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It had only been a few days since that night, but it felt like a lifetime. The blur of terrifying, exhilarating moments was still so vivid, it made my palms sweat just thinking about it. Rushing across the lawn to Hudson's house, my heart a frantic bird in my chest, after realizing I'd sent that picture - the nude one, meant only for my own eyes, my intensely private proof of fitness progress - to my dad's best friend. Hudson. The man who had been my kind, steady fitness mentor, the one who'd only ever seen me as "the good girl" my parents raised.

The memory of our confrontation at his door, his calm, steady voice cutting through my hysteria, still sent shivers down my spine. And then, his compliments. His subtle, yet deeply visceral, praise for my body. Words I'd never heard from anyone, certainly not in such a direct, unashamed way. He hadn't coerced me, not truly. He'd simply offered a choice, a way to ensure my mortifying secret was absolutely, undeniably safe. A "connection," he'd called it. A bond forged in intimacy that would make the thought of betrayal unthinkable. My virgin mind, so desperate to protect my carefully constructed world, so naive in the face of such potent suggestion, had capitulated. A forbidden part of me, a deep, hidden part that had always fantasized about an older, experienced man being my first, had even been intrigued, finding a strange safety in his maturity.

Then came the moment. The sight of him unzipping his jeans, of his enormous, thick cock springing out, still sent a jolt of raw heat ...

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