Page 65 of Old-Fashioned

He nodded, then reached into his bedside drawer, and pulled out a foil packet.

I watched as he opened it, and then slid it on his big cock.

And then, once he was satisfied, he moved until the head of his cock was at my entrance.

“You ready?” He asked.

I nodded, “Yes. Finish making me yours.”

At my words, his face took on this look that I’ve yet to see before.

And then he nodded, and whispered, “Remember, you need me to stop. You…”

I brought my hand up and placed two fingers over his lips, “Stop talking. Make me yours Abel. I want you to be the first man into my body, and the last.”

At my words, Abel nodded, and then moved.

Slowly.

Softly.

I moaned at the feel of him inside of me. And he wasn’t all the way in yet.

Inch by inch he moved in, then pulled out.

Thrust in, then back out.

And he did that while gritting his teeth, and then he pushed back in, groaned, then stopped, “Birdie, I’m trying not to come like a teenager. Please stop moaning.”

I giggled which caused him to groan again, then he narrowed his eyes at me, “You’re a fucking minx.”

I shrugged, “Yours.”

He winked down at me, then said, “Okay, Birdie, this is going to hurt. But I promise to make it better.”

And before I could say anything, he was pushing all the way inside of me.

I felt something give, and then pain. But it was tolerable.

He stilled.

Giving me time to accommodate his size and get used to the feel of him inside of me.

Once the pain was almost gone, I looked up into his toffee-colored eyes and whispered, “Move, Abel. Please. Move.”

He winked, “Yes ma’am.”

And then…. He moved.

He pulled out of me and thrust in.

Again.

And again.

And again.

“More,” I moaned.

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