal of it. “Fuck it,” you mutter before you hit the book button, and the screen loads to a new page for your contact details.

You type in a nickname instead of your real name, and you use a burner email just in case. You leave the phone number blank before clicking next. A small calendar pops up to show the available appointments. Tomorrow morning is way too early, so you scroll down until you find a spot right after lunch on Friday. “That works,” you mumble while tapping the screen to select the time. A checkbox appears at the bottom of the page, right after. The box is just another reminder stating the service is strictly non-sexual. You click it to confirm you understand, without thinking it through too much.

The final step asks if you have a preferred technician. There’s a short list of names to pick from, but you ignore it. You just want someone professional who won’t make things weird while they do their job. Leaving it blank automatically assigns someone, so you just press the submit button. The screen loads for a second before showing a message that your booking was received. You lock your phone to roll over your bed. Your screen lights up thirty seconds later with a new notification.

⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀──⠀⠀ ꒰ ︎ INBOX : 1 NEW MESSAGE ♡ ︎ ꒱ ︎

APPOINTMENT ╱ confirmation ﹙ click to view ﹚ ❣

Hello. Your appointment has been successfully booked.

Service ꒱ Intimate Shaving - Signature Bare

Date ꒱ Friday

Time ꒱ 2:00 p.m.

Technician ꒱ Art Donaldson

REMINDER⠀♡⠀ Please arrive 5-10 minutes early if possible. Arriving 15 minutes late means your appointment will be given to others. See you soon.

You blink at your phone, as if you did something that offended you. “Art Donaldson?” you say out loud as you sit up in bed to read the screen again. It made your stomach drop when you realized you really left the technician option completely blank. You stare at the male name on the screen and wonder what you just got yourself into. You tap back to the website page and scroll down until you find the specialist section. There’s a photo of Art Donaldson where he’s wearing a polo, with a good haircut and stubble. He looks young with a friendly smile that makes your skin prickle. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” you whisper while staring right at his picture.

His brief bio says he’s fully trained and has years of experience under his hands. The profile about him includes reviews from past clients who call him gentle and professional. You scroll down further to read comments from other women as you try to reassure yourself. One of them says she was incredibly nervous, and another mentions it was her first time getting bare. You find a review that calls it the most relaxed she ever felt with her legs open towards a man she doesn’t even know. “Well, at least he’s got good reviews,” you mutter when you finish reading the comments.

You tell yourself that this is just a job for him because he’s a trained professional. You’ve been to the gynecologist before, so this shouldn’t feel any different. You glance at the clock to see it’s already 1:31 a.m. and realize you shouldn’t be worrying this much this late. You let your head fall back onto the pillow, but your stomach flips when you picture his hands holding a razor between your legs. You’ll just show up at your appointment like a normal adult because it’s only shaving. “I just need to go to sleep,” you groan while yanking the blanket over your face, and you manage to fall asleep eventually, but Friday afternoon arrives much quicker than you expected.

The first thing you notice when you walk into Angel Estetica is that the place is completely covered in different shades of pink. There are orchid-pink chairs and rose curtains everywhere, while jazz music plays to make people feel relaxed. The whole place looks like it was designed to make women feel completely comfortable. The receptionist wears clear lip gloss, and she smiles immediately when you walk up to the front desk. “Hi there, do you have an appointment with us today?” she asks while looking up from her computer. “Yes, I have an appointment,” you reply, and tell them the nickname you used while leaning against the counter.

She checks her screen to look up your details. “Found it, you’re booked for the Signature package at two o’clock afternoon with Art Donaldson,” she says before pausing to check your reaction. “Just, so you’re aware, Art is a male technician, but he’s fully certified. I can see if anyone else is free if that makes you uncomfortable,” she adds while watching your face. You take a quick breath because you just want to get this over with. “No, that’s totally fine,” you say to reassure her before you smile at her. She doesn’t question you further, so she leads you down a pink hallway toward the treatment rooms.

She stops outside the third door and turns the handle to let you inside. “You can take everything off from the waist down and wrap yourself in that robe on the rack,” she explains while pointing toward the clean bed. “He’ll knock before coming in, so just take your time getting ready,” she mentions, then steps back into the hall. “Thanks, I appreciate it,” you say when she closes the door behind her. The private room is just as pink as the lobby, with a comfortable bed and a small shelf on the wall. You undress slowly, and you’re trying to stop your mind from racing. You fold your clothes into the little basket and tie the robe loosely around your waist.

You sit on the edge of the mattress with your naked legs touching the sheets, and you stare down at your knees in the quiet room while you wait for him. It’s funny how you’re about to let a strange man touch you there, but you tell yourself it’s just a normal aesthetic treatment. A knock on the door interrupts your thoughts. “Come in,” you call out while wrapping the robe tighter around yourself. The door opens, and Art walks in like it’s a normal day. You sit on the edge of the table with your knees pressed together while you’re trying not to look like someone who booked a male technician at one in the morning.

He looks tall in his beige uniform and shuts the door behind him before he looks right at you. He carries a small tray of clean towels, with a new razor resting alongside the other things needed for this session. “Are we doing the Signature package today?” he asks, and he steps further into the room to walk over the table. “Yes, that’s the one,” you reply and nod your head to confirm the appointment. “I’m Art, I’ll be taking care of your service today,” he says before he sets the tray down on the rolling cart right next to the table. Art gives you a polite nod, and you feel a sudden relief when he gestures toward the bed.

“Go ahead and lie back. I’ll get the towels ready,” he instructs before he turns around to prep his station. You hesitate for a second, but he doesn’t move closer. Art puts on his gloves and then turns to grab the clean towels from the tray. You grip the sides of the table while you slowly lie down onto the sheet, and the robe slides down your thighs when your legs part slightly. Your breath hitches when Art places the first towel right at your navel and puts the second one over your upper legs to leave the center open. Cool air brushes the exposed area before his gloved hands press against your hips to adjust the fabric.

He applies pressure to tuck the edges under your thighs. “I’ll start with a warm compress. Let me know if anything feels uncomfortable,” he explains before he walks over to the warmer on the counter to unfold a hot towel. You nod when he steps back to the table to start, and you’re not used to the feeling when Art wipes the warm towel over your mound. He presses a little firmer each time, but the fabric doesn’t feel rough against your thighs. He places the towel down after a moment and grabs the cream from his tray. His gloved fingers trace downward to the outside of your lips, and his palm presses against your pelvis to force an unexpected noise out of your mouth.

“Nnh- fuck. S-sorry,” you murmur when you realize you made a sound out loud and brace your body against the mattress. Heat blooms across your cheeks as you stare at the ceiling. You feel embarrassed about a noise you didn’t mean to make, and you hope he didn’t hear it, but you glance down and catch his jaw tightening. “I didn’t mean to-” you start to say before you cut yourself off because you feel too exposed. “Hey, you don’t have to apologize,” he says after he pauses his work, but his reassurance only makes the heat spread further. Art talks to you as if you did something brave just by lying there under his hand, and prepares the rest of his supplies.

His fingers spread the cream along your folds. He acts as if he deals with nervous clients all the time, so your reaction doesn’t surprise him. “Seriously,” he murmurs and keeps his attention on you as he leans closer. “You’re okay,” he says and moves his hand back up to rest right on your mound. You want to thank him for not making a big deal out of it, but you just stare at the ceiling. You feel ridiculous for making the situation weird, but Art simply ignores it. You twitch when his hand glides forward again, and your fingers squeeze the sides of the table. The cream shocks you with cold when his glove wipes across your cunt.

Art rubs the cream evenly across your labia and keeps his gaze down, without a word, to let you adjust to the temperature. Another sound slips from your mouth as he smooths the cream higher up your pelvis. “Nh- mhm,” you mumble and try to keep your legs open despite the urge to close them. He glances at you briefly and then looks back down to focus on his task. “It’s okay,” he says when he rests his hand right against your thigh to support you. “You don’t have to be nervous,” he whispers. Art picks up the razor from the tray and treats you gently as he holds the tool with one hand while his other hand flattens the surface.

Your neck burns when you look down to where his gloved hand rests right next to your clit, but he keeps things strictly professional. “You’re doing fine,” he tells you and lines the blade up against your mound. You want to say something funny, but you just stare at the ceiling again. “Mhm- nghh,” you whine from the back of your throat when the razor starts moving along the top of your cunt to shave the hair. He shaves the area clean. Heat burns your face, and you pray Art doesn’t notice how wet you get under his touch. His gloved left hand rests on your thigh while his right hand holds the razor.

The top of your mound is bare now, so he looks at the hair right next to your slit. The towel rests across your hips, and you realize leaving the technician preference blank on the website for the Signature package was a mistake, especially after you declined the receptionist’s offer to give you a female technician earlier today. “Can I move the towel down a bit?” he asks and points his left hand toward your hips. “I need to reach the rest of the hair,” he adds and waits for your answer. You sigh when you remember the whimper you let out earlier, since you already let him see more than you planned today.

“Nngh- okay,” you whisper back and squeeze your eyes shut. Art keeps the razor in his right hand, and his left hand grabs the edge of the towel. He pulls the fabric down an inch to expose your cunt and then moves his left hand to the inside of your knee to push your leg out. Your stomach drops when he looks at the wettest part of you without saying a word. “Thank you,” he murmurs and moves his left hand to dip his fingers into the cream container. You have no idea what he is thanking you for, but heat floods your face. He spreads the cream over the left side of your labia, and his fingertips glide right above your clit to coat the area.

You flinch when he touches that spot, yet he ignores your reaction. Art works the cream along the edge of your slit, and you squirm when his glove gets close to your opening to prepare the area. “Is this okay?” he asks and looks up at your face to check your comfort. “Mhm- y-yes,” you answer and try to catch your breath. He places his left hand back against your thigh to pin you in place and then brings the razor in his right hand down to your labia to shave the left side. The razor glides over the cream on your pussy to shave the hair, and he reaches over to wipe the blade on a towel every few seconds.

It doesn’t hurt since the cream protects you, but your clit pulses from the continuous touch. He works in silence as you lie on the table and soon gets right next to your slit to shave. You know he has to look, and the realization makes your face burn. Your hands grab the towel underneath you, and you try to close your legs. He notices your reaction and pauses what he’s doing with the razor. “You’re doing good,” he says as he looks up at your face to offer reassurance. “Almost done with this side, so let me know if you need to stop,” he adds and pulls a small stool over, so he can finally sit down.

You force out a nod instead since you cannot find your words. Art leans back in to prep the right side next and grabs a towel with his left hand to wipe the cream from the shaved side on the left. He wipes close without touching your opening, but you feel too worked up under his focus. “Thank you,” he murmurs when he sets the towel aside. You have no idea what he keeps thanking you for, but heat blooms across your cheeks again. His left thumb pauses right above your clit, where the cream sits on your flesh. “I can get this part now,” he says. His eyes flick down, then meet yours to gauge your reaction.

“Can I put my thumb here to spread the cream?” he asks while his thumb waits right above your clit. You stare at the ceiling and feel like you can hardly breathe. “O-okay,” you whisper back and force your knees wider to give him access. He rubs his left thumb in circles to spread the cream over your clit, and you close your eyes when the attention becomes too much. He pushes his thumb against the sensitive spot until a sound slips out to break the quiet of the room. “Nnh- mmph,” you gasp, and your legs squirm against the table.

You grab the sheet beneath your hips because your cunt reacts to his hand. Art stops moving his thumb after he hears the noise. “It’s okay,” he murmurs as he looks up at your face to catch your eye. “You don’t have to hide it,” he adds. He keeps his left hand resting against your thigh to hold you in place and then uses the razor in his right hand to work on the right side of your pussy. He slides the blade down to shave the hair and reaches for a towel to clean the razor after every stroke. It doesn’t hurt despite the blade, but a shudder ripples through you anyway when he shaves all the way down the edge of your labia.

He sets the razor down on his tray, then grabs a clean towel to wipe the cream off your thighs. He drops the towel into the basket and then stands up to pull his gloves off. “The right side is done,” he says and looks at your face to check your status. “Do you want some water before we finish?” he asks and walks over to the counter to gather his supplies. You nod because your throat feels dry from the tension. “Yeah- thank you,” you whisper back. You prop yourself up on your elbows to drink, and he fills a cup with water before bringing it over.

You swallow the water and slightly dent the paper cup under his gaze when he watches you finish the drink. “This is more intense than a wax,” you admit. You hand the cup back to him, and he throws it into the trash before a smirk crosses his face. “Really?” he asks and pulls new gloves out of the box to snap them onto his hands. “Yeah,” you mutter. Warmth spreads across your face when you confess that you think it’s just having a guy do it, and you lie back down against the table. Art snaps the new gloves on and then steps back to his place by your legs to resume.

“Well,” he says and picks the razor up from his tray to finish the task. “I’ll try to make the rest of it easy for you,” he adds and looks down at your cunt. He rests his left hand on your inner thigh, and then he brings the blade down to shave the rest. You twitch when he gets close to your opening because the sensation spikes again. “Are you good to keep going?” he asks after he checks your face to make sure you can handle it. “Mhm- yes,” you answer to let him complete the job without delay. He dips his fingers back into the cream and then leans closer to apply it to the bottom of your slit.

You watch his thumb slide the cream under your opening, and the razor waits in his right hand. The room feels quiet when he focuses on your cunt, so you force yourself to speak. “Hey- isn’t it weird?” you ask to, sound casual. Your legs twitch on the table when you try to distract yourself. “Like- do you ever get bothered touching pussies all day without getting tired of it?” you add to force a conversation through the silence. Art keeps his attention on his work, but a smirk shows on his face when he hears your question. “It’s just part of the job,” he replies as he lines the razor up against the cream at the base of your opening to continue shaving.

“You just have to be professional,” he explains and scrapes the blade down your labia. You let out a laugh and feel stupid for asking. “I just thought you’d be grossed out by it,” you mutter and bite the inside of your cheek in regret. He brings the razor down to shave the hair, but then he stops to look up and hold your gaze. “It’s just part of the body,” he points out, and then his eyes drop back down to your cunt to resume his task. “But some clients are more interesting than others,” he adds and drags the blade over the cream. You stare at him because you don’t know what to do with that comment.

“What do you mean by that?” you ask and swallow hard. Art wipes the razor on a towel next to him and then places his left thumb right above your clit. “Some bodies are just easier to read,” he murmurs as he looks into your eyes to hold your attention. “They tell me everything,” he finishes, and his thumb rubs over the top of your mound to emphasize his point. Your stomach drops because you know exactly what he means by that statement. “Nnh- that’s messed up,” you whine when his thumb pushes against you.

He ignores your comment and breathes out through his nose before he goes back to shaving the bottom. You feel exposed under his hands. Art works the blade in strokes to shave the end of your slit and finally sets the razor down on his tray to reach for a towel. He uses the towel to wipe the cream away. You try to catch your breath when his hand moves around the outside of your labia to clean up the mess. The towel feels warm when he cleans the area, and you force yourself not to move. He works for a moment before his hand suddenly stops.

He tilts his head and looks down at the bottom of your opening. He stares at the spot where the wetness from your cunt mixes with the cream. Art clears his throat and then looks up from the wetness between your legs to check your expression. “Hey,” he says and keeps his hands away from you to give you space. “There’s some cream that slipped down,” he observes. Your stomach drops because you know exactly why it slipped down. “I can wipe it up, but I need to get deeper if you’re okay with that,” he adds and waits for your answer.

He asks like it’s a normal question, and even though you lie on the table with your legs open for him. You swallow and then nod your head to confirm. “Mhm- yeah,” you whisper back to let him do it despite your embarrassment. He breathes out through his nose and then leans closer to your cunt. His left hand rests against your thigh, and his right hand brings the towel down to your opening. He wipes the cream from the bottom of your slit to clean the area, but your body reacts without your permission to the sudden friction.

Your toes curl against the table, and your thigh flinches to touch his hand to try and seek the warmth. “Nnh- s-sorry,” you gasp and squeeze your eyes shut. You feel like an idiot for twitching over a towel, but Art doesn’t move his hand away. “You’re fine,” he murmurs and waits for you to relax your legs against the table. “It happens more than you think,” he tells you and watches your face to make sure you are calm. Your legs are worked up, and you stare at the ceiling to cope with the intense embarrassment. “Is it clean now?” you ask. Your voice shakes, and he looks down at your pussy to check the spot.

“Almost,” he answers. His eyes flick back up to meet yours to deliver the news. “Some got inside,” he explains. His left hand rests right on your thigh, and you try not to think about how wet you are right now. “Oh- um,” you mumble and try to close your legs to hide yourself. “I can just clean it if you want,” you offer to save yourself the humiliation of him doing it. Art pushes his fingers against your thigh to stop you from closing your knees, but he doesn’t react to your panic. “It’s alright,” he says and keeps his voice steady to reassure you. “This is my job,” he reminds you, and then goes back to wiping the opening with focus.

The towel drags over the wetness when he wipes right next to your slit, and you squirm backward on the table to get away from the overwhelming feeling. “I think you got it all,” you say. You want him to stop touching you there, and you try to shift away. “You can just put the balm on now,” you add and grab the sheet under your waist to pull it down. He stops moving the towel and looks up at you to challenge your sudden movement. “Are you sure?” he asks and checks your expression to see if you are lying.

“Cream can get stuck in the folds, so I want to make sure it doesn’t bother you later,” he explains, and his right hand waits right above your slit to finish the job. You know the wetness between your legs has nothing to do with the cream, but your body aches for him to finish. “Haaah- yeah,” you whine and force your knees apart to give in to his logic. “I’m sure,” you tell him so that he will move on to the next step. Art gives you a nod and then drops the towel into the basket to clear his hands. “Okay,” he murmurs and turns back to his tray to prepare the balm.

Art grabs the jar of balm and unscrews the cap before he dips two fingers inside. You take a breath when he rubs the cold balm over your freshly shaved labia. Your thighs twitch against the table, but he ignores them and keeps working. He smooths the product from one side to the other. He avoids your opening at first, but you get wetter the more he touches your folds. The wetness makes his fingers move easily, and your hips tilt upward on their own. You grip the towel tighter when his fingers go lower and swipe right over your wet cunt. He brings his hand back up and slides two fingers between your folds to drag them straight down from your clit to your entrance.

Your breath hitches after your hips flinch at the contact. You stare at the ceiling with a burning face, but he just spreads those same two fingers against your labia to part your lips. He looks down at your pussy so that he can see everything. Your cunt twitches under his fingertips, and slick spills out over his glove because you are so turned on. He exhales through his nose before his thumb moves right against your clit to show he feels your reaction. “Is the balm feeling okay?” he asks when his fingers drag through your wetness again. You swallow hard because you feel too worked up, and his hand is right between your legs.

“Nngh- yeah, it’s good,” you answer while your hands grip the sheet underneath your waist. “Just try to relax for me,” he instructs and leaves his fingers resting right at the bottom of your slit. You need a distraction from the intense feeling, so you force your brain to come up with a topic. “Mmh- do you actually like doing this more than waxing?” you ask to force a conversation. His fingers pause at the bottom of your slit before he moves his hand to rub the balm along the outside of your labia. “I prefer it,” he answers and keeps his attention entirely focused on your cunt. You can’t believe you started this conversation when your legs are wide open for him.

“Haaah- I mean, you probably see a hundred of these a week, right?” you ask to cover up your embarrassment. “More than that on a busy week,” he replies before his thumb rubs right next to your pulsing clit. Art dips his fingers into the jar again to gather more balm before he brings his fingers back down to your cunt. You tilt your head against the towel and try to focus. “Do they all look identical to you, or do you ever get bored?” you ask softly, then watch his face for a reaction. The corner of his mouth twitches, but his expression doesn’t change.

“Not really,” he answers after his fingers slide down to spread the balm across your labia again. You squirm against the sheet because his touch feels too much. “So mine is not boring, right? Is it cute?” you whisper and look away from his face out of pure embarrassment. Art huffs out a breath and keeps spreading the product without answering your question. You are already too deep into the conversation to stop your rambling thoughts. “If you had to rate it from one to ten, what would you give it?” you ask while your hips move slightly under his fingers. He doesn’t say anything, so you keep talking to cover up your mortification.

“I won’t get mad, but I’ll definitely cry if you say a five,” you promise quickly when you watch his jaw tighten. His gloved fingers make a soft, sticky sound when they rub your folds. “Do you guys rate everyone in your heads? Like, do you remember the perfect ones later?” you ramble blindly because you can’t control your mouth anymore. “Alright,” he interrupts firmly and stops his fingers right above your slit. “I need you to stop moving,” he instructs before looking directly into your eyes. You blink up at him. “I’m not moving,” you mutter back to defend yourself.

Art doesn’t argue with your claim, but he moves his fingers directly onto your clit to prove his point. His thumb firmly circles the sensitive spot to make you react. “Nngh- ahh!” you gasp after your hips jerk upward against his glove. A smirk shows on his face when he sees you squirming against his touch. “What are you doing?” you ask breathily and try to keep your legs open. “I’m just applying the balm,” he replies casually, then continues to rub your clit to show you exactly how squirmy you are. Your body reacts completely to his thumb and more slick leaks out over his glove.

“Fuck- nn- please don’t do that,” you whine while you grip the sheet tightly to keep from moving. He ignores your plea and rubs the spot even faster to keep you completely helpless under his control. “It’s part of the job,” he explains smoothly and watches your mouth part from the pleasure. Art continues to rub your clit while he slides his middle finger between your wet folds to drag it right down to your opening. The sensation feels incredibly good, but it only makes you realize how empty your pussy is right now. Your body reacts on instinct, and your hips tilt upward.

You try to grind your cunt directly against his fingers instead of pulling away from the touch. He stops his thumb right on your clit, then looks down at your squirming hips. “What’s the matter?” he asks quietly as he waits for your answer. You feel too embarrassed to say the actual words out loud, but your legs fall wider apart on their own to expose yourself even more. “Mmmff- nn,” you whine and stare up at the ceiling. Art moves his lower finger up and down through your slick as a replacement for his thumb. He watches your mouth part from the sensation. “Do you want me inside you?” he asks smoothly to force you to admit it.

You want to act like you hate this unprofessional behavior, but his glove feels entirely too good against your wet cunt. You try to say no, but you can’t think straight anymore. “Nngh- p-please,” you beg accidentally instead of pushing him away. Art hears you say that and stops moving his fingers. “Please, what?” he demands as he leaves his finger resting right at your hole. You are completely overwhelmed by how wet you are, so you just drop the act and look right at him. Art doesn’t say a word, but he grips your thighs to drag your body down until your hips rest on the very edge of the table.

Your legs dangle off the end while you prop yourself up using your elbows to watch him. You look right at him and watch him peel the gloves off his hands before he directs his attention back to your exposed body. He rubs his fingers over your cunt, and the touch makes your mouth part. “Mmmf- ahh,” you gasp when he slides one finger straight inside your cunt to test if you’ll actually try to stop him. You don’t push him away because having his finger inside feels too good, but you suddenly remember your appointment is almost over.

“W-what if our hour is almost up?” you ask breathily while you stare at his calm face. Art thrusts his finger a little deeper inside you. “Then we’ll just make this quick,” he answers and grunts when your walls tighten around him. You look toward the door and wonder if the walls are thick enough to hide your noises. “Is this room soundproof?” you whisper because you’re terrified that someone outside will hear you. A smirk shows on his face when he hears your question. “Don’t worry about that,” he replies, then slides a second finger inside your tight cunt.

Art starts moving his two fingers in and out of your tight cunt. Your toes curl off the edge of the table when you feel him touch a sensitive spot inside you. You drop your head back against your shoulders as your eyes roll from how good it feels. “Ahhn- fuck,” you moan loudly and grip the edge of the table. You wonder how you are ever going to look him in the eye after this appointment ends. His fingers don’t stop moving inside you while he places his other hand on your waist to hold you in place. He angles his hand upward to rub against your walls.

“Nngh- r-right there- ahh,” you stutter breathily as your hips buck toward him. Art grunts in response before he pushes his fingers even deeper into your dripping cunt. You can’t believe he is actually doing this to you in the middle of a session. He watches his fingers slide in and out of your cunt. “I haven’t ever done anything like this before,” he says calmly and keeps his eyes focused right between your legs. You look down at him, then part your lips to catch your breath. “Mmmf- you haven’t?” you ask because you assumed he did this with other clients, too.

“No,” he answers simply before he spreads his fingers slightly inside you to make you squirm. Art starts moving his two fingers in and out of your tight cunt. Your toes curl off the edge of the table when you feel him touch a sensitive spot inside you. You drop your head back against your shoulders as your eyes roll from how good it feels. “Ahhn- fuck,” you moan loudly and grip the edge of the table. You wonder how you are ever going to look him in the eye after this appointment ends. His fingers don’t stop moving inside you while he places his other hand on your waist to hold you in place.

He angles his hand upward to rub against your walls. “Nngh- r-right there- ahh,” you stutter breathily as your hips buck toward him. Art grunts in response before he pushes his fingers even deeper into your dripping cunt. You can’t believe he is actually doing this to you in the middle of a session. He watches his fingers slide in and out of your cunt. “I haven’t ever done anything like this before,” he says calmly and keeps his eyes focused right between your legs. You look down at him, then part your lips to catch your breath.

“Mmmf- you haven’t?” you ask because you assumed he did this with other clients, too. ⁠“No,” he answers simply before he spreads his fingers slightly inside you to make you squirm.⁠ He pulls them almost completely out, then pushes them back inside you until it’s knuckle deep with each thrust. You look down to see his fingers sliding in and out of your wet cunt. Watching him do this right in front of you makes you clench tightly around him. You squeeze around his fingers so much that he stops moving entirely. “You need to let me move them,” Art tells you calmly as he looks up to meet your eyes.

You just shake your head because you have no control over how tight your cunt gets. “Nngh- I c-can’t help it,” you whine breathily since your body reacts entirely on its own. He hums quietly in response while he waits with his fingers buried deep inside you. Your walls eventually loosen up on their own. Art starts thrusting back into your cunt once it’s okay for him to move again. “Ahhhnn- mmmf,” you gasp loudly when he hits that sensitive spot inside you. You spread your legs a little wider, so he has better access to you. Your clit throbs, and he can feel it every time his knuckles brush over it as he slides deep inside you.

You wonder how he knows exactly what to do to make you feel like this. “Oh god- nngh- it f-feels, so good,” you admit breathily while you stare down at his fingers. A cocky smirk shows on his lips after he hears your praise. “Yeah?” he asks simply before he slows down on purpose. He drags his fingers out of your cunt as slowly as possible just to tease you. You want him to move faster, but you don’t know how to ask without sounding completely desperate. “Haaah- p-please- mmf,” you whine quietly and bat your eyelashes at him. You bite down on your lower lip because you hate how slow he moves.

His other hand rests on your waist while he watches you beg him. “Tell me,” he demands right before he fucks you slowly. “Please- m-move faster,” you plead after you look right into his eyes. Art finally speeds up his fingers inside you, just like you asked him to. You can hear the loud wet sounds after every single thrust he makes. His hand holds you in place on the table so that he can fuck your cunt at a much faster pace. “You aren’t going to report me for this... right?” he asks manipulatively when he pumps his two fingers in and out of you.

You nod your head desperately since you don’t want him to stop what he is doing. “Nnngh- n-no- no- no,” you stutter breathily, and your hips buck up against his hand. He pushes even deeper into you, so you grab the edge of the table tighter. “Promise me,” he demands right before he angles his fingers up. You look right into his eyes, so he knows you mean it. “Ahhhnn- I s-swear- mmf,” you gasp loudly as the new angle hits that sensitive spot inside you. You look down between your legs to watch his hand working. You can see exactly how wet you are when slick covers his fingers after every thrust.

Art watches your face and pumps his fingers in and out of your dripping cunt. “You just officially became my favorite client,” he tells you casually while he moves his hand. You wonder if he says things like this to everyone. “Haaah- s-shut up- ahhn,” you whine breathily once the feeling builds up. He chuckles quietly before he pushes his fingers all the way down to his knuckles. “You asked me to rate it earlier,” he states simply as he watches you squirm on the table. You gasp out loud after he rubs against that spot inside you again.

“Mmmf- w-what about it- nghh,” you stutter out, and your toes curl. “I can’t even give it a number because it’s completely perfect,” he answers confidently. His other hand moves off your waist so that he can reach right between your legs. He finds your throbbing clit right away and starts rubbing it with his thumb. You buck your hips toward him the second he touches your clit while his fingers keep moving inside you. “Oh god- ah- f-fuck- mmph!” you gasp loudly once the sensation hits you. You tilt your head back as his thumb circles your clit and his fingers slide in and out of your wet hole.

Your legs start shaking after his fingers move faster inside your wet cunt. You bite down hard on your lower lip, but you can’t stop your body from trembling. Art notices the way you shake before he smiles down at you. “Are you close already?” he asks knowingly while he watches your face. You nod your head when you realize you need to come. “Hngh- yes- please- mmf,” you gasp out and stare right into his eyes. He drags his fingers in and out much slower to tease you. He stops rubbing your clit and starts tapping it with his thumb instead.

His thumb just tapping your clit makes you squirm on the table when you actually want him to rub you. “Mmmph- Art- hahh- faster,” you plead after you try to force your hips against his hand. He leans closer to your face before he moves his fingers faster inside you. You let out a breath when he speeds up, but he slows his hand down the exact moment you start to enjoy it. His thumb pushes harder against your throbbing clit. You grind your hips up against his hand so that you can take him deeper. “Nnn- Art- don’t stop- ahh,” you whine loudly and arch your back.

He watches your face with a smug look after you buck your hips again. “I’ve never seen anyone this desperate to cum,” he murmurs mockingly while he keeps his thumb right on your clit. You pout at him even though your body shakes on the table. “Th-that’s because nobody’s ever tried to tease me this much- hngh,” you snap breathily and try to take his fingers all the way in. You think he does this completely on purpose just to see you beg. He chuckles at your tone before he tilts his head. “So you’re used to having everything given to you?” he asks knowingly right before he starts fucking your cunt fast again. The deep thrusts make you grab the table tighter.

“Y-yes- ahhn- oh god!” you cry out when his knuckles rub against your clit. He pumps his two fingers in and out of you as hard as he can. “You’re so spoiled,” he grunts softly and watches you squirm. “Mmmph- hah- f-fuck- nnngh,” you whine loudly while you squeeze your eyes shut.

Your cunt tightens around his fingers when you start to cum. You squeeze your thighs together, but he doesn’t stop thrusting inside you at all. He keeps pumping in and out while your elbows prop you up on the table. “Oh god- I’m- ahhh- f-fuck- mm,” you cry out loudly and arch your back from the feeling.

Art watches your face before he looks down to see you coat his fingers completely. The squelching sounds get louder in the room with every single thrust he makes, as you get so much wetter. You think you’ve never been this wet for anyone before this moment. “Hngh- Art- mmmph- hah,” you stutter out breathily while you look down at his hand. He chuckles at how much you came before he finally slows his hand down. He drags his fingers a little slower, but he keeps sliding all the way inside your dripping cunt.

“You take my fingers, so fucking well,” he praises you bluntly and continues to fuck you. You feel completely embarrassed by his words, but your hips still twitch up to meet his hand. “Nnn- y-you- haaah,” you whine quietly while your legs dangle off the table. He slides his wet fingers out of your dripping cunt and holds them right in front of your mouth. You see your own wetness coating his skin when you try to catch your breath. “Clean it up,” he orders gruffly while he taps his fingertips against your bottom lip. You know you should refuse, but you open your mouth anyway to slide his fingers past your lips.

He watches you suck his fingers clean as your tongue licks them off. “Mnn- hahh- f-fuck,” you mumble around his knuckles before he takes them back out. Art immediately drops down between your legs right after you finish cleaning his hand. He kneels on the floor and spreads your thighs wider, so he can get a better view. You feel the cool air on your wet cunt before his warm tongue laps straight up your slit. He licks your pussy clean as he catches every drop of your juice. “Nngh- Art- wait- mmf,” you gasp out loudly when his tongue touches your clit.

He acts like he wants to clean you up, but he starts sucking on your clit instead. You sit up and grip his hair to pull him away. He ignores you while he continues to suck on your throbbing clit. He clearly has another plan to make you cum again as his tongue laps faster. You try to push his shoulders off you, but he only grunts against your thighs. “Haaah- stop- nnngh- it’s too much,” you plead breathily while your hips grind against his mouth anyway. Art looks up at your face after he finishes cleaning your pussy and stands up to grab a clean towel from his cart.

He steps right back between your legs while you sit on the edge of the table. “Keep them open,” he orders bluntly before he wipes the towel over your cunt. He dries off your inner thighs carefully to make sure you’re completely clean. You watch him clean you up as your skin feels incredibly sensitive. “Can you pass me my stuff?” you ask quietly and point to the chair in the corner. Your folded clothes are stacked there with your lace panties peeking out from under your jeans. He pauses what he was doing before he looks over at the chair.

He turns his head back to look at your thighs and walks over to the chair to pick up your pink lace panties first. You slide off the edge of the table, so you can stand up on the floor before you untie the robe around your waist and let it fall from your shoulders. You toss the fabric onto the table so you can finally get dressed. You feel way too exposed now. “I don’t even know why I wore those today,” you mumble quickly to fill the silence while you avoid looking at him. You want to hide your face when he looks at the tiny piece of fabric. “I just grabbed whatever,” you add nervously because you instantly regret saying that out loud.

Art holds the underwear out to you with a raised eyebrow. “You sure about that?” he asks before a smirk forms on his lips. You snatch your panties from him while your face gets hot. “I swear I’m not usually this weird,” you snap breathily and slide the panties up your legs. He picks up your jeans next and holds them out to you calmly. You quickly grab the denim and step into the legs, then tug them up to your waist. He turns around to toss the dirty towel onto his cart. “Lace,” he says casually while he wipes down his tray.

“People pick things without thinking sometimes,” he points out mockingly. “Okay, yeah, that was a lot,” you admit nervously while you zip your pants up. He focuses on arranging his tools, and you finish buttoning your jeans. “Not in a bad way, obviously,” you ramble awkwardly when he doesn’t respond right away. “So do I get a sticker or something for being good?” you ask playfully and wait for his reaction. Art finally looks over his shoulder with a small smirk. “I’ll check if we have a star one in the back,” he replies teasingly.

You clear your throat again and rub your palms down your jeans. “Yeah, I should probably get out of here,” you mutter awkwardly while you try to fight off the embarrassment now that the adrenaline is gone. “I’m going to go pay at the front desk and pretend I wasn’t just spread open for you five minutes ago,” you joke nervously to fill the room just before Art drops another tool into his tray with a loud click. You look over at him while he faces his cart. He turns his head just enough so you catch the corner of his mouth twitching.

He acts like he didn’t just make you cum your brains out on that table a few minutes ago. “You’re smiling,” you point out playfully when you see his expression change. “Am I?” he asks without looking back at you as he continues to arrange his tools. “You totally are,” you insist, and grab your phone off the chair to give your hands something to do. “No proof,” he replies bluntly and tosses a rag onto his cart. You bite the inside of your cheek to stop yourself from grinning. You walk toward the door to finally leave this room. “I think I’m booking a woman next time I need this done,” you announce confidently when you reach the doorway and turn back to face him.

That gets him to look over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow. “Not that you weren’t great,” you ramble quickly and raise your hands up defensively. “You just act like nothing even happened, and it’s a little intimidating,” you admit honestly while you watch him stand there completely unfazed. He turns around to face you completely now. “Intimidating,” he repeats like a question while he crosses his arms over his chest. “Yeah,” you breathe out quickly as your face gets hot all over again. “Anyway, I hope you forget all about me by dinner,” you say awkwardly and reach for the door handle, so you can finally escape.

You hope the door doesn’t squeak when you open it. “Not planning on it,” Art says smoothly right before you turn the knob. You freeze in place and look back at him. Your heart skips a beat when he says that. He stands by his cart with his head tilted. You wonder if you heard him right, but he looks straight at you with a smirk. “Dinner,” he clarifies casually while he maintains eye contact. “You said to forget by dinner, but I’m not planning on it,” he tells you directly, so there is no misunderstanding. Your mouth opens, but you can’t think of a single thing to say back to him. You just huff out a breath and push the door open with your shoulder.

“Yeah, well, that makes two of us,” you mumble quietly before you step into the hallway. “And don’t bother booking anyone else next time,” Art adds firmly right before you can leave completely. You pause with the door held open. “Why not?” you ask quietly while you wait for his reason. “Because I’m the only one taking care of that from now on,” he states bluntly as his gaze drops right to the zipper of your jeans before he looks you straight in the eye again. You just stare at him for a second without knowing how to respond. You let go of the door and walk away before you say something stupid. You realize you’re grinning all the way to the front desk.

⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀ twenty-twenty-six © addie / musingsofheaven.

⠀⠀⠀

"you look good." he says you step out of your house, closing the front door.

he walks around the car, opening the door for you. "thank you, art." you say as you kiss him, a smile creeping up on his lips.

you get inside the car, sitting and fixing your dress as you sit.

he closes the door and walks around, getting inside the driver's seat.

"where are we going?"

"guess." he starts the car and briefly looks over at you— your legs, your outfit, your beautiful face, the small smile perked on your lips. those kissable & soft lips.

"uh.. i don't have a clue!"

"that restaurant you mentioned the other night? when i fucked you in the bathroom?" you chuckle and scrunch your nose, "shut up."

"you remembered." he nods and smiles, "i'm not that whipped."

"how's lily?" he clears his throat and sighs, "with tashi, in that crappy hotel."

you chuckle, and roll your eyes, "god, you know she's still fucking patrick, right?" art nods and places his hand on your thigh, the red traffic light shining over you two as he turns to face you.

"and i'm still fucking you. its equally fucked up." "technically, you're in a open marriage."

he squeezes your thigh, moving it annoyingly higher. "can we not talk about my 'fucked up' marriage? or tashi." he shrugs and shakes his head, the light turning green, "tonight is about you."

"it's always about me." you whisper and he smiles, " 'cause you're sexy." he smirks.

your hand makes its way to the bulge in his jeans, that had gone unnoticed until now.

he lets out a choked whine, "baby."

you reach a red light.

your hand unzips his zipper.

he's hard.

a moan slipping past as your finger graze over his hard cock.

"we're not gonna make the reservation if you keep going."

"fuck the reservation." you smirk and unbuckle your seatbelt.

once the light turns green, art drives into the nearest empty parking lot, an applebee's.

art groans and leans his seat back, giving you space.

"for taking me out." you whisper, leaning over to face his opened jeans.

he lifts up his hips, pulling his boxers and jeans down just enough.

his cock springs up, hitting your lips causing his breath to hitch and deepen from the feeling. "such a sensitive thing." you whisper.

licking his tip, you grip his shaft, your hand jerking off his cock.

"please." he whines, "you want it? my mouth? on your cock? so dirty." you whisper, spitting on his tip and rubbing it over with your fingers. your hand moves up and down, exactly at the right pace.

his hips jerk up— he wanted more. "be patient, baby." you smirk, feeling his hand moving its way to your ass– gripping and slightly slapping.

you finally take all of his cock into your mouth, gagging as he hits the back of your throat. "fuck!" he moans as his hips thrust, making you gag again, " 'm sorry, fuck." he whimpers as he looks down at you.

his hand squeezes your ass, the other lays on your head as you move it up and down. "feels so good, fuck." he whispers, "you take me so good." you moan around his cock, causing it to twitch at the contact.

you lift your head— a string of saliva connecting his cock to your lips as you begin jerking him off again. "i'm close, sweetheart."

you smirk and kiss the tip of his cock, "want you to cum on my mouth." you look up at him, your hand still moving around his cock. "dirty girl." he whimpers.

his cock twitches once again. you lick his shaft up to his tip, your mouth open as he finally reaches his climax. his warm liquid falling into your mouth, lips and even getting on your nose.

you swallow it, your fingers cleaning up what fell on your nose, sucking on your fingers— he moans at the sight. his cock getting harder, if it was possible. "wanna fuck you. feel you, baby." he whimpers— reaching for you, to which you obey by moving over to his lap.

he bunches up your dress to your hips, revealing your underwear; a pink lace. "sexy." he whispers, his lips come in contact with yours— a sensual, deep, sexy, soft and warm kiss. his tongue crashing with yours as you fight for dominance.

his fingers move to curl over the waistband, ripping your panties. "i'll buy you more." he whispers against your lips, his eyes not leaving yours as his cock comes in contact with your entrance. he watches your face as you sink down on his cock, stretching you out once again.

"art.." you moan against his neck. he shushes you softly, his hips beginning to rut up against you, your breasts bouncing at the contact. "let me take care of you."

you begin leaving wet kisses against his neck, biting his skin softly. "your pussy's squeezin' me so good, bunny." he whispers against your ear.

your hands move down towards his buttons on his button up, unbuttoning them; revealing his very toned chest and abs (from his very hard working tennis years), you moan at the sight— and the fact his tip just hit your cervix.

your hands lay on his abs. he begins to slow down, a signal for you to take control – which you do. you begin lifting your hips, his dick twitching inside of you at the sight and feeling of your pussy sliding up and down on him.

"fuckin' hell, art." you breathe out as you slam down, his cock hitting your cervix once you do. "oh fuck!" he moans out, throwing his head back — his hands move out to grip your hips, helping you with your movements.

if anyone walked by, they could see the car shaking. the foggy windows. and they could probably hear you both moaning and the skin of both of your hips slapping against eachother. the sound of both your liquids as you moved against art's cock.

the filthy sounds of an affair. of sex.

and fuck, did it feel so fucking good. everytime he hit your cervix; a moan from your lips. everytime he gripped your hips; a whimper from his lips. everytime you moved your fingers over his abs; a thrust of his hips.

"fuck art!" you moaned, throwing your head back – your back arching. "are you close, baby?" he whispers into your ear as he grips your skin, helping you bounce on his cock. "yes, fuck, yes." he moans at the sound of your voice, weak, whimpering.

"cum for me, baby. all over my dick." you let out a pornographic moan, your hands gripping his curls, "oh fuck, angel." he whimpers as he thrusts into you, his cum filling you up.

your breathing is heavy, your head against his as you take in what just happened. "i think we missed our reservation."

That you’d never enter another service with those flowy dresses that still manage to drive him crazy because he knows what you’re trying to hide underneath them. That you’d never again put a hand on his chest when you two are kissing all sloppy, hot air and breathing too hard in the summer heat, and pull back, hair tousled from his hands and pink lips all wet and your voice shaky just to say - “we can’t,” - and pull his hand that’d been slowly migrating to the waistband of your shorts.

Ever since his mom started forcing him to go to the services after fighting a guy at the academy, he thought it was all so fucking stupid. (Not the religion as much as the people because he didn’t focus too hard on the preacher after he found you.)

He thought all Christian girls were long dresses and purity rings and fucking prudes — and, you are, to an extent.

But it made it hotter for him. He saw you — sitting there on a bench nearby, listening intently with wide eyes like the preacher knew everything, hands folded obediently over your Bible.

Your long dress and the sliver of skin just above your ankle, the only visible part of your legs. He almost died on the spot. Of course, his dick thinks first and somehow that single piece of skin makes his dick twitch. In church. He’s going straight to hell.

But then, the shame. Thinking for one second a prude like you might be able to be attractive to him felt like a slap in the fucking face. Church girls are always too good for anybody. Always waiting for the right one. Saving themselves, or some bullshit like that.

That’s why he was so surprised when you agreed to a first date after a half assed proposal and a flashy smile. Then even more surprised when you took it upon yourself to arrange a second date, before the first one even ended.

And it’s an understatement to say Patrick’s fucking crazy for you.

The first few dates were almost five months ago now. Patrick would say he’s a relatively patient man, and he enjoys make outs just as much as the next guy. But there’s just so many “we shouldn’t”s he can take when he’s constantly that fucking hard around you. He feels like an animal. All the time. Patrick jerks off — obviously. He’s eighteen years old. And before you it was more than average. But now, just a quick kiss in his truck before Bible study and he’s speeding to get home and shove those panties he’d stolen from your hamper in his face. He can’t help himself. By now, all his girlfriends had given up something.

Even in 9th grade, his girlfriend of about 3 weeks was just itching to get his hand in her pants. And obviously he went with it.. but you’re different! You’re kind and gentle and sometimes you meow back to stray cats and he starts thinking that, ‘okay, maybe christian girls aren’t so bad’. But it just can’t be true. Because he fucking needs you, and you won’t give it to him. Nothing other than kissing and his hand gently groping you through your t-shirt before you giggle like it’s a joke and swat his hands away. It’s not a fucking joke.

He, honestly, has an endless list of what he wants to do with you. To you.

Because, honestly, it’s what he thought about the first time he saw you. And now it invades his mind. Constantly.

Like when he’s sprawled out on his bed late at night after not seeing you for a day or two and all he can think about is how fucking bad he wants you there right now. He teases himself for a while, running his fingers along his lower stomach and dipping into his waistband just to see how it feels like he imagines you will. He imagines your sweet voice and your pretty mouth and your shaky hands and the body he’s traced as much as you’ll allow, and then the body he hasn’t. He imagines how fucking perfect you’ll be when you finally give it up to him. On your back in his truck, in the sluttiest panties you could find in your underwear drawer. He imagines the way you’ll be strumming with excitement after being forbidden to even touch there for all eighteen years of your life. He imagines the way you’ll be soaked through your panties, the soft cotton sticking to you like a second skin before he peels them off and finally sees you.

He squeezes his dick the best he can through his sweats at how fucking tight you’ll be. About how you’ll feel different than all the girls he’s been with because even though some of them were also virgins — they weren’t you. They weren’t untouched, they weren’t completely dirtied by him. You are. The only person to have kissed you for so long or let you touch him wherever when you got too curious, even though you would never try below the belt.

He thinks about what your virgin pussy would feel like. Gushing all over him and squeezing him tighter than his fist ever could. Pulsing and throbbing around him. Leaning down and kissing your tears away as you get used to his stretch. Permanently ruining your perfect body.

He gets off on that. His breathing picks up, forcing his freehand over his mouth as his hips jerk up into his hand, no matter the two layers of fabric separating him. He comes like that, whining into his palm and squeezing his length through his sweats, feeling his body tremble and release into his boxers.

He has a lot of fantasies about you. More than he should, probably. Definitely more than the girls he’s been with.

You told your dad you’re going to hang with a girl friend of yours and instead sit in Patrick’s truck on some dirt road outside town, slowly navigating to the backseat after some talking. Dragging your mouth along his as you plant yourself in his lap. Catching his bottom lip between yours so lewdly he groans into your mouth.

“Mm,” he hums into your mouth, moving to kiss down your jaw. “Can’t wait til you finally let me fuck you.” You whine softly, tilting your head to the side to give him more room. “Bet you’re tight as fuck.”

It gets heated enough that you start touching him, letting your hands roam places of him he thought you might never lay hands on. It’s not a lot to anybody else, but the feeling of your soft hands touching him over his shirt after so many months of your hands in his hair and on his face, it might be the best fucking thing he’s ever felt. Your hands drift a little too low, grazing his waistband just enough that it gives him an extra heartbeat in his dick, beating unsteadily against the seam of his jeans.

“Fuck,” he hisses, head tipping back against the seat, his hands on your hips loosening involuntarily. He lets out a little frustrated whine that makes your stomach flip. “Don’t go too — too low.” He mumbles, gripping your hips tightly again as he catches himself slipping.

“Why?” You hum, sliding your hands back up, then back down. You’re curious, who can blame you? You’ve been shielded from anything borderline sexual and the entirety of the male anatomy since you were a baby. Now here sits your boyfriend — all flushed and needy and whining, apparently.

He scoffs, glaring at you like he’s mad. He’s definitely not mad. “You know why,” His breath hitches when a thumb peaks into his waistband. He groans your name softly, hips shifting.

You pause for actions. This.. is definitely sinful. Making out was pushing it, of course — but this is really pushing it. You notice your hands are shaky where they aren’t firmly pressed against him and your heart is achy feeling.

You push a few more fingers into his waistband, feeling the hot skin under his jeans. “Jus’.. wanna see.”

“Yeah?” He nods senselessly, running his hands down your sides to grip your ass. “You wanna see?”

You meet his eyes. His chest is heaving and his eyes are wide like you know everything. He huffs again and glances down at his lap, your hand still in his waistband. “M’ so fucking hard right now.”

You can’t find it in yourself to pull away. He’s so wanting and he looks so fucking good with his brows furrowed like he’s in pain, lips parted, sweat growing on his hairline with the heat swirling around you in his stuffy truck.

“Okay,” you breathe. You’re going to have to pray for this later. “Show me.”

He catches your eyes again, his head tipped back slightly against the headrest. He slowly reaches for your hand, taking your wrist in his big hand and guiding it lower.. then even lower. Til you feel something firm and throbbing under your palm through the fabric of his jeans. You bite your tongue to keep from saying something you’ll regret and have to pray away.

He keens and spreads his legs even wider when you press the heel of your hand into him. His breath picks up instantly. “Shit. Can — let me take them off, baby. Please. Then no more.”

You glance up at his face. His green eyes seem dimmer than usual, eyes half lidded. He looks.. sexy. You never thought you’d use that word.

You nod without thinking, retracting your hands to let him take them off. He reaches down quickly, pulling his shirt up to give him room, pinning the fabric between his torso and his arm, then reaching down to unbuckle his jeans.

You let your eyes roam what you can see already. Dark, coarse hair growing down and disappearing into his jeans. It makes your stomach flip in a way you can only describe as primal. There’s a V shaped line parallel on each side of his lower stomach. It feels like opening a present, to you, the way his body is so effortlessly beautiful. God is funny that way.

Patrick finally shoves the jeans past his hips, belt jingling as he tries to settle into the seat behind him. He’s got these gray boxer shorts on that have a little wet patch on the front.

Now, you’ve never seen this before. Excluding the covers of Playboy magazines in the gas station which you promptly avoid. But he looks big to you. He’s got the cotton stretching around him, pulled taut. It’s definitely bad how you wanna pull them down, too.

His hands coming to rest on your thighs, rubbing them. You notice he’s breathing harder. “..well?” He huffs. You can tell he’s trying to break the tension but it seems impossible when your first real life dick is one very thin fabric away from your real life hands.

You glance up at him. He’s beginning to form beads of sweat along his hairline, dark curly baby hairs sticking to his forehead. There’s a faint pink along his cheeks and nose, underneath the freckles painting his face, then some pink on the tips of his ears too. You’d like to lick the sweat off him. Oh. That’s not a good thought.

You can feel dampness start to pool in your panties, your thighs clenching together as he stays tense. You shift on his lap, swallowing and trying to not make a big deal out of how you can literally feel your pussy throbbing over a real life boy. Not a TV scene of a heated make out from your favorite rom-com.

A real boy.

In this moment, you cannot seem to fathom why God would make Patrick so incredibly teasing. Or why he would make your paths cross if he knows it would lead to this.

You swallow, hands resting on your thighs. “..should we..?”

His eyebrows furrow for just a moment before he seems to get what you mean, nodding vigorously. “Yeah. You want me to take ‘em off?”

You hesitate for a moment, an uneasy kind of feeling in your stomach. But there’s a much more intense, hot feeling between your legs. One outweighs the other and you nod.

He reaches down, watching your face. Because in some strange way he wants to make sure you’re still okay with this, even as hard as he is right now. It wouldn’t be the first time he went home with blue balls.

It’s terribly slow how he peels his boxers off. Slowly, more and more hair gets revealed until — the real thing comes out. It’s a little bit more strange looking than you imagined, but it still makes your stomach flip.

His dick comes out of his boxers, springing up fast before it slaps against his stomach. Your first thought is he’s huge. You haven’t seen any before, but he feels big. And it looks kind of heavy and it’s got those big, weird, thick veins running up it. He’s leaking from his pink tip and the dark hair curling all around it makes it much hotter to you.

“Oh god,” you mumble, breathing harder. You’ve suddenly forgotten all about youth group and your pastor preaching of the deadly sin that will corrupt your innocent, youthful body. Lust. It felt like he was really speaking at you, specifically. After a night with Patrick, and you feel like you two didn’t do anything unforgivable or anything — but the thoughts you have about him definitely are. The positions you imagine yourself in. The way he’d sound and the way he’d look when he finally sinks into your pussy and fills you.

“Baby,” Patrick mumbles, chuckling a little. It’s a laugh, sure, but he seems a little stressed out at the lack of attention to his dick. He gently rubs the sides of your thighs. “It’s not gonna bite you. You wanna touch it? Just to try?”

You look back up at his face. His brows are furrowed, a smile tugging at his mouth. You look back down. It’s.. kicking. You didn’t know it could do that.

“So.. just grab it,” you mumble, reaching out. You wrap an unsteady, nervous hand around him. Just the top, to see what it does. You can feel your heart beating hard in your chest.

But almost immediately, his lips part. His smile fades and he lets out a little sigh, suddenly a lot more breathy than usual. His head tips back against the headrest and he lets out a little ‘yeah’. That must be good.

You glide your hand down. It’s easy considering how wet he is all over. You glide your hand back up, back down. Patrick just grips your thighs tighter and groans a little louder. The sound makes you wanna hear more.

“Squeeze — squeeze me a little. Need pressure.” He mumbles, opening his eyes to look at you. He thinks you look incredibly pretty with his dick in your hand.

And you do as he says. You squeeze him a little, focus more on the top than anywhere else, since it seems like he enjoys that spot more.

“Fuck,” he whines. “That’s good. Yeah.”

In any other situation, with any other girl, Patrick might’ve fixed it. How bad your handjob is. He might’ve adjusted her grip or throw her off his lap and asked her why all the practice she’s had with other guys is fucking useless.

But he doesn’t. Because it’s so bad in a way that it’s good. That it’s hot. Because it’s you. Because you have never, in your entire life, have been this close to a cock and your inexperience is making his dick kick in your palm. The idea of ruining you, of this being the start of that, is making him so fucking hard.

You just focus on his face. The way his eyebrows are furrowed all pretty and he’s got his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. His chest is heaving and he’s making these little muffled sounds that you’ve never heard him make before, but they sound perfect.

You’ve never heard him before. Not like this. Nothing more than a little grunt or a sigh when you’re kissing. Not full on moans and whimpers. It’s nice.

It’s weird to think about how you shouldn’t be doing this. Because it makes you feel guilty, of course. You’re ruining yourself, making a mess of the church and God will have to forgive you for this. But, at the same time, you feel.. empowered. Like a child sneaking off with a stolen candy bar, or something. The giddiness of doing something so forbidden you get shamed to even think about. It’s making between your legs feel all warm and needy.

He’s got his eyes on yours. Watching the way you’re breathing through your mouth, too, and the way you blink at every new sound that slips out of him. Watching the way your eyes are all nice and wide and innocent like he’s god himself.

He reaches up, threads his fingers into your hair, and shoves your mouths together. He swallows down the surprised sound you make, kisses you until you melt into it, and pushes his hips up into your now paused hand. He groans softly into your mouth, licking into it and feeling you shiver like you always do. His hands slide up your back to feel the overheating skin. You feel him everywhere, all over — it’s overwhelming but at the same time, the best thing you think you’ve ever felt.

You break away to breathe, kissing down his jaw.

This is the farthest you’ve ever gone. I mean, you have his bare dick in your hands. That’s no light feat for you. He doesn’t want to let this moment go where you’re all needy and wanting and pliable — to go to waste? No. He can’t let that happen.

“Baby,” he huffs, rubbing your thighs now. You hum against his neck, shifting on his lap. “Do you want — do you want me to try..”

You glance up from where his shoulder and neck meet. He is horny. Obviously. And even with how bad he does want to be inside you right now — he also doesn’t wanna fuck this up forever. Who knows how you’ll react. Saying he wants to fuck you versus actually trying is much different. Catholic girls are unreliable, dodgy prudes, as we know.

“Do you want me to touch you? Too?” He mumbles, chest heaving. His dick still standing at attention as you slowly work him with your hand, but coming to a halt at his base as you work over that question in your mind.

“Okay,” you breathe before you can even think.

He reaches out slowly. He doesn’t go underneath any clothes yet, but cups your clothed pussy. It’s obscene to him how hot you are down here.

You let out a soft gasp, gently rutting your hips against his palm once with a shiver. It feels to him like you’re holding back, trying to contain yourself. He smiles a little and presses his palm onto your clit, smile growing at the soft whine you let out.

“You touched here before?” He mumbles, gently rocking his hand against you.

Does he have to say these things? Ugh. “..a few times,” you glance away.

He doesn’t wanna overwhelm you, of course not! But he can’t stand the idea of you not knowing how good he can make you feel. Or the idea of himself not fucking a Christian virgin. It would be a waste.

“C’mon,” he mumbles, sliding his hand up to the buttons of your jean shorts. “You’re all wet. Lemme take care of you.”

He begins to undo them.

Your heart feels like it’s beating out of your chest like a cartoon. You catch his eyes. This isn’t really what the preacher said it would be like. It isn’t what you said it’d be like when you vowed to be abstinent until marriage. The preacher made it seem like it was disgusting and vile. Like lust was a deceiving, cunning, inhuman thing, or you should be ashamed for wanting something like that. Something gross and intimate and sexual — something you should only share with your future husband.

But it doesn’t feel like that to you. It feels natural.

When you kiss Patrick, it’s not like you have to tell yourself what to do. It doesn’t feel like the devil when you’re mouthing at his jaw and pretending to be shifting in his lap to hear that needy little moan he always lets slip. It feels almost like the opposite. Like God put you two on his earth together to make each other happy, to please each other. You like that thought.

You move around to peel them off until they’re laying on the floor somewhere.

God, you’re beautiful. You’re wearing these pretty white panties that have a little bow on the front. Patrick has to look away when he sees how fucking wet you are — your panties are soaked all the way through, just liked he’s imagined, see through so he can see your perfect pussy he’s been fantasizing about for months.

“God.” He groans, raw, rough. It takes him a few seconds to focus back on you again. He slowly reaches out, lets his fingers glide against your damp panties, feeling the overwhelming heat coming from you.

You let out a little gasp, brows furrowing slightly. This feels much different when the hard seam of your jeans digs into you on a bumpy road. That feels good, too, but this definitely feels better. A lot better.

You’d only touched yourself purposefully a handful of times but tried to stay away from that. No matter how good it felt. You knew it was a sin, a horrible one at that, to surrender to your flesh’s wants instead of obeying God’s word. So why aren’t you pulling away now?

“Holy shit,” he whispers, gently finding your clit through the fabric and rubbing small, soft circles.

You let out a breath, chest heaving. You find you want more. A lot more. Your hips roll forward, into his hand, and he applies more pressure happily.

You know you shouldn’t be doing this. At all. You can feel yourself growing wetter, your hands leaving Patrick’s forgotten cock to grip onto his shoulders instead, using him as leverage to get off easier.

Patrick is in fucking heaven. He’d dreamt of this for a very, very, very long time (only a couple months, actually, but that’s an eternity with his sex drive). His mouth is open, huffing and studying your face with his eyes to make sure you’re still enjoying what he’s doing. This is great. But his real heaven would maybe be having your pretty mouth on his dick, watching your beautiful eyes water and you gag around his fat cock, having never done that before.

Shit. Maybe he’ll get you to do that next time. On the knees you’ve only ever prayed to your God on before.

“Hold on,” he hums softly, putting his freehand on your hips to stall you. You groan softly, hips slowing gradually and he smiles a little at your reluctance. “We can — we could do it at the same time.”

You nod and reach down to his dick again, but he laughs, shakes his head, and grabs your hand gently. “No, baby, I mean..” He takes your hips in both his hands, lowering you down til you’re sitting on his dick, perched between his thighs.

You can feel his rock hard outline underneath you, pushing apart your pussy lips through your soaked panties and nestling deeper inside you, where it’s more sensitive. You gasp softly, hips already rocking to their own accord.

He swallows and pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, nodding. “Yeah.. and jus’ move.”

So you do. You can feel every ridge on him, every vein pulsating with need underneath you. His voice is low like you’ve never heard it before. “There you go, baby. Yeah. That’s good.”

You catch his eyes. Locked onto your face, like they have been all this time, rolling your needy sexes against each other in a way other teenagers your age wouldn’t blink twice for. But it’s different for you, much different. He knows that. He can see the sparkling cross hanging above your shirt right now, actually.

You don’t stop him as he pushes up your shirt, over your bra, and traces your torso with his big, rough hands. He’s all over, unlike in a way you’ve ever had him, overwhelming and hot and humid.

“So pretty, baby. D’you feel good?” He huffs, brows furrowing as you keep moving over his dick. Patrick actually doesn’t enjoy dry humping that much, it usually gives him some awful sensitivity on his dick and he enjoys the real thing much more. But this is you. You’re all wet and warm and slippery wearing your cute panties, and he’ll take what he can get. He won’t say it doesn’t feel good. It feels great with you. Maybe he just wasn’t into those other girls all that much.

It’s only now you notice the small sounds you keep making, rolling your hips all the way back to grind his length along your swollen clit — breath hitching when his tip catches between you. “Yeah.” You breathe, nodding intensely.

“Fuck.” He whines, grabbing at the your tits through your bra. He’d love to take it off.. but he won’t let himself ruin all of you in one night.

Sparks of heat flood your lower body, pussy throbbing with need as you try to push yourself lower, harder against him. His head tips back and hits the glass behind him with a soft thud. He just lets you rut against him, using his dick to get yourself off. His hands fall to your hips, just letting you take the reins.

Pressure is building quickly in your core. You’re louder, now, and so is he, groaning into the hot air like you’re both in heat. You move your hips faster, chasing that sweet release you’ve never felt before, letting it overwhelm your body and senses. Letting your hands dig into his shoulder, rutting against him like an animal.

You can tell it’s happening for him, too. His fingers jabbing into your sides and hips and ass to keep you moving. His hips beginning to thrust up below you as his breath quickens, whispering soft little praises meant just for you into the air that make you throb. “That’s so fucking good,” He mumbles, breathy, eyes locked on your soaked panties. His eyelids are heavy like he’s struggling to stay awake. “Keep going baby. Gonna make me come.”

His words make your stomach flip. It’s a little bit crazy to you (and him) how fast you went from this innocent, cross necklace wearing, Bible thumping prude to… whatever this is. Humping his dick to get off like a fucking dog. He likes the fact he can make you do that. Make you wanna take off your long skirt and dresses so he can get his hands all over where you haven’t even touched before.

It happens suddenly, when you’re focused on his face, and itching up on something you can’t name but feels fucking amazing. Your hips still and then jerk, him bumping into your puffy clit as you come. It washes over like a wave, intense explosive pleasure that washes over your whole body and leaves your pussy throbbing with need after.

He seems to do it too at the same time because he lets out this amazing sound almost right after you, cursing your name and shoving his hips up into your sticky panties.

You stay like that for a moment, a little startled by the sudden cum all over you, but overall relaxed. You let your hands drop from his shoulders and rest your head against his chest. His hands slip underneath your shirt on your back, feeling the overheated skin there. His breath is hot against your shoulder as he catches his breath.