A Big, Toothy Flashback
Warning: some might find this somewhat offensive. If you are seriously offended when reading about various sexual activities and perhaps, perversions, ya might want to hit back on the browser. If you are not old enough to read or buy porn, stop here.
"Mine, mine, mine!" he squealed. In the deep recesses of his mind, Edward acknowledged that his voice was too highly pitched and had a distinct ring to it of some feral animal in heat. But considering the circumstances, he really could not be concerned with that at the moment.
The second Bella Swan left his apartment late in the morning, Edward Cullen, PhD, nerd amongst nerds, ran an official victory lap around his apartment, fists pumping in excitement and elation. It was ludicrous for him to behave this way, but when metal clinked with metal, effectively chaining Bella to him in some tangible, definable sense, reason and circumspection went by way of the window.
He collapsed down on the cool leather of his sofa, a sofa he noted that had quite recently served as a rather comfortable fucking locale. The armrests were the perfect height. And the cushions were firm enough such that he could be comfortable while still retaining some measure of force and rhythm. Fluffy cushions made motions jerky and erratic - not a desirable effect. He also recognized that it was fortunate that he'd wisely chosen leather upholstery as opposed to a more permeable fabric. Leather was easily cleaned and sterilized. He hadn't realized how messy physical exchange could be.
But then, Edward was learning many things as his relationship - he rejoiced that he could now say relationship, considering recent events - with Bella progressed.
Firstly, he'd learned, from his perspective, porn was a very poor substitute for reality. While he certainly enjoyed self-celebratory wanking on occasion, the sensations and pleasure paled in comparison to sliding his dick into Bella's pussy. That was sublimely incomparable. She was amazingly tight and moist and soft. And she was fucking loud. He did admit, however, that online resources had proven to offer exceptional instructive opportunities. The day before gave grand testament to that fact.
Secondly, he realized that compatibility was a prize not to ever be overlooked or underappreciated. For the first time in his limited sexual existence, he understood what it meant to be known by someone. Bella knew his secrets, his preferences, as odd and disturbing as they were, and accepted this as part of him. With a chuckle and a smile, he acceded that she did quite a bit more than merely accept. She was as fucking twisted as he was.
He also concluded that bareback fucking was superior to wrapped on every possible level. It allowed a greater potential for spontaneity and it felt fucking astounding. It was, admittedly, messy. His obsessive tendencies still nagged at that.
But this was new and foreign to him. Being the intelligent, terribly thinking individual that he was, he'd never risked his health in such a way. Nor had he risked his peace of mind. In a clouded, mind-numbingly horny state, he'd uncharacteristically forgotten to ask before their first coupling, and then again before their second. Her naked form rendered his mind to mush.
Bella, of course, had had nothing to worry about, disease-wise, as Edward hadn't partnered for months prior to their chance exchange. And since that time, he'd been given a clean bill of health during his yearly physical. She probably surmised by his demeanor and lack of female attachment that he was a safe lay. Edward, on the other hand, potentially had plenty to be troubled over. Or at least, he wasn't sure whether or not to be worried. He'd been certain that a woman of Bella's blatant sexuality would have men falling at her feet, willing to do whatever she so desired.
The morning after the first office encounter, he'd launched himself into a full-blown panic attack. Within the first minute of realization, his brain had raced to at least ten different scenarios in which his mistake in forgoing protection would come back to haunt him. If pressed, he could have come up with ten more possibilities quite easily. As a recognized expert in blood pathology, he knew virtually every bacterial and viral contaminant possible. None were good.
And on top of health concerns, he had to contend with the possibility of a pregnancy. The idea of Bella becoming pregnant by his seed was mildly intriguing, but was mostly horrifying. Children were terrifying creatures. They were perpetually dirty, smelly and they could not form coherent sentences. Were he to be suddenly thrust into fatherhood, he questioned his ability to form a relationship with a non-speaking entity. Relationships with speaking entities were troublesome enough.
He'd raced to work that morning and barged into Bella's office in a fitful tizzy. Once he'd caught enough breath to speak, Bella had then amusedly calmed him and explained that she was on regular birth control. She also told him that she'd been tested for disease and determined to be clean prior to the Halloween incident.
After some discussion, an agreement was reached that required disclosure of any on-the-side partners. When the agreement was made, Edward attempted his best casual façade but in truth, had been whimpering like a child on the inside. He wanted to know about her activities from a health safety standpoint but the idea of sharing her with anyone in any form was repulsive. Now that he'd successfully badged her as his, the agreement was null, void, and unnecessary. Thank god, he prayed.
Finally, and in probably his most glaringly obvious realization, he determined that his past interchanges had woefully ill-prepared him for experiencing Bella and their relationship. While it was generally in poor taste to compare one's current sexual partner to previous, it was impossible to not draw conclusions. His past conquests, albeit the few that they were, were like water to wine. Until Bella, he hadn't realized just how much he had missed out on physically. And despite his thirty-two years, he had had few partners and he had been involved in only one long-term relationship. It had ended disastrously.
~O.o~
Edward's first experience had come at the tender age of seventeen. Not fourteen, not fifteen, or sixteen, but seventeen. At the time, he was a raving stereotype personified. He was tall, gangly and awkward, an overly skinny, pasty-pale, honors everything, high school loser. He spent the majority of his time buried in computer wires and reading comic books, a pastime that his mother had abhorred. She'd never appreciated the art form and she'd accused him on more than one occasion of purchasing them just for the absurdly proportioned female characters. Ok, she'd been more right than she'd realized on that one. God forbid if she'd ever stumbled upon his other periodicals.
To his immense embarrassment, Edward had also sported what one might would call an overactive libido. It was in the hallowed halls of Forks High that he learned the magic of the two-minute wank. It really wasn't his fault, however. For some inexplicable reason, around 1995, high school girls began hanging up their Seattle grunge flannel and Dr. Martens in favor of teensy, tight skirts and barely-there tops. Considering his excessive hormonal reactions, the effect on his cock was distracting. But then he often noted that he wasn't the only adolescent boy lingering in the bathroom stalls on days when the sun and spaghetti straps were out in force.
By the time that prom rolled around, Edward had already resigned himself to simply not attending any variety of nonrequired school function. Purposefully subjecting himself to sitting in a corner and watching coupled young ladies in pretty pink dresses and high heels was not a torture that he felt essential to his high school experience. A week prior to the event, however, his pseudo-friend from marching band, Angela, had literally begged him to escort her. Her boyfriend at the time, one Ben Cheney, an untrustworthy saxophone player, had fucked up royally and had fucked one of her flute-playing compatriots. Thus, Angela thought the best recourse was revenge and jealousy. Edward was the obvious and safe choice as a stand-in.
After an hour of persuasion and a conniving flash of her bare tits, he assented.
His family was dumbfounded that he managed to acquire a date. Until then, no one of the female variety had even crossed the threshold of their home, even as a visiting friend. So, they'd taken to gussying him up, trying to turn him into what he'd termed a 'Teenaged Lothario', less the seductive powers. His mother and his sister tamed the wild cowlicks that always seemed to decorate his shock of bronze hair, and they'd scrubbed his skin down until he figuratively sparkled in the light. And lastly, his mother had a tuxedo custom tailored and fit for his lanky frame. All in all, by the time he emerged from the bathroom, he looked presentable. Minus the plastic clunky glasses, which usually concealed his unusually vibrant green eyes, he even looked handsome. To his delight, Angela had been impressed.
Luckily, Angela fared no better than him on the dance floor. He'd pondered how strange it was that he could not seem to ever find a rhythm on a dance floor but was a goddamned musical prodigy. Between daily piano practice and the hours he spent each week marching in complex designs and patterns to driving drum beats - while playing a mellophone, no less! - he thought that he should be able to move his feet to a basic 4/4 beat. No. Not at all. Dancing was not his forte in the least. Angela had described him as a flailing penguin.
By the time the dance wound down, incomprehensibly Edward found himself sucking face with Angela in the back seat of his father's Volvo wagon, which he'd smartly parked in the shadows of an out of the way lot. When she'd offered to fool around, it was all he could do to hide the tent in his tuxedo pants. He didn't dare tell her that it was his first kiss.
When she wiggled out of her dress, Edward's mouth had gaped in awe. Outside of his stash of periodicals, he'd never seen a female's body unclothed. It was arousing. Her small breasts and pert nipples seemed to call to his hands. He experienced inexplicable desires to lick them, and maybe to bite? He couldn't begin to describe the effects on his cock when she shimmied her panties down to her knees.
Apparently, Angela had come better prepared than he had; when she pulled out the small foil packet, he'd just about fainted.
"Um, erm, Angela? Uh, are you sure?" he stuttered. His hands shook in anticipation. Or rather, shook in anxiety. A first kiss and a first fuck on the same night could do that to a teenaged boy.
She just huffed, and told him, "Look, Edward. If I wasn't, I wouldn't have asked you to stop here, and I wouldn't have just handed you a condom. So, here, just help me get off these panties."
He'd stared at her, frozen, clearly boggled out of his mind. After a pregnant pause, she eyed him warily and muttered, "First time?"
The lump that had been building slid uncomfortably down his throat and he swallowed, "Um, yeah."
"Well, we don't have to if you don't want to."
"Uh, god. Um, no. I-er, I. Fuck. What I mean to say is that I'd like to. If you're sure that is," he stammered.
With her firm and slightly exasperated nod of approval, he hastily and clumsily unbuckled his belt and slid his trousers down.
He was rock hard, oozing pre-cum, and panting already. Judging from Angela's expression, she had not anticipated his length and quite possibly was impressed. He was appreciably pleased by her reaction.
They pawed and touched awkwardly. Edward palmed her tits and pinched her nipples in typical first-timer form. She predictably writhed on his lap, pressing a trimmed, wet pussy against his cock. With a quick look and shake of her head, she finally slid down, sheathing him in the tightest grip he'd ever encountered.
Two minutes after they began, he'd experienced his first orgasm inside of a woman. He was more than embarrassed by the speed at which he'd come to climax. She'd lowered herself down onto him barely twice. But as luck would have it, Edward was a seventeen-year-old overly hormonal boy and thus was more than capable of rising to the occasion again, virtually immediately.
The second time, he knew better what to expect. He rolled the condom on more confidently and lasted a solid five minutes. After that, he drove her home, and they inelegantly parted ways.
The following Monday, he walked from Calculus to Physics and then to Anatomy and Physiology with his head held a touch higher than normal. His proverbial cherry had been popped; he felt older, wiser, and more worldly. That was until Ben Cheney's fist painfully met his face.
Two positives resulted from him fucking Angela: 1. he finally lost his virginity and the embarrassment that that status entailed, and 2. Angela had felt so guilty about his broken nose, she'd told her friends that he had a big dick. Two sympathy fucks had followed.
~O.o~
Edward's undergraduate experience was a fairly dry spell, sexually speaking. His hours were spent buried in books and labs, and his primary focus was finishing his courses as quickly as humanly possible so that he could move on to graduate school. It was there, however, in his final semester, that he'd first encountered and became truly obsessed with vampire literature and erotica. He'd dabbled with books and movies and the occasional internet site. But everything Edward knew was third hand.
Duke University, while a rather austere and noble institution, he discovered had quite the collection of fucked up subcultures, including a very active 'vampire' culture.
One evening, his 'goth' lab partner, Jane, literally dragged him to one of her vampire soirees. She had pleaded with him for months to attend, but he'd resisted. He was hesitant, fully anticipating that he would find nothing but fellow geeks, albeit geeks in plastic fangs and red capes, playing ridiculous role-playing games, much as he'd seen at his high school Dungeons and Dragons events.
But instead, he'd witnessed something else entirely. There were no plastic fangs and there were no red capes. What there were, were scantily clad, corseted women offering themselves up to imposing men dressed in dark colors.
Until Bella Swan had sashayed across Emmett McCarty's hardwood flooring bedecked in her 'vamp-slut' regalia, he'd never seen anything so erotic. Well versed in vampire canon and mythology, he'd had no problem fitting in with the particular crowd at this venue. And before the night was over, he'd unwittingly attracted the attention of a leggy young woman named Irina.
Her face was agreeable enough, a touch too angular, but still pleasing to look at. Better than he'd ever had before. He noted that she had multiple piercings; an eyebrow, a scattering in her earlobes and cartilage, and he thought that he saw a flash of metal on her tongue when she spoke. Her body was what captured his interest, however. It was trim but at the same time curvaceous. In fact, Edward noted that her body was a whore-fucking fantasyland, full of places he wanted to touch and suck.
And as if just to torture every living male being, her attire for the evening was out of some dirty schoolgirl porno, consisting of a ridiculously tight, black corset, a flirty red and black plaid skirt, which just grazed the underside of her ass, and sheer black stockings. And black patent leather Mary Janes. Fucking Mary Janes. Cocktease, he accused silently.
She'd flirted and teased him for over an hour, leaving his dick in a constant state of painful arousal. But being the withdrawn individual he was, Edward merely smiled and made small talk while nervously fidgeting, despite eye fucking her into next Tuesday. When it became apparent that he would not make the first move, she straddled him. In the room full of otherwise preoccupied people. One part of him wanted to shove her off and flee in embarrassment. The other part wanted to unzip his pants right there and fuck her senseless, never mind the fact that he'd never actually fucked anyone senseless. It was a strange dichotomy to say the least.
As she moved, her skirt hiked up and exposed a pert, heart-shaped ass split in half by a thin cloth string. His hands unconsciously found purchase against her flesh, and he began timidly kneading. Fuck shoving her off, he'd concluded as he gazed around the room. This behavior was clearly acceptable at such events. She grinned and purred in his ear, "Much better. Do you like what you see?"
He gulped and sucked in a mouthful of air. "Um, er, um, yes?"
Being the wicked seductress she was, she ground her barely covered pussy against his jeans-covered bulge, eliciting a soft moan that he muffled against her shoulder. "Do you want to fuck me?" she asked in a low, sensual voice.
Fuck yes, I do. I want to fucking impale you and make you scream for mercy, he thought darkly. Not trusting his voice to not crack, he simply nodded with wide, bespectacled eyes and squeezed her ass.
In a flash, they were up and walking down a long hallway lined with doors on either side. At the end door, she stopped, plucked out a key to unlock, and then pulled him inside. Until this moment, he hadn't realized that this building was a dorm or a studio apartment complex of sorts.
Irina's room was small and decorated in nothing but shades of pink. It was a sickeningly sweet combination of bubble gum and Hello Kitty, with magenta furred pillows and a collection of pale pink picture frames. It reminded him of an unshaken bottle of Pepto. Edward could not quite reconcile the black and red clad temptress with piercings - and yes, tattoos! - in front of him with the seven-year old princess décor of the bedroom.
But before he really had time to delve into the mystery of this psychological clusterfuck, she launched herself at him. Her tongue unceremoniously slid between his lips and her fingers quickly found themselves underneath his shirt.
Ah, ha! So she does have a tongue ring, he cheered.
At twenty, Edward had filled out only slightly from his gangly high school form, and due to his studious diligence, he had had little time or inclination to rectify the situation by obtaining a gym membership. And despite his senior year status, he was still quite young, having a late spring birth date as well as having completed his undergraduate courses a full year early. He was not buff or muscled, and was not what he considered to be very masculine. He was, thus, surprised that she seemed so eager to grope the relative flatness of his pectorals and abdomen. Not that he minded.
His shirt was off in a flurry of arms, and her fingers deftly began unzipping and unbuttoning him. By the time he was stripped down to his pair of plain, plaid boxers, his stomach was flip-flopping in anticipation. He'd only had sex with a handful of girls, and mostly they'd done all the work. For the life of him, he could not figure out why every woman he'd been with wanted to fuck in the back seat of his car. Maybe it was a sign that they weren't really interested in anything more than quick physical gratification, he mused.
With an intensity that stunned him, Irina growled at him. Growled. Having heard the feral sound, his dick sprang to life, deciding then and there that it was time to play. He swallowed loudly, and flung his inhibitions away.
He kissed her furiously, teeth and metal clacking, and their limbs tangled. Almost angrily, she pointedly grabbed his erection and began stroking him through the thin cotton. Briefly taken aback by her boldness, his lips stopped moving, but then as she grazed the head, he moaned into her mouth.
His hand darted out and fished her breasts out from the corseted top. Roughly, he jerked the fabric down and began pinching her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers. This is new! he thought. Other women he'd been with had required far more teasing and foreplay. And they had wanted nothing but light touches and caresses. Irina, on the other hand, plainly wanted to fuck. Hard.
Each time he pinched and rolled the pebbled flesh, she groaned and pressed her hand harder against his cock. The friction was insanely affecting; if he didn't find a way inside of her quickly, he would surely come in his shorts. And that would be embarrassing.
Losing all sense of patience or decorum, he walked her back to her Pepto-comforter covered bed. In his haste, he barely noticed the slip of fabric sliding down to her knees as she leaned back.
"Condom?" he asked huskily.
With a mischievous glint in her eye and a smirk, she reached into the Rubbermaid drawer set by the bed and fished out a brightly colored - and ribbed! - single. Fortunately, he'd practiced this motion, not wanting to ever relive his previous condom donning humiliation. With a sharp tear and swift stroke down, his cock was sheathed and ready to go.
"Now, give it to me. Hard," she demanded.
What? Edward nearly shouted. Um, fuck. Ok.
"Do you want anything else first?" he asked tentatively, sweeping a hand through his tangled mess of bronze hair. He thought that, in general, women liked to be touched first. Was she even wet?
She laughed and grinned at his hesitancy, "No thanks, I just want to fuck."
Well, that's certainly new. And unexpected. But, ok.
Without removing another stitch of her clothing, he lifted her skirt around her waist, lowered himself to her entry, and slammed into her. She was certainly wet, he thought, as moisture coated their thighs.
He pumped and pushed and pounded her pussy. So, fucking hot, he thought. And fuck, she's wet! With every thrust her hips rose to meet him, and she cried out incoherent moans. Her nails scraped and scratched his bare back, and her teeth nipped sharply at his neck. The sensations were painful yet completely maddening. He was convinced that he would have a plethora of red-blue welts as evidence. In exchange, he bit her back, which in effect, sent her into an absolute frenzy. Biting was new, and it was fucking hot.
"Oh, god, yes! Fu-u-u-u-ck me yes! Harder. Goddamnit, harder!" she squealed.
Edward wasn't quite sure if he had anything more to give. His hips were already thrusting as vigorously as he could manage in their position. He assumed that she wanted deeper penetration. Recalling a scene he'd viewed not twenty-four hours earlier on DVD, he grabbed her legs from his waist and pulled them up on either side of his head, effectively lifting her ass from the bed.
"Yes! Oh, yes. Tha-a-a-a-t's it! Yeah. Ungh...ungh...ungh! Fuck me!" she wailed as their skin slapped and cracked in the silence of the room.
Edward grinned, pleased with himself. He'd never, ever heard anyone lose it like this woman. Irina was loud and screaming. Every time she uttered a 'fuck' or just a simple moan, he drove into her that much harder. His mind raced through various distractions, trying to hold off his impending orgasm. But then, her hands shot out and grasped his upper thighs, her nails digging into his skin. Fuck! In response, his mouth and teeth clamped onto her stocking-covered calf muscle.
After several long minutes, her screams reached fever pitch, and he felt her pussy walls clenching and gripping his length. Finally contented that she'd been sated, he turned his attention to his own mounting climax. With a few short, fast thrusts, he grunted coarsely and released inside of her.
Later, they lay on her ridiculous pink bed, gasping and trying to regain regular breathing. She panted out, "Fuck, Edward, you drew blood!"
He looked down at her calf, and saw a small smearing of dark liquid underneath the sheer fabric. He knew that he should be repulsed by his actions, but something carnal and deviant sparked inside of him, and he couldn't help but note that he was, in fact, turned on. Again.
But he was troubled and confused by his reaction, so he concealed himself in the nauseating comforter.
He was worried that she was hurt, yet was more worried about his sudden urge to lick her calf. But thankfully, she slapped him playfully across the chest and grinned. She laughed, "So, I suppose you really are a vampire, huh?"