Chapter 853 - 852- The Doubts of Her first time

Chapter 853: Chapter 852- The Doubts of Her first time

I reached down. My thumb, finding the slit, pressed. The lips, which were closed, parted. The interior, pink and wet, was exposed. The entrance, tight and small, was visible. The clitoris, which was hiding beneath its hood, was a small pearl.

I rubbed. My thumb, on the slit, moved. The motion, slow and circular, traced the length. From the top, where the clit hid, to the bottom, where the entrance waited. The touch, which was light, was a tease.

She trembled. Her body, which was in the water, was rigid. Her hands, which were at her sides, gripped the edge of the tub. Her eyes, which had been closed, opened. Wide and wet.

I pushed my finger in. The middle finger, which had been rubbing, entered. The walls, which were tight and wet, gripped. The finger, pushing in and out, moved slowly. The motion, which was careful, was a preparation.

I sucked her boob. My mouth, finding the left breast, took the nipple. The flesh, which was soft and heavy, filled my mouth. The nipple, which was stiff and dark, was hard against my tongue. I sucked. The sensation, which was warm and wet, made her gasp.

"AH...!!"

I did foreplay. My finger, in her pussy, moved. My mouth, on her breast, sucked. My other hand, on her other breast, kneaded. The combination, which was overwhelming, was designed to break her. To dissolve her resistance. To turn her body against her mind.

She moaned. The sound, which was continuous and soft, was the sound of a woman who was losing a battle. Her body, which was being stimulated, was responding. Her pussy, which was being fingered, was wet. Not from the water. From arousal. The fluid, thick and warm, coated my finger.

"Professor," she gasped. The word, which was not a protest but a plea, was the word of a woman who was drowning in sensation. "Professor, please..."

I pulled back. My mouth, releasing her nipple, was wet. My finger, withdrawing from her pussy, was slick. I looked at her. At the face, which was flushed and wet. At the eyes, which were wide and dazed.

"In the classroom," I said. My voice, which was low and conversational, was the voice of a man asking a question. "When I dealt with Prince Leo. What did you think?"

She trembled. The question, which was not about the current situation but about the afternoon, was a shift. A redirection. From the physical to the emotional.

"You were..." she started. The word, which was the beginning of a sentence, was a hesitation. "You were so macho. So confident. So... unafraid."

Her voice, which had been soft, became softer. The words, which were not flattery but confession, were the words of a woman who had been watching.

"Everyone bootlicks him," she said. "Everyone. The nobles. The commoners. Even the professors. Everyone bows. Everyone scrapes. Everyone pretends that the prince is worthy because the title is worthy."

"But you," she said. Her eyes, which had been distant, found mine. "You did not bow. You did not scrape. You did not pretend. You told him the truth. That he was not worthy. That his title was borrowed. That his skill was insufficient."

She bit her lip. The gesture, which was unconscious, was the gesture of a woman who was about to say something that she had not planned to say.

"It was the most attractive thing I have ever seen," she whispered.

I chuckled. The sound, which was warm and genuine, was the sound of a man who appreciated honesty. My mouth, which had been smiling, found her breast again. I sucked. The nipple, which had softened during the conversation, stiffened.

"AH...!! ... professor...!!"

I moved down. My mouth, leaving her breast, traveled. Over her belly. Over the soft flesh that rounded beneath her navel. Over the hip bone, which was hidden beneath the curve. To the thigh, which was soft and warm.

I found her pussy. My mouth, which had been traveling, arrived. The hair, blonde and fine, tickled my nose. The scent, musky and warm, filled my lungs. I breathed. The inhale, deep and deliberate, was a savoring.

I licked. My tongue, finding the slit, traced the length. From the bottom, where the entrance waited, to the top, where the clit hid. The taste, which was salt and musk and arousal, filled my mouth.

She cried. The sound, which was not pain but pleasure, was sharp. Her hands, which had been at her sides, found my head. Her fingers, in my hair, gripped. The pull, which was not pushing away but holding close, was the pull of a woman who was feeling something she had never felt.

"Professor...!! ... AH...!! ... what are you... HAAANGH...!!"

I sucked. My mouth, on her clit, closed. The pearl, which had been hiding, was exposed. The suction, which was gentle but firm, was a pull. The sensation, which was new and overwhelming, made her body convulse.

"AH...!! ... AH...!! ... I cannot... HIEEENGH...!! ... professor...!! ... I cannot...!!"

I licked and sucked. The combination, which was relentless, was too much. Her body, which had been rigid, went limp. Her legs, which had been together, fell open. Her pussy, which had been tight, loosened. The walls, which had been closed, parted.

She squirted.

The fluid, thin and hot, hit my face. The stream, which was not a spray but a gush, covered my chin. My cheeks. My lips. The liquid, which was clear and musky, ran down my jaw.

She gasped. The sound, which was the sound of a woman who had just experienced something she did not know her body could do, was a cry. Her eyes, which had been closed, opened. She looked down. At me. At my face, which was wet with her juice.

"Professor," she gasped. The word, which was the only word she could form, was a whisper.

I kissed her abdomen. The skin, which was soft and warm, was a contrast to the wetness on my face. I kissed. My lips, traveling up from her belly, moved. Over her navel. Over her ribs. Over her breast. To her neck. To her ear.

I came up. My face, which was wet, was close to hers. She looked at me. At the juice, which was on my chin. At the lips, which were smiling. At the eyes, which were violet and warm.

I stroked my cock. My hand, which had been on her, moved to myself. The shaft, which had been hard throughout the foreplay, was ready. Ten inches. Thick. The head, dark and swollen, leaked pre-cum. The fluid, mixing with the bathwater, was invisible.

I pushed against her pussy. The head, which was large and hot, pressed against the entrance. The lips, which were swollen and wet, parted. The entrance, which was tight and small, yielded. The tip, entering, was met with resistance.

"Should I enter?" I said. The question, which was a formality, was a courtesy. The answer, which her body had already given, was yes. But the words, which her mind needed to say, were the last barrier.

She trembled. Her eyes, which had been on my cock, lifted. To my face. To the eyes. To the man who was about to take her virginity.

"No," she whispered. The word, which was not a refusal but a fear, was the word of a woman who was afraid of the pain. "I..."