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We had just come back from a party with your friends. I had spent the night shy, sticking close to you—ever the reserved lady. I made polite, demure conversation in my little black not-too-revealing dress, trying not to let my obvious youth show. Your friends were impressed, and overall, you were pleased with my performance—and you wanted to let me know that. We walked in the entrance of your loft, and you took my shoulders and turned me around, pressing my back up against the door. You leaned in close to me, letting your lips touch mine, but not satisfying me with a kiss while you moved to turn the lock on the door. I rubbed up against you slightly—lips ready for yours, begging to be kissed deeply—but you teased me, holding me back against the smooth wood. I felt myself getting wet in my lacy little thongs almost instantly as your lips brushed against mine, touching lightly. An errant hand ran down my body, lingering ever-so-briefly on my thigh, just under the hem of my skirt, before pulling away.

I pouted a little, wanting to feel your lips, your skin against mine. You smiled and your hand wandered up my thigh. My legs parted almost instinctively, letting you slip a few fingers in between my panties and my skin. The moment your fingers touched my bare, smooth pussy, my lips curl—I let out an "ooooh," already becoming very aroused. My hips moved forward, pressing your fingers harder into me. "Ooooh..." you mimicked me, "Baby's wet already... is that for me?" You were playful with an edge in your voice. I nodded, unable to speak—you had started to rub a single fingertip very slowly and softly along my pussy lips, and your ...

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