how Cierra lost her virginity
I remember it perfectly, as though it was yesterday. And for some of you, it may seem like it was yesterday. I have been deflowered for approximately one year, five months, and one week. I am extremely fresh. Daddy is the man I lost my virginity to, and is the only person I’ve slept with in my life.
Are you surprised?
I was a very shy girl when I met Daddy- cripplingly shy, in fact (I still am with most people). On top of that, I was as pure as could be. I honestly hadn’t done any more than kissing with the opposite sex, and was self-conscious to an extreme. The moment I saw him, I fell into a deep, consuming infatuation. It was something, combined with his looks, about the way he looked up at me, acknowledged my presence and then looked back to his business as if I didn’t exist. It compelled me. I was initially attracted to him because he’s devilishly good looking, but that just suckered me. He noticed, of course. I saw him on a daily basis, and couldn’t help but blush and stare and wonder if he noticed me. I wanted him to pay attention. I wanted him to be like the other men that would drool over me and lust after me that I chose to ignore, but he didn’t. It seemed as though I was just a consumption of space to him.
I’ll tell you something about Daddy- he’s smooth. Almost unbearably so. After a few weeks of my attentions, he chatted me up without pause, delighting in my rosened cheeks and ridiculous, blubbering behavior. I wanted him more than anything, but couldn’t communicate that. I wanted him to want me, and to take me of his own volition. I would have no part in seducing him in any purposeful fashion. Daddy was very forward, as well. A few weeks into our “courting,” I remember, we were standing outside of a building, chatting. I was dressed casually in a shirt that had raised lettering across the bust. Without hesitation, Daddy reached over and ran his fingers over the stitching and commented on the interesting texture. That was the most a man had ever touched me like that, and I was astounded. I liked it. I craved more of it, but I made no move to express that desire; I just blushed and looked at him from beneath my lashes. He did this for a long while. He paid gratuitous amounts of attention to me, then disappeared and left nothing but his charming memory and whisper-light touch, leaving me to do nothing short of rejoice when he decided that I was worth his time again.
I considered us exclusive, for some reason, and in ways, we were. Daddy would tease me and touch other girls’ cheeks while I was watching- now that I look back on it, I realize his motivation. He wanted to remind me that I was his. Or, rather, that I had effectively been enslaved by him: he was all I wanted, all I would ever want. I was trapped, and he loved it.
In the beginning everything consisted of testing the waters. Him touching me without asking, me not daring to say anything about it, us not properly together. It slowly progressed to where I was completely thirsting for him. I had to see him whenever I could. We snuck away into dark corners to kiss and touch while I skipped out on important meetings. After five months of fooling around, it got to the point where I would go to his house every night, we’d lay in his bed, and he’d undress me- a little more each time, until it was expected that I would be stripped naked.
Daddy was insatiable, which frightened me. I knew that he wanted sex, but I was a tentative little thing. I won’t lie and say that I didn’t want it, because I did, but I was nervous. I didn’t know what I was doing, for Christ’s sake. Every night, I’d lay in his bed and ward his hands away from that spot between my legs. To this day, I’m still surprised that he wasn’t more rough and persistent with me than he was; I’m grateful that he wasn’t, though. I appreciated his respect for me in that sense.
One night, in March, we were splayed across his bed. I was naked and cuddled into him, looking at the clock and inwardly smiling at the ungodly hour. His hands played along my body as we whispered lovely things to each other in the blue glow of that clock. Fingers flitted to the insides of my thighs; I gasped and squeezed my legs together, letting out a small, scared whimper.
“Let me,” he said softly.
We bantered and argued about it, reverting to elementary-style bargaining.
“Just for five minutes, come on,” he teased. I shook my head furiously.
This continued until he’d finally gotten me to acquiesce, I think, with ten seconds. I was unbelievably shaky and completely disbelieving that I was going to let this happen. Daddy laid me back on the bed, my head near the foot of it, and gently pushed my legs open. We watched the clock for the new minute to flash up. I figured that it’d be okay- that I’d just count to ten and then wriggle away, no harm done. When the number turned, he gave me one last look to make sure that I was okay, and then pushed a finger into my pussy. I remember gasping and closing my eyes, which cued him to continue. It wasn’t like anything I’d ever felt before. Especially nothing like what I felt like when I was down there. His fingers were bigger, stronger, somehow more deft than mine were. I let my moans and gasps escape me and soar to the corners of his room, where they stayed, and still are. I didn’t know how many seconds had gone by. After his fingers were inside of me, I couldn’t have even told you what a clock was. I did end up letting my shyness get the better of me, and wriggled away. My eyes flashed to the clock to find that a good five minutes had passed. I blushed and cuddled back up to him.
“That wasn’t that bad, was it?”
“No, I suppose not,” I said with a smile.
Then he asked me for more. I was still getting over the fact that I’d just broken a massive barrier, and now I was being compelled to let this man have me, right there, right then. I thought for a moment, then decided against it.
“No, not tonight.”
“If not tonight, then when?”
“The next time we see each other, I promise.” I needed to clear my head and make sure that I was making a good decision, but the flush of my cheeks and the wetness between my legs was urging me to beg him to just take me. He paused, then nodded.
We spent the rest of the night discussing the next time we’d meet; we were scheduled for the next night, but things hadn’t worked out that way. He ended up picking me up on a cool Saturday night and driving me to his house, all the while scaring me with his brazen talk.
“I’m going to fuck you, Cierra. I’m going to fuck you until you can’t speak anymore.”
I couldn’t respond. I secretly had my hands between my legs, both to keep them warm, and to check and see if I was just imagining the wetness that was beginning to present itself. I wasn’t. He continued to talk to me quietly like that until we got to his house. Daddy led me in quickly, then back to his room. I waved at his dog on the way in. Once in his room, I froze. Half of me wanted to throw myself at him, while the other half didn’t know what the hell to do. He rummaged through some of his stuff on a shelf and brought three condoms over to me.
“Ribbed, twisted, or studded, you choose,” he questioned.
I didn’t know, and it was humiliating to be asked. “I don’t know.”
“Fuck it, we’ll go with studded.” His nonchalance made me feel small, and like I shouldn’t have been there. I almost considered telling him that I’d changed my mind and wanted to go home. I was sitting on the edge of his bed, crossing and uncrossing my ankles, staring that the toes of my shoes. Daddy came over and gave me a kiss, then moved my legs up onto the bed. Being beneath him banished every one of my doubts. I realized, in an overbearing rush, that that was where I belonged. We were both undressed, then. He asked if I was okay.
“Are you ready? Are you sure you want to do this?”
And with that, he entered me. I was overwhelmed. Daddy’s not a small man- he’s actually very well endowed. It hurt. I bit my lip and nodded when he asked again if I was okay. Everything was swirling around in my head at a million miles an hour at first while it was still painful. Slowly, everything came to a stop, and all I could think about was him. The feeling. The unbearably sexy idea that he was inside of me. He’d taken me. In this moment, I became undoubtedly his. The entire fiasco went from gentle and concerned to fast and pleasurable very quickly after that. I was sighing and gasping, came, and then went right back to sighing and gasping.
At the closing, I was so very embarrassed at the mess I’d caused. I stood to the side of the bed to get dressed while he washed his hands in the adjoining bathroom.
“I’m sorry,” I said, apologetically.
He grinned. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”
We sat on his kitchen floor talking for a good bit, and then he drove me home. I was satisfied and scared. We made it official a few days afterward.
I look back on this memory with fondness for quite a few reasons. Daddy’s dominance was present, in very subtle ways, for the entirety of the seven months of our courting, and that was one of the reasons that I was so drawn to him. I didn’t realize this until I reflected upon it. Plus, it reminds me of how thoroughly he owns me- he’s got every bit of me, including my virginity.
Plus, this was the grand opening. That night is what’s led me to become the ravenous little cumslut that I am today. From such timidity to a wicked lust for Daddy’s cock. Lovely, if you ask me.