Chapter 1: An Eventful Night

Caution: This Romantic Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Fa/Fa, Mult, Consensual, Romantic, BiSexual, Fiction, BDSM, MaleDom, Spanking, Light Bond, First, Oral Sex, Anal Sex, Masturbation, Water Sports, Cream Pie, Slow, .

Desc: Romantic Sex Story: Chapter 1: An Eventful Night - Boy meets girl. Girl is gorgeous. Boy is a nerd. Boy asks girl out. Boy is rejected. Boy plots revenge. But when he gets the perfect chance to take that revenge, he can't do it. What she gives him, ultimately, is far more worthwhile. This is the story of a blossoming relationship, and of the ways in which that relationship impacts others.

The changes in my life began at about 11:00 one Friday night in early October. I’d been out - no, not on a date. I don’t do that. A bunch of my friends from the History Club at university had gone to see a movie together. It was a period piece, and not very well done. As I walked home, I was wishing I hadn’t bothered to go. Now, in hindsight, I am so very glad I did.

I was walking past the front door of the Thistle, one of the pubs just off campus, when she stumbled out. Not very tall. Little black dress, little black purse, strappy black heels, and gorgeous red hair. It was obvious that she had had way too much to drink. She could barely put one foot after the other. And she only made it about five feet away from the door before she vomited. Loudly. And copiously.

So what was unusual about that, you might be asking. A drunk young woman stumbles out of a bar in a university town and pukes her guts up on the street. Happens at least once every weekend, likely.

Well, you see, this wasn’t just any drunk young woman. This was Cheryl Roberts. The girl of my dreams.

We’d met the year before. She was in my first-year Canadian history course. I was an arts major, studying history and geography. She was a second-year business student, and had to take one arts course in order to graduate. She was late coming to class on the first day, and the only available seat was beside me. It was one of those classes where everyone just stayed in their seats all term, so we spent the course sitting beside each other.

As the class wore on, we talked, occasionally. History was not her strength. It wasn’t that she was stupid. She just couldn’t understand the basic principles of history. She asked for help on her assignments, and I gave it. Mostly, I just wanted to be near her. And I am sure she knew that, and took advantage of it. I was in love. Or at least in lust. She was in neither. When that first semester ended, and we got our grades, she had a respectable B+ in the course. (I had an A, but that’s neither here nor there.)

I didn’t see her very much in second semester. Her courses were mostly on a different part of the campus from mine. But that didn’t stop me thinking about her. Every night, as I lay in bed stroking my hard cock, it was her face I pictured. When I came, it was her mouth or her cunt that I was feeling wrapped around my cock. Or at least, it was her mouth or her cunt that I was imagining feeling wrapped around my cock. I had no idea what a woman’s mouth or cunt would actually feel like. I was a total virgin. I hadn’t even seen a woman naked, except in magazines and on the internet. And the only thing that had ever been wrapped around my cock was my hand.

And then one day near the end of the term I ran into her, almost literally, in the hallway. She was chatting with a friend, a gorgeous blonde who was just a bit taller than Cheryl and had a magnificent rack. I hadn’t seen Cheryl in weeks. And when I said hi, she said hi back.

I should have left it there. But I didn’t. Acting on impulse, I blurted out, “Hey, Cheryl, would you like to go out for dinner and a movie with me on the weekend?”

You could have cut through the silence that followed with a knife.

“No, John, I wouldn’t like to do that,” she replied, with a tone of disdain in her voice.

I turned and fled. But not fast enough to get out of earshot before I heard Cheryl and her friend burst into laughter. I didn’t catch all that they said, and that is likely just as well. But I did hear Cheryl say, “As if I’d go on a date with a loser like him when I could go out with a real man instead!”

I was crushed, and I was angry. And while I wasn’t quite as much in love with her after that, I still jacked off thinking about her every night. But now, she was tied up and powerless to resist me as I took revenge on her for being such a bitch. I read every story I could find online where the geeky guy gets back at the gorgeous girl. I read about the guy who blackmailed his sister and her two best friends into being his sex slaves for the summer. I read about the guys who tricked the cheerleaders into becoming their little sluts. I read about the guy who kidnapped his ex and took her to his cabin in the mountains and chained her to his bed for a week. You get the idea. All through that summer I shot load after load after load of cum out of my cock, thinking it was teaching Cheryl Roberts a lesson that that bitch so desperately needed to learn.

And now, here she was in front of me, puking her guts up on the sidewalk. No one else was around. She straightened up, stumbled towards me, and headed face-first for the pavement. I reached out my hand and caught her by the arm, and steadied her.

“Aw, hiya, John,” she slurred. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Cheryl, I think I need to ask you that question. What are you doing out here?”

“Gotta get home. Too much to drink. Hammered. Gotta get home. Be safe there.”

And then she heaved again, sending another stream of boozy puke onto the sidewalk. God, I thought to myself, why do people drink this much? I mean, I like a beer - or a vodka and orange juice, or a rum and coke, for that matter - but I’ve never had so much I had to puke it up afterwards.

Cheryl was still clinging to me, and it was obvious that if I let go of her she would collapse. I had to do something with her. But what? I could call the cops, but that seemed extreme. She hadn’t done anything, other than puking on public property, and I wasn’t sure that was a crime. I could take her to her place, but I had no idea where that was. Surely she had some ID and keys in her purse, but I wasn’t about to go digging through there. So I scooped her up into my arms and took her to the only place I could think of. My apartment. It was only a few blocks away. She wasn’t light, but I’d been going to the gym enough that I could just about manage. I had to set her down three times so she could barf, but the last two times we had to do that it was just dry heaves, so I figured she had gotten the worst of the alcohol out of her system.

I carried her into my place (so glad I was on the first floor!) and into the bedroom, where I sat her on the bed and flipped on the bedside lamp. Her dress was covered in vomit, and she smelled terrible. I couldn’t put her to bed like that, could I? Really? No.

So I stood her up again, reached behind her, and slid the zipper on the back of the dress down as far as I could. Then I grabbed the dress by the hem and pulled it up and over her head. She giggled a bit as she felt her dress being taken off, but didn’t resist.

Then I looked down and nearly collapsed myself. She was beautiful. Flawless pale skin, no tattoos, no piercings. Silky little black lace-edged panties, sexy little black pushup bra. Or it would have been sexy, if it hadn’t had vomit on it. It would have to go too. I reached behind her again and unhooked the catch, then pulled it gently off her shoulders. Two perfect boobs popped out. Not too big, as I knew they wouldn’t be. But lovely. Firm - they didn’t seem to need the bra - and with pink areoles and hard little nipples. They looked absolutely perfect. Then again, they were the first ones I’d ever seen in the flesh (so to speak), so I didn’t have any real basis for comparison.

I wanted to suck on them. But I didn’t. Instead I walked her to the side of the bed and pulled back the covers and laid her down on her back. Her eyes closed, and she seemed to fall asleep instantly. I took her shoes off. Then I ran to the bathroom and got a warm soapy cloth, and wiped off her face and the top of her chest. Ok, so I washed her boobs too. So sue me. She didn’t stir, even when I ran the cloth over her nipple. I thought about taking her panties off, so I could see her cunt. But she hadn’t gotten any puke down there, and so I couldn’t justify it.

Then I stood and looked at her. Cheryl Roberts. The girl of my wet dreams. Practically naked, and unconscious in my bed. Mine to do whatever I wanted to with.

But I couldn’t do it. Despite all the stories I had read and all the dreams I had had, I couldn’t rape a girl who was passed out. And while I briefly thought of tying her wrists and ankles to the bed so I could rape her when she woke up, I realized that I couldn’t bring myself to do that either.

So instead of losing my virginity with Cheryl Roberts, I rolled her onto her side, in case she vomited again, put a pillow at her back to keep her that way, and pulled up the covers. I took her puked-on dress and bra into the bathroom and left them draped over the tub, so it would be obvious why I had taken them off. I got a t-shirt out of my dresser and left it on the bedside table, so she could put it on when she woke up. I leaned over her, and kissed her forehead gently. And then I turned out the light and left the room, closing the door gently on my way out.

For the rest of this story, you need to Log In or Register