The First Time: Eating Out

This has nothing to do with restaurants, as regular readers will have already guessed!!

I wrote a little while ago about an evening out with the girls and how we talked about our various experiences with first time sex. Well, it wasn’t the only “First Time” topic we talked about. As the wine flowed and the evening raced on, we became happy to talk about the things I would never have expected us to chat about. It was shocking at first, I suppose, but after a bit we were all laughing about our exploits. One of our friends in particular bust all the taboos by bringing up the subject . Without a bat of an eyelid, nor lowering of voice she charged in with a declaration that left us all a bit stunned; giggling, yes, at the audacity of her, at the risqué nature of the subject and the embarrassing realisation that we were going to have to divulge to all that which we would prefer to keep to ourselves.
“The first time,” she declared, waving her glass around, “that I was eaten out, was hilarious! He dived in there without so much as a by your leave, slurped and guzzled for a while before coming up for air and getting on with what I really wanted!”
She filled in a bit more about the evening and circumstances before, as we knew she would, she asked one of the others what her first experience of cunnilingus was. And so it went round, all of us laughing raucously at the descriptions of men muff diving. Some, we heard, took the plunge with maximum enthusiasm and no dexterity, others approached the subject – and the labia – with trepidation bordering on fear. Some of those disappeared for long lengths of time, subsumed by slick delights and hot passions, others surfaced rapidly finding this was not to their taste – literally!
I was lucky. My first experience was as unexpected as it was glorious. It converted me to my lifelong love of deft, delving, teasing and titillating cunnilingus. I don’t always demand it or expect it, but when well-executed, there is nothing – nothing! – that rouses my passions more, prepares me for the welcoming reception of a yearned-for swollen cock and results in shuddering orgasms which seem contagious to my partner!
That first time, I was for some reason at a large country house on a soft summer evening. I remember the smells of freshly cut stubbles in the surrounding fields, swallows and swifts racing through the mass of insects floating in the still air. I had come to the party with another girlfriend and was quite happy floating, chatting, occasionally dancing in the marquee to whatever was the music of the day.
It was a lovely evening and although I had had sex a few times already, I was not out looking to get laid that evening.
Somewhere along the way I ended up chatting to a boy who made me laugh. He was not great looking but was very funny, with a quick wit, a teasing way about him as if he would never let himself take life too seriously. He was attentive, fetching me drinks, making sure I was comfortable, interested in me. It was flattering and fun. We danced quite a bit, his arm sometimes firmly round my waist guiding our gentler moves, other times twirling me round in exhilarating sweeps that left me breathless and laughing. He danced a bit like a demented stick insect, but knew it and was able to laugh at himself.
And so when the DJ came to the slow music after a particularly fast-paced run of dance music, we were on the floor, breathing deeply, and I had no objection to him pulling me gently to him, a hand on the small of my back, another guiding my head to his shoulder so we could sway gently together to a gentle ballad.
It was then, I suppose, that I realised I liked this boy. That his fun and energy was balanced with a gentleness with which I felt safe and comfortable. And as I felt his hot breath waft over my neck and ears, I knew he felt something about me, too. It was in small movements: a hand, not groping, but beautifully pressing on my back, gently ensuring I remained close to him, a gentle stroking reassuring me. When I felt a soft kiss on my neck, I sighed as a feathery thrill of bliss percolated through me, prickling my nipples, pooling in my belly.
I turned to him and our lips met in a delicious long kiss, tongues searching and brushing, hands caressing and arms guiding us closer to each other.
At some point we left quietly, hand in hand, crossing the soft grass from the marquee to the quiet house. We both knew what we wanted by then and I went so happily as he led the way up a sweeping stairway to a long corridor and a room at the end. He held the door open for me, stopped me gently as I entered, placed a kiss on my lips, pulling away soon to close the door.
It was a large room with a massive four poster bed against one wall, two large windows looked out over lawns to a lake. The muted music sifted up from the party, the bass beats setting a pace, the music barely discernible. The windows were open and cool air from the night flowed in, brushing the curtains.
We were kissing, desperate and urgent, gentle and passionate, his hands stroking up my sides, his thumbs brushing my breasts. I could feel my nipples hardening, my belly melting. I was running my hands over the soft hair of his head , making sure his lips couldn’t leave mine and weaken the sensual, spicy thrill that was permeating through us. I pulled his shirt up to feel the smooth muscle of his skin, ran my fingers around his sides, trailing one inside his waistband.
Then he was undoing the buttons of my dress, easing my arms out, letting it fall to the floor. I stepped out of it and was plucking at his waistband, loosening his pants, easing them over his buttocks, reached in to grasp his straining cock as I lowered his pants and underwear.
There was a hushed, rapid pause as he bent to remove trousers, underwear and socks, When he straightened I laughed and helped him out of his shirt. Naked, he took my hand, led me to the bed, pulled back the sheets and eased me gently back onto the cotton, kissing and caressing me as he came down too, his hot, firm body against mine.
His hands smoothed under my bra, cossetting my breasts and their nipples. Soon the bra was off and his mouth was there, enrapturing my breasts, while his hand moved down, slid under my panties and slowly found their way over my mound to my elated pussy.
It was wonderful. Everything. The softness, the gentleness, the progressive stirring. I loved him being in control and being so decisive, so definite in what he was doing, exquisitely electrifying me so I found my hips moving up and down with his hand and fingers, my hands again keeping his head to me.
I think I was trying to ease him onto me – I probably wanted to feel the weight and masculinity of him, the strength and native power of a man on me and, soon, in me. Certainly, when I felt him peeling my panties down, I realised I had opened my legs wide for him to sweep and smooth my pussy. I brought them together to ease the passage of the garment, but when I opened them once more, expecting him to come to me, enter me, fulfil me, he dropped down, cupping my mound in his mouth in a delicious, moist, warm breathy moment that brought me up with an involuntary cry and a compulsory gasp.
It was the most enthralling moment. As I felt the chill tip of his tongue start its thrilling work between my lips, running slowly up and down, prizing them apart, flickering in deep, then flicking along the edge, I lay back down with a sigh, easing my pussy to his mouth.
The placidness of what he did totally belied the surges of raw exultation which swept through me.
He would tug my lips with his, then run his tongue up to that little spot, where he would circle it with small sharp strokes before running his tongue right along my lips again, occasionally plunging in hard so his lips would brush my spot. Sometimes his lips would wrap around my spot and he would tug it gently before letting go, a moment which particularly shot convulsing spasms through me. Then he would rest his open mouth there once more, suffusing me with streaming warmth, until his tongue would start its work again.
It didn’t take long. I felt the welling surge rushing toward me after very little time. I felt my hips rise and fall frantically, my back arch in unbearable, agonising delight which forced small cries from me.
My hands reached, searched for and found his head, pulling him into me as his tongue, lips and mouth moved faster into a deranged, rabid swirl – and I came in a writhing, pulsing wave that left me trembling and muttering as I subsided into the sheets.
He sensed my fragility and moved gently from my pussy, up over my belly, kissing and nibbling deliberately my hips and waist, the base and tips of my breasts. His hands, which had been caressing my lower buttocks and thighs, eased my legs further apart as his chest and torso brushed thigh, mound and belly.
And then he was there, a gentle kiss on my mouth, a hard, soft pressure at my pussy. I loved the slow imperative flow of my own body as I opened and rose to take him in, the ripple of his muscle and pulsing blood expanding me as he filled me and slid in deep until pressed against my spot.

There was that inexorable wrapping of myself around him in an effort to take as much of him in as I possibly could. Legs wrapped to rest heels on his buttocks, hands holding his back, pulling his head to me, pulling his weight on and in, the distinctive submission to his weight and the lush energy of the reflexive motion inside me: the rocking, the slide and threat of exit, the determined travel back to my depths.
As we remained locked together, his movements reassuring in their rhythm, I felt totally complete. Content, Safe. Thrilled. Having come already, I was able to luxuriate in the moment, to absorb the sensations, delight in the feel of the movement inside, the hot passion and skin on mine. It was totally right that the movement increased in intensity as we clung to each other. It was as it should be that I felt him tensing, pushing in with more ardour, more fervour, more ecstasy and his heightened intensity transmitted to me so that as his easy, long strokes turned to urgent, gasping plunges, I, too, responded, rising to meet him, to urge him in.
With a muffled roar, he paused, tensed and thrust deep into me, holding there as he burst inside me while I clutched, writhed and squeezed from him all that I could. We seemed to come together for a long time, his hard thrusts ending in small paroxysms until finally he collapsed on me and we lay there, sweaty, sticky and exhausted.
We made love again later that night and in the early morning light I left, running back over the fields to our house before my mother woke up. My mother never knew or asked what I had done that night, although she may have guessed a little bit by the smile and tangible glow I was sure I was exuding. I don’t know what I could have said that would have been honest without disclosing the truth. I could hardly tell her I had had the best sex of my life and that was down to the magical workings of my lovers mouth and tongue on my pussy.
But it was!