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A/N: This is a work of fiction; any similarity with real events or individuals is purely coincidence.
“Ok, alright, wait,” Crystal took the break to sip lightly from her wine, mulling over the recent events of the night, and the boyish smile of the man before her. “Why are you awfully on-board with this?”
The sounds of conversation and silverware reached her ears from all over the restaurant; nearly all tables were being occupied by patrons of all types, while finely dressed waiters walked in between the tables.
“You are beautiful, what can I say?” the man said, opening a wider smile as he did so, his accent painting new colors to the language. “I felt desire for you, ever since we met at class, yet you…played on different teams…”
“I’m a lesbian, Marco.” Heat crept up through Crystal’s neck and into her cheeks, as both the wine and her anxiousness came into full effect.
Her fruity salad was half-eaten on the plate, being set aside once the main topic of her ‘date’ finally came up in their conversation; Marco had long devoured his medium-rare steak, and only the juices and one or two roasted potatoes had survived his assault.
“Yes, yes,” he relented, spreading his hands as he leaned back on his seat. “Though, that’s about to change, no?”
Crystal’s eyes had shifted from his face towards the beginning of his neck ever since he picked her up at her dorm, as always, in his all-black Ducati his father had made sure to ship all the way from Madrid into Seattle.
He had showed up at her door in that style that was a blend of frat white-boy and euro suaveness: form fitting dress shirt alluding to his sculpted muscles underneath, some slim fitting jeans, avoiding the straight up feminine look of skinny jeans on men, but not looking like some random thug with baggy pants.
The main difference, aside from the well-built figure and motorcycle, was the fact that he felt confident enough to hint at the beginning of a hairy chest by unbuttoning two buttons of his shirt; that euro suaveness creeping in again.
“Don’t be so confident,” Crystal managed to say, letting his insinuations about ‘turning her’ slide for the moment. “That remains to be seen, I’m not so sure about it either.”
He seemed to see straight through her lie: “Then why are you still sitting here, an avowed and public lesbian in what by all means is a date with a man like me?”
Crystal bit her lower lip, slowly twirling the wine in her glass.
She usually wore clothing matching her alternative lifestyle: long hippie-skirts, no or very little makeup, with long blonde hair in braids or with some strands arranged in beads, or sometimes free flowing, and blouses and tops that left her midsection bare, and leather sandals.
But tonight she chose to vary, if only to experiment and just maybe to entice the man she would be meeting.
Her black dress hugged her body tightly, coming down to her mid-tights, an unused gift from a friend, and her red lipstick made her lips stand out, while her makeup gave her eyes a sultry look.
Crystal had always been a lesbian, ever since her first experiences in high school she was set, to the veiled dismay of her family.
Men in turn took to avoiding her in the romantic sense, not even catcalling or flirting with her. She suspected it was either her open relationships on campus, or the fact that she studied liberal arts.
There were two types of men in her course: there were those fully committed ideologically, properly behaved and left-wing, supporting of the minority causes, both racial and sexual, and avowed critics of fascism and right-wing derivatives.
And then there was a small sect of young men whose projects always gravitated to European books and works, whose interests lay in classical music and opera, paintings of the past centuries, specifically non-modernist ones; and who everyone else just knew were right-wingers.
Anyone on their course could notice the differences through a short conversation, but the obvious truth was physical, open to all to see: the first group was skinny, deferential to the women and minorities in class, soft spoken, but the second one was made of weight-lifters and only marginally polite men, carrying themselves with barely veiled pride in their forms with an inherent disdain for everyone else.
Marco was part of the second one, and an exchange student on top of that, from one of the nations in Europe where this type of thought and behavior was flourishing in the last years, and sometimes even encouraged by their social circles.
He fell in seamlessly with his American counterparts, as if they could recognize each other on-sight; and he was more open with many of his opinions, as much as the laws of the State of Washington allowed at least.
Soon, he had integrated their little clique, drinking, partying, leering, flirting with every woman on campus as if the world was theirs to the güvenilir bahis taking; of course, all that outside their classes, and so within the codes of conduct of their university.
She remembered one instance, in which she still shuddered to think about, when she passed by Mrs. Wiesenthal’s house to return a book the teacher had loaned from her private library.
He house was in a secluded and high-class neighborhood, the houses being separated by dozens of yards of woods, away from the poorer parts of Seattle.
Still she was nonetheless an ‘ally’, registered Democrat since she was old enough to vote, and an outspoken critic of toxic masculinity and all its appendixes.
When Crystal had come to her front porch, the sounds of gagging could be immediately heard; curiously, she quietly moved to the left, moving through the wooden deck to the side of her house, and prying into the window that gave open view to the living room inside.
There stood the matronly woman on her knees atop the Persian rug, naked save for black lacy stockings held in place by a garter belt, shoving a fat cock down her throat, her nose buried in a man’s crotch.
Her wavy black hair flowed down on her back freely, and her large breasts were freed of any restraint as well, while a large white hand held her head in place.
Said hand belonged to none other than Professor William Manning, avowed right wing apologist and one of the youngest teachers on UW to date, and following the growing trend of musculature like his fellow fascists.
She remembered vividly as Mrs. Wiesenthal’s gagging sounds matched the throbbing of the bulge on her throat, with tears streaming down her eyes, ruining her makeup, all the while she ran her hands through the man’s thighs, never breaking eye contact with him.
The image of Professor Manning pulling her face back replayed perfectly on her mind, his cock slipping out of her mouth to rest across her face in a clear display of, in her opinion, stupid male urge for dominance.
She chose not to interfere, clutching the book, ‘Feminist Rhetoric in the 21st Century’, close to her chest and she did a 180° and left the house in a hurry, and then proceeded to thank Mother Earth that her second-hand electrical car had a completely silent engine as she sped off.
“You seem distracted? Is there something bothering you?” Marco suddenly said, bringing her out of her reverie.
“Oh, it’s…huh, nothing, I just remembered something,” She began blushing again, and blamed the wine, choosing to ignore the effects the mental image had on her, not wishing to confront the implications of that.
Marco nodded, opening another of his easy going smirks: “So, now that I have your attention, are you decided?”
“Yes,” she said a little too suddenly, mentally chastising herself for that. “But I will need to set up some rules, ok?”
He just shrugged, leaning back on his seat.
“Alright,” she set the empty glass down. “First, no freaky stuff, no slapping, no choking, no anal, just…you know…the vanilla experience.”
“I understand,” he said, nodding with the barest hint of amusement.
“Second, this is one-time-only, just so I can check it off my list,” she said with assertiveness, trying to convince both him and herself of what she said. “So no bothering me later with a hundred texts and phone calls, I’m simply going to block you.”
“No problem,” he seemed unfazed.
She nodded, acknowledging his understanding.
She had to stop herself from fidgeting with her fingers under the table, as this turned out to be much more difficult than she had imagined, harder even than speaking with Marco in private and explaining her idea to him.
“Third,” she placed both hands on the white tablecloth. “You can’t speak of this to anyone, really. I don’t want questions and inquiries, both by your Nazi friends or my own sisters at the movement.”
“Mis labios son un túmulo,” he said, reverting back to Castilian, the language flowing of his tongue with native ease. “So that’s it?”
“I think so,” Crystal replied, looking him in the eyes.
They did not linger for much longer after Crystal had said her piece, paying the bill and hopping onto the bike, her dress rolling up slightly on her slender legs as she took a seat behind him, putting on the spare helmet.
She found it proper to wrap her arms tightly around his hard abdomen, after all that was pretty mild considering what they would do next.
Marco had taken them to his own apartment, not far from the restaurant they had dinner on downtown Seattle, and Crystal’s heart beat heavily against her chest, as the lights and shadows of the evening went past them.
His father was rich, if the imported and euro-plated bike didn’t tell that enough, and likewise his apartment was something only people well-into their successful careers could afford to rent or own, not in the world of normal undergrad students.
As türkçe bahis she shyly stepped in after him, high heels clicking on the ground, she carefully took in all the sights: counters of labored stone, with one or two wine bottles spread, kitchen cabinets of a wood that was probably obscenely expensive and probably endangered as well, some obviously male objects thrown around like a soccer ball in one corner, a gaming console hooked up to the large TV and what she assumed to be weights.
He led her to his bedroom with surprising gentleness, and wordlessly turned on the lights, and turned fully toward her.
Their height different became apparent to her, and up close like this, in someone else’s home, with such a handsome man in front of her, she became flustered and anxious, her eyes coming up to his lips.
He placed his hands on her bare shoulders, they were warm like his smiles of minutes past, but now he was completely serious, the chestnut of his eyes giving place to the black of his dilated pupils, his desire evident.
She looked up, gray eyes softly tracing his features with her eyesight, trying to commit everything to memory. His cologne had a scent of forest and heat, and it mixed itself with his own characteristic scent.
He leaned forward slowly, and she closed her eyes in expectation, leaning forward as well, her small purse hanging off her hands between her legs.
A man’s lips touched hers for the first time, and emotion exploded inside her heart, as she instinctively dropped the purse on the ground.
His hands were considerably larger and also rougher than any woman or girlfriend she ever had, and that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing she found out.
They traced her arms down, as Marco kissed her softly, as if she was a sixteen year old girl, discovering a man for the first time; and although she was twenty-three, a part of that was true.
Soon they clasped her own hands, interweaving their fingers together, and she let herself be lead, completely in the moment, taking in the new experience in its entirety, beginning to fluster once again.
He broke the kiss gently, looking deep into her eyes as she blushed, her pale creamy skin taking in the hues of the fast pumping blood underneath, her body responding to the physical and mental stimulation brought by a man.
“You are gorgeous, una obra prima, un ángel,” His hands left her, coming to rest on her hips, in between gentleness and forcefulness, almost possessively, pressing her body to his, and she could feel the hardness of his desire for her pressed against her belly through the fabric of the dress.
“You say those things-” she began, but was cut off by another kiss, this time their tongues twirling and dancing around each other as Marco invaded her mouth.
Her hands began to trace his body in exploration, the first obvious spot being his chest, feeling his defined pectoral muscles with slight trepidation even while they kissed, their passion reaching new levels.
She then traced his arms, full of barely restrained strength and power, a far cry from anything she had ever felt or her own arms.
Marco took the lead again, his hands moving from her waist up to her sides and onto her back, one hand coming to rest on the back of her head, controlling their kiss, while the other went to the small of her back, just above her ass.
Soon enough they broke their kiss again, and she was panting for breath, with a thin thread of saliva connect her lips to his, smeared with her lipstick.
“Undress my shirt,” Marco said, almost ordering her.
She offered no resistance, going completely silent and looking up to him, flush against his body.
With her fingers trembling slightly, she slowly undid the remaining buttons, eyes fixed on her task as his chest was revealed to her.
He was made of hard muscle, the product of many hours at the gym, of genetics coupled with hard work and the will to transform his body into the ideal version of itself.
He was in full display to her, as if he were a statue of a Greek hero; white marble given life and a will of its own.
He removed his hands from her for only a second to let the shirt fall off completely, and for the briefest of moments she wanted them back on her body immediately, missing their warmth and pressure, their grip holding her steady.
‘He’s…’ Crystal had seen pictures of bare-chested men before, and even saw them on beaches or pools, but standing less than a meter from one was another experience entirely.
His hands were finally on her again, and she suppressed a wanton sigh from leaving her lips, already feeling the beginnings of her arousal between her legs; his lips found her neck, and she closed her eyes as he began a series of kisses and small suctions and bites.
Her hands left his chest to explore his back, and to rest behind his neck, occasionally resting on his broad shoulder.
Again he seized control güvenilir bahis siteleri of her, moving from her slender neck to her lips again, and she melted once more against him, her knees beginning to display a womanly weakness that she did not think possible.
“Kiss my body, taste it for yourself.” He ordered her again, breaking their kiss.
Crystal didn’t even think about the fact of being told what to do in that situation, taking into account that she was the one to have instigated their encounter in the first place.
She looked up to him for one second, eyes clouded in a haze of lust and wonder, and then planted a kiss on his chest, feeling bolder shortly after and running her tongue through his skin.
‘He tastes like a man.’ She thought, while seeking his lips again.
He indulged her, and while he kissed her, one hand undid the leather belt around his waist, expertly pulling it and discarding it out of their sight.
Crystal registered the sound, and what it meant, and it only made her heart beat faster, as her hands clung on his shoulders for dear life, occasionally tracing his strong jaw, picturing his body through tact alone.
She felt his free hand then moving to the zipper of her dress, slowly pulling it down to the small of her back, and suddenly it was held in place only by the shoulder straps.
Her breath quickened, and all she could do was make a small and anxious nod to him, feeling shortly after his hands move up to her shoulders, pulling the straps off them to hang on the sides of her arms, then pulling her dress down.
As the black dress fell on the ground, she could feel the heat of his chest skin to skin, and it slowly drove her crazy with anticipation, her pussy already wet inside her panties.
She wore white lace lingerie, the bra holding her medium sized breasts and pulling them up at the same time, while the panties enveloped her sex and her round firm ass.
She gasped as Marco’s hands were suddenly on her rear, grasping them with strength under his palms.
He massaged her ass, while they kissed yet again, Crystal becoming increasingly familiar with the man’s tongue inside her mouth, wrestling with her own tongue as they made out.
“Take my pants off,” he said, after breaking their French kiss to bite at her neck, whispering at her ear.
Her hands made their way across his chest, down to his abs, and then finally to the pants, and she began to undo the button holding it in place, her lithe fingers occasionally brushing with the hardness just a little bit below.
She managed to complete her task, as Marco remained nestled in the crook of her neck, moving his attentions to her shoulders and then back to her neck, drawing one sigh after another from her lips.
His jeans came to the ground and he kicked it off along with his shoes, and she looked down, seeing the bulge on his boxers.
He placed one hand atop her own, leaning back from her neck to watch her expression, guiding her hand to touch his cock, strained inside the underwear.
She touched it lightly, noticing immediately the pulsation that rippled across the considerable length, and the warmth that it radiated on her hands, sending shivers across her body.
Marco began to fondle her breasts with his other hand, enjoying both the feel of her soft skin on his hand and the sensual fabric of her white bra, and he moved further on, down to her soft belly and her hips, to her ass again, giving a squeeze, and eliciting a small gasp.
She continued to simply hold on to his cock, feeling it against her hand and getting used to the idea of it actually happening.
His hands soon found her pussy, and she gasped audibly, clenching her hand on his member as she felt, his fingers trail up and down her sex over the white panties, from her clit down to her entrance, and she was already moist over her underwear.
His hand moved up again, coming down now inside her panties as his fingers found their way across her skin, down to her light blonde pubes, well-trimmed in a V shape.
His digits finally reached her pussy, opening her lips with his index and middle fingers, returning to stimulate her clit, and then on to her entrance, teasing and masturbating her at the same time, while Crystal closed her eyes and basked in the sensation.
He removed his hand from inside her panties, pulling up his fingers to his mouth and tasting her nectar, making sure her eyes were transfixed on her action.
“You are delicious,” he said locking his eyes to her, moving both hands back on to her waist, thumbs inside her underwear and threatening to pull it down.
Crystal removed her bra while he held her, letting it fall off to the side and exposing her mounds to him, along with her erect pink nipples.
Marco took one hand form her waist and to her breast, pushing it up from below and he bent down to taste it completely, devouring her in kisses and caresses with his tongue.
“I want this,” she said softly, resting her hands on his back, embracing him completely.
He answered by pulling down her panties down on her tights until they were slack enough to fall on their own past her black heels.
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