Warning: SLASH!
After it, therefore because of it
"Is this the first time you've been with a man?" Ivo murmured in my ear.
"No," I answered truthfully, wanting more of his touch, more of him.
"How long?" he persisted, knowing that I had been seeing women of late.
"It's been awhile," I confessed, reluctant to tell him my history.
He chuckled but not meanly. "It will hurt a bit then."
I nodded. I knew it would.
He was a considerate lover, preparing me carefully with his tongue and fingers before introducing his cock into my very tight hole. I honestly couldn't remember the sensation from before, couldn't recall how terribly it had hurt with James, until that moment.
He entered me and I cried out, the burning sensation worse than I remembered. But he kissed me and soothed me and made me want him even more so that when he pressed further, I simply groaned quietly. Encouraged, he began to move in me, his hand gripping my head, his mouth kissing and whispering reassurances to me.
The pleasure was entirely his and I felt his movements quicken. He was excited and seeking his own satisfaction. I had an odd moment of depression, despair even, realizing how very much he was like every other man who fucked me, wanting to satisfy his own desires. I had wanted him to be different, to care about me, to see how much it hurt me, how great my sacrifice of love was. Tears stung my eyes and it was all I could do to choke back the sobs forming in my gut.
To my surprise, he stopped abruptly, feeling the resistance in me. He withdrew, kissing my hair and stroking my back with his strong broad hands.
"Am I hurting you?" came the incredible words from his mouth. I could only nod dumbly. But just as quickly I realized I still wanted him inside of me, for all the pain it caused. "I should have gone slower," he apologized. "I should have waited until you were ready."
I wanted to cry out that I was ready, that I chosethis, that I wanted it but I felt ill and was shaking and I thought I might shit all over his clean bed if I stayed there one minute longer. I crawled out from under him to the toilet where I sat, crying because the entire thing had been such a disaster and I wished I hadn't come. I had thought... I don't know what I thought. That somehow that magical moment one sees in film would happen in my life, that Ivo was somehow that one to make it all better. I wept from disappointment and grief and humiliation.
He left me alone until I had finished and came back to his bedroom to stand awkwardly, passively. I thought I should dress and leave. Flee. I never wanted him to see me again. I felt like a fool. More so because I had been the one to initiate it.
"Come lie down," he said softly. "You probably still feel a bit sick. I'll get you some water."
I stood stupidly before him.
"Come," he held out his hand and I obediently took it and lay down.
And that was just beginning of our very confusing relationship.