Chapter 4: First Time Inside Me

The following Thursday night arrived like a fever dream I couldn’t wake from. Dad’s car had just disappeared down the street for his weekly poker game, and I was already waiting in the master bedroom, heart slamming against my ribs, cock straining painfully against my boxers. The room smelled of fresh sheets and her strawberry candle, the same one from before, but everything felt heavier now—charged, inevitable.

Laura slipped inside wearing a short silk robe the color of deep midnight. She didn’t say hello. She simply let the robe slide from her shoulders and pool at her feet, standing naked and glowing in the soft lamplight. Her skin still carried the faint flush from her evening shower, nipples already tight and rosy, the gentle swell of her athletic curves catching every shadow. She crossed the room in two steps, pulled me into a deep kiss that tasted of mint toothpaste and raw sin, and pressed her body against mine so I knew she could feel exactly how hard I was.

“Tonight is the night, baby,” she breathed against my mouth, smiling like she’d been waiting years for this. “Mommy is finally going to take that cock inside her.”

She guided me to sit on the edge of the bed, then knelt between my spread thighs with graceful confidence. Her hands were warm as she freed me from the boxers, wrapping her fingers around my throbbing length in a slow, perfect grip. “Let me show you how Mommy likes to be touched first,” she murmured, voice low and instructional. She stroked me with deliberate care—long, twisting glides from base to tip, thumb circling the sensitive underside, squeezing just enough at the head to make my hips jerk. She explained every motion: the pressure she craved, the rhythm that made her wettest, how to twist at the crown so the pleasure built like fire licking dry grass. Pre-cum coated her palm, and she used it to slick me further, never rushing, eyes locked on mine the whole time.

When I was leaking steadily and trembling, she lay back on the bed, thighs parting wide. “Your turn, sweetheart. Give Mommy your fingers.” She took my hand and placed two fingers at her entrance, already slick and swollen. The heat was shocking—velvety, pulsing, drawing me in. She taught me the exact curve inside her, the spongy spot that made her gasp and clench, how to curl and stroke in steady waves. “Slower ... yes, right there. Feel how I tighten around you?” Her walls fluttered, silky and scorching, coating my fingers in fresh wetness. She came from just my hand—back arching slightly, breath catching in a soft cry, thighs quivering as she whispered “Mommy’s good boy” while staring straight into my eyes.