You get in the family station wagon and Mom fires it up. On the road, you watch the rearview. Ms. Carte's shiny red sportscar tailing you is impossible to miss. Luckily, Mom is blissfully oblivious.
"What do you think?" Mom asks, spinning around in the mirror to examine herself from every angle.
"I think it's a bikini."
She slaps your shoulder.
"Well what do you want me to say?" you groan impatiently. "'Oh God, let me fuck you'?"
To be honest, if Ms. Carte doesn't show up soon, you might consider--
"You're vile. Absolutely vile. I should disown you."
She spins around in the mirror again, trying to look at her own butt, chasing after it like a cat after its tail.
"Does this outfit make me look fat?" she asks.
The dreaded question. You just shrug it off. "Most things do," you reply, chuckling.
She slugs you in the ribs. It only hurts a little.
"If you keep abusing me, I'll call the authorities."
"You'll need to call a morgue if you keep that up!"
"Why are you buying a bikini, anyway? It's September, summer's basically over."
"That's why," she says. "They're on such big sale now. Don't you know anything about shopping for clothes?"
You don't answer her and instead meander over to the men's section, feeling bored. Mom heads for the changing room to try on another set of clothes.
As you look through shirts on a circular display, slowly moving hangers aside, you see a human face hiding amongst the clothes.
You jump back, falling to your butt. "Jesus!" you cry.
Ms. Carte puts a finger to her lips, grinning at you. She kneels down inside the circular display so she can look you in the eyes from between the shirts.
"Changing room 11," she says. "It's in the back, not much foot traffic."
"Right now?" you breathe. You look toward the women's section. Mom is nowhere in sight.
"Right now," Ms. Carte affirms. "Or don't you want a reward for all that hard work?"
You cast one last glance around, again seeing no one.
It's time.
You pace around the tiny beige room, the insane intensity of your need growing by the nanosecond. At the peak of your frustration, the shuttered door clicks open. Ms. Carte enters.
She lightly pushes against your chest, forcing you to sit on the uncomfortable wood bench connected to the wall. The geometry of this encounter isn't exactly favorable for stretching out, but neither of you are in any state to care.
You kiss each other with wide open mouths, and just as in the karaoke bar, the back of your mind registers how awkward her tongue is against yours, how inexperienced she seems. But no matter. It's wet and hot, and actually tastes of mint -- did she use some kind of breath freshener before coming here? Kneeling to kiss you, Ms. Carte draws her hair behind her ears with one hand, too entranced to pull back. Your breathing against one another is ragged and quick.
"Alabaster," she moans between kisses when you finally do break away. You draw her close and nuzzle her, running suckling kisses up and down her neck that leave behind beautiful red welts on the ivory skin. She falls to her knees for easier access.
"Alabaster," she says again. "I want you to know something..."
You stop and look at her.
"I want you to know that I'm choosing this."
"I don't understand."
"No, of course you don't..." Ms. Carte wiggles in your embrace, her body heat emanating like the steady pulse of a fired furnace. "But over the next few weeks, you might find some things out about yourself. And if you think back today you might wonder whether this was real. I want you to know it's real."
"Forget it," you say. "Just forget it. I know this is real."
You take Ms. Carte by either shoulder, spinning her around. The maneuvering is awkward inside this cramped space. You sit her on the bench, her tailabone against the edge and back against the wall. Her body hums with anticipation, bird-like, her skin turned to gooseflesh under your fingers.
You pull her pants down, not roughly, but quickly. Her plain white panties are stained dark with her need. You can see the outline of a bush -- neatly trimmed, a small strip just above the clitoral hood. Something like this would have turned you off, only weeks before -- the Alabaster of today buries his nose in it, inhaling deeply. Ms. Carte stifles a cry by biting her knuckles.
You've never eaten pussy before, but want to try it, just a little. You sweep Ms. Carte's panties aside and give her a hesitant lick. Ms. Carte throws her head back so quickly that it bumps against the wall with a hard whack. She doesn't even seem to notice. You let your tongue rest on her pussy lips. Her juice pools in your mouth -- there's more than you expected. Swallowing greedily, you lap at her cunt, breathing in her aroma, tasting her-- tangy and searing hot, like semisweet chocolate maybe, an acquired taste. You acquire it immediately.
"Ala-- Alabaster--" Ms. Carte's voice is so staccato and trembly that she's almost unintelligible. "P-p-p-please, don't make me wait anymore..."
You stand up, kicking off your pants and then your boxers. Your dick is swollen and dripping. Ms. Carte looks at it like a climber looking at Everest, eyes filled with doubt.
"Please..." she says. She gulps. "Be gentle. This is embarrassing, but... I haven't..."
Your cock twitches and you stand over her, supporting your weight against the bench. You kiss her deeply.
"You're joking," you say. "Never?"
Ms. Carte shakes her head.
You grab yourself in one hand. With with other, you hold Ms. Carte's thigh and guide her legs apart for easy entry. "Hold it there," you tell her, and pull off her dripping underwear.
Ms. Carte kneads her hands together, whining in anxiety and desire, as she stares at your dick.
Clasping her chin, you draw her view up. You look her in the eyes and smile kindly, to allay her fear.
And you kiss her at the exact same moment you steal her virginity.
"Mmmf--" Ms. Carte grunts, her whole body tensing. You can feel a small trickle around your shaft that serves as the last vestige of her virginity washing away.
Her pussy contracts, not skillfully the way Whitney's does -- but the uncoordinated, uncontrolled spasms give you a new kind of pleasure.
Ms. Carte doesn't know what to do, where to put her hands, where to look: you guide her gently, just as she asked. Your thrusts are short, and slow, and shallow, but you pick up the pace over several minutes. You try not to lose control -- you've been waiting so long, in such lust -- but you don't want to go crazy, you don't want to be too rough.
For some reason, you care more about the woman underneath you than yourself right now.
"Alabaster-- Alabaster--!!"
Her legs wrap around your hips, her arms around your neck. As you fuck yourself into her, deeper and deeper, you let out a few heavy sighs and growls of your own that echo off the walls, mingling with hers.
And then there's a knock on the door.
"Alabaster," comes your mother's voice. "Are you in there?"
You try not to respond, but your breathing is giving you away, and you know you need to say something. "J-just a minute!!" you holler, trying to mask your ecstasy and doing a very bad job.
"Come on," she says. "Hurry up. I want you to look at this outfit."
"I'll be done s-soon!" you say.
"Alabaster... Alabaster..." Ms. Carte repeats, whispering -- but you can't risk Mom overhearing even this. You shut her up with a long, wet kiss that she returns eagerly, her eyes half-lidded.
"I'm close..." you whisper as quietly as you can, directly in her ear.
"Please," she whispers back. "All of it-- give me all of it--"
"It's okay?" you ask.
Ms. Carte's legs around your hips interlock and pull you deeper into her sucking pussy. "Cum inside, cum inside," she slurs, high on pleasure. "I need it, I need you..."
"Alabaster?" Mom asks. "Are... are you all right in there?"
"I'm fine!" you yell. "I'm-- I'll be out soon-- I'm-- I'm coming! I'M CUMMING!!!"
You pour whole liters of your jizz deep into you Ms. Carte's virgin cunt. Your hips buck wildly against hers as the wet explosion pulses through the both of you. Your cum leaks out around your shaft. Ms. Carte wrenchs her eyes shut, grits her teeth, balls her fists. You bite her shoulder to keep from yelling anything further, so hard that it draws blood, and you feel awful about this -- you actually feel guilty -- but in the moment you can't help it, and she doesn't seem to care, either during the moment itself or in the immediate aftermath.
With cum still leaking from your dick and directly into her most intimate parts, you give Ms. Carte an eskimo kiss. She returns it -- and who can say why the urge to do this struck you, just now -- but rubbing noses with Ms. Carte as you finish spilling your seed inside her is the most satisfying moment of your young life so far.
Judging by her satisfied sighs and mewls, Ms. Carte feels the same way.
GIRLS FUCKED: 3/6