How i lost my virginity

The television’s blue light painted flickering ghosts across the living room walls, illuminating dust motes dancing in the quiet air. Marcus lay stretched on the couch, head pillowed in Lea’s lap. She idly stroked his long, sandy-blonde hair, her fingers combing through the silken strands that cascaded over the arm of the sofa and onto the floor. It was his pride, a waterfall of hair he’d been growing since he was a teenager.

“Your hair is getting so long, iha,” Lea murmured, her touch becoming more deliberate, her nails lightly scratching his scalp. Her voice, usually soft and melodic, held a new, proprietary note.

“It’s not that long,” Marcus mumbled, eyes half-closed, lost in the pleasant sensation. “I like it.”

“I know you do,” she said, her fingers twisting a thick lock around her knuckle, pulling just enough to make him tilt his head back. “But I was thinking… maybe I could give you a trim? Just clean up the ends. Make it look healthier.”

Marcus hesitated. He was particular about his hair. A trim from a stranger was one thing, but Lea? “I don’t know, Lea. You’ve never cut hair before.”

“How hard can it be? I’m very good with my hands,” she purred, leaning down to nip at his earlobe. The unexpected sharpness made him jump. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you,” he said, though a knot of unease tightened in his stomach. Her touch felt different tonight, more insistent.

“Good. Then it’s settled. Go to the bathroom. I’ll get my things.” She gently but firmly pushed his head off her lap and stood up, a strange light in her dark eyes. He watched her walk to the bedroom, her petite frame seeming to move with a newfound purpose.

In the sterile white light of the bathroom, Marcus grabbed the wooden chair from the kitchen, its legs clattering against the tile. He set it down in the center of the room, his reflection looking back at him from the large mirror, all that hair a wild, untamed halo around his face. He assumed this was just a spur-of-the-moment thing, a little couple’s activity.

When Lea returned, he froze. She wasn’t holding a pair of kitchen scissors and a comb. In her hands was a black canvas case, which she unzipped with a deliberate, ominous sound. Inside, nestled in black foam, were gleaming tools he didn’t recognize: sets of clippers with different attachments, a straight razor in a leather strop, a can of shaving cream, and a small, black leather collar with a silver buckle.

“Lea? What is all that stuff? I thought you were just going to trim it?” His voice was small, the earlier unease blooming into full-blown anxiety.

Lea didn’t answer. Her demeanor had completely transformed. The shy, reserved girlfriend he knew was gone, replaced by a woman with a predator’s focus. She moved with a liquid grace, circling him, her eyes raking over him, making the hair on his arms stand up. She stopped in front of him, her gaze hard.

“Take your shirt off,” she commanded. It wasn’t a request.

“What? Why?” he stammered.

Her eyes narrowed. “Do it. Now.”

The authority in her voice was absolute. Something primal in him responded, and he found himself fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head and dropping it to the floor. The cool air raised goosebumps on his pale skin.

She stepped closer, the collar held between two fingers. “Lift your chin.” He complied, and she buckled the cool leather around his neck. It was snug, a constant, constricting pressure. “Sit.” She pointed to the chair.

He sank onto it, the hard wood cold against his bare skin. His heart hammered against his ribs. He looked at her, at her tight, lithe body in her simple tank top and shorts, and tried to reconcile this commanding stranger with the woman who blushed when he held her hand in public. “Lea, what’s going on?”

She smiled, a slow, dangerous curve of her lips. “I’m giving you a haircut, Marcus. Just like I said.” She picked up the clippers, a heavy, black-and-silver Oster model. Her thumb hovered over the switch. “But I’m going to do it my way.”

She flicked the switch.

The clippers roared to life with a deep, menacing BUZZZZZZZZ. The sound filled the small bathroom, vibrating through the floor, up the legs of the chair, and into his very bones. He saw then that there was no guard on the blades. Just naked, hungry-looking steel teeth.

“Lea, no! Wait! What are you—” His protest died as she moved behind him. One of her hands clamped down on his shoulder, her grip like iron. The other brought the buzzing monster toward the crown of his head.

He flinched away, a strangled noise escaping his throat. “Don’t! Please!”

“Hold. Still,” she snarled, her right hand abandoning his shoulder to grab a fistful of his hair at the nape of his neck, pulling his head back hard. He yelped in pain and surprise. Before he could react, she plunged the clippers into the hair at his forehead.

The sensation was a violent shock. A relentless, vibrating assault as the steel teeth mowed a swath through his hair. He watched in the mirror, mesmerized by the horror of it, as a stark white path was carved down the middle of his head, from hairline to crown. Long, blonde locks tumbled into his lap, onto the floor. The sound was a deafening, hungry BRRRRRRRRRR right against his skull.

“Oh god! Lea, stop! What are you doing?!” He struggled, trying to rise from the chair, but her grip tightened.

“I said, hold still!” she commanded, her voice a low growl. She released her grip on his hair, and before he could use the opportunity to escape, she swung her leg over him, straddling his lap. Her weight pinned him to the chair. She was surprisingly heavy, her solid little body an effective cage.

He looked up at her, his eyes wide with panic and betrayal. “Why?”

She didn’t answer with words. Instead, she leaned down and crushed her lips against his. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was a punishing, claiming kiss. Her tongue forced its way into his mouth as she pressed the screaming clippers against the side of his head. The vibration transferred from his scalp, through his skull, and into their joined lips. It was a chaotic storm of sensations: the terror of losing his hair, the sting of her grip, the violation of the forceful kiss, and the strange, terrifying hum that resonated deep within him.

And then, another sensation betrayed him. A heat bloomed in his groin. His cock, confused and terrified, began to swell, pressing against the fabric of his jeans. The sheer, raw aggression of her act, the complete loss of control, was igniting something dark and unfamiliar inside him.

Lea felt it. A triumphant smirk played on her lips as she broke the kiss. “Oh,” she breathed, her voice a mixture of surprise and satisfaction. “You like this.” She ground her hips down against his burgeoning erection, and he couldn’t stop the deep, involuntary moan that escaped him. It was a sound of pleasure and shame intertwined.

She grabbed his chin, her fingers digging into his flesh, forcing him to look at their reflection in the mirror. “Look,” she ordered. “Watch.”

He did. He saw a stranger being sheared. He saw the ruthless efficiency of the clippers as they plowed through another section of his precious hair. He saw the blonde rain falling around him. He saw Lea’s face, a mask of intense, ecstatic concentration. She was breathing heavily, her dark eyes glittering with a feverish light he’d never seen before. She was beautiful and terrifying.

“Please…” he whimpered, the word barely audible over the clippers’ roar.

“Please what? Please stop? Or please don’t stop?” she taunted, her voice husky with arousal. She ran the clippers up the back of his head, mowing it clean to the skin in two savage strokes. The vibration traveled down his spine, making him shudder.

His body answered for him. His hips bucked upwards, seeking more pressure, more of that friction against his now-throbbing cock.

She laughed, a low, throaty sound. “That’s what I thought.” With ruthless efficiency, she continued. The clippers were an extension of her will, devouring his identity strip by strip. Shearing the sides, carving away the back, until the long locks were reduced to a mere memory on the tiled floor. The only sound was the relentless BZZZZZZZZ and their mingled, heavy breathing.

Finally, with a last, long pass over the crown, she switched them off. The sudden silence was deafening, leaving only the ringing in his ears and the pound of his own blood. He was left with a harsh, bristly shadow of hair, a pale, shocked scalp peeking through the stubble. He looked like a different person. A vulnerable person.

He trembled, looking at himself. He felt a profound sense of loss, but it was overshadowed by a potent, bewildering arousal that hummed through him just like the clippers had.

Lea set the clippers down and stepped back, her chest rising and falling. She surveyed her work with a critical, artist’s eye, a small, proud smile on her face. “Not bad for a first try,” she purred. “But we’re not finished.”

She retrieved the can of shaving cream. She shook it with a sharp tch-tch-tch and dispensed a dollop into her palm. The scent was clean, clinical.

“This needs to be perfectly smooth,” she said, her tone softening slightly, becoming almost reverent. “Completely bare.”

She began to massage the cool foam over his scalp. Her touch was surprisingly gentle now, her fingers circling and spreading the white lather, massaging away the last clinging bits of hair. His head was a cap of cool foam. The sensation was oddly intimate, a stark contrast to the violence of the haircut.

Then came the next surprise. She reached down, crossed her arms, and pulled her tank top over her head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside. Her small, perfect breasts were encased in a simple black lace bra. Without missing a beat, she reached behind her and unclasped it. It joined her top on the floor. Her breasts were bare, her dark nipples already pebbled and erect in the cool air.

Lea picked up the gleaming safety razor. “I want you to kiss me,” she commanded, her voice a husky whisper. She leaned in, presenting a hard, caramel-colored nipple to his lips.

His mind was a fog of confusion and lust. He obeyed instinctively, his lips closing around the taut bud. He sucked gently, then harder as she pressed against him, her other hand steadying the back of his foamy head.

“Don’t stop,” she breathed, her own breath catching. He felt the cold, sharp press of the razor against his forehead. A jolt of pure terror shot through him, but it was tangled with the exquisite pleasure of her nipple in his mouth. He froze.

“Keep licking,” she ordered, her voice firm.

He obeyed, his tongue swirling around her nipple as she began to scrape. He could hear the faint, rasping skritch-skritch of the blade clearing a path through the foam. He could feel it, too—a pulling, tugging sensation as it cleared the stubble. Every pass of the razor was a line of fire, a mix of terror and an intense, sharp pleasure.

She moved methodically. A long, clean stroke down the center. She shuddered as his tongue flicked against her. “Yes… just like that…” Another stroke, parallel to the first. She was meticulous, rinsing the razor in the sink after every few passes. He was trapped, a participant in her ritual, his mouth worshipping her breast as she methodically denuded his scalp.

She shifted, offering him her other breast. He took it eagerly, lost in the sensory overload. The vibration was gone, replaced by this new, more intimate danger. The sharp blade was a constant threat, a thrill that made his heart pound and his cock throb painfully against his zipper.

“You’re moving too much,” she suddenly said, her voice sharp. She dropped the razor into the sink with a clatter. “Hold still.”

She grabbed his face, her fingers pressing into his cheeks, forcing him to look up at her. Her dark eyes were blazing. “I told you to be still.” She leaned in and kissed him again, a hard, dominating kiss that tasted of her skin and the metallic tang of his fear. Then she picked up the razor and resumed.

The final stroke. She rinsed his head with a warm, wet washcloth, wiping away the last of the foam. The feeling of the warm fabric on his newly exposed skin was electric. He was completely, utterly bald.

“Now for the final touch,” she murmured, picking up a bottle of aftershave. She splashed some into her palm. The sharp, stinging scent of alcohol filled the air.

“This will sting,” she warned, a hint of a smile in her voice. She slapped the aftershave onto his scalp.

It was a blaze of fire. A thousand tiny needles pricking his skin all at once. He cried out, a sharp gasp, his body arching in the chair. The sensation was overwhelming, a painful burn that quickly faded into a strange, cooling numbness. He was panting, his head thrown back.

Lea watched him, her chest heaving, her nipples still hard. “Good boy,” she whispered. She then poured a stream of baby oil into her hands and began to massage it into his scalp. Her touch was pure, slick pleasure. The oil warmed on his skin, her fingers sliding over the perfectly smooth dome of his head. He moaned, the last of his resistance melting away. It felt incredible.

She took his hand. “Come,” she said, her voice soft but still holding an undeniable command.

He stood, his legs unsteady, and followed her into the bedroom. The room was lit only by the moon filtering through the blinds. She pushed him gently onto his back on the bed.

She stood over him for a moment, a silhouette against the moonlight. Then she leaned down, her naked breasts brushing against his chest. “I have a fantasy,” she whispered, her lips against his ear. “I want to feel your head… like this… against me.”

She took his hand and guided it to his own scalp. “Feel how smooth it is.” His fingers slid over the oiled skin. “Now,” she whispered, taking his wrist and pulling his hand down, placing his palm flat on her stomach, just above the waistband of her shorts. “I want you to rub that smooth head all over my body.”

She straddled him again, her knees on either side of his chest. With a shaking hand, he reached up and pressed the crown of his head against her soft belly. He slid it upwards, the slick skin of his scalp gliding over her warm flesh. He felt her muscles tense, heard her sharp intake of breath.

“Yes…” she moaned. “Higher.”

He obeyed, rubbing his newly shorn head over her stomach, up to the valley between her breasts. The sensation was bizarre, intimate. He was using his own subjugation, the symbol of her dominance, to pleasure her. He circled a hard, sensitive nipple with the top of his head, and she gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders, her nails digging in.

“Oh, god, Marcus…” she breathed, her hips rocking against him. “That feels… so good…”

He continued his exploration, rubbing his smooth scalp over her clavicles, her shoulders, her neck. She was writhing above him, a cascade of soft moans and whimpers. Then she pulled back, her eyes burning with an unholy light in the dim room.

“Keep it there,” she commanded, guiding his head back to her stomach. She stood up on the bed, her feet planted on either side of his hips. With her eyes locked on his, she hooked her thumbs into her shorts and panties and slid them down her legs. She stepped out of them, kicking them away.

She was completely naked. And he saw that she was smooth, completely bare between her legs. The moonlight highlighted the glistening wetness already coating her folds.

“Maybe,” she purred, her voice thick with lust, “you should rub your shaved head against my shaved pussy.”

The suggestion was so raw, so explicit, it sent a jolt straight through him. He swallowed hard, his gaze flickering from her face to her exposed core. He nodded, unable to form words.

She knelt down, slowly lowering herself towards his upturned face. “Don’t move,” she ordered. He watched, mesmerized, as she brought the smooth, sensitive skin of her mound down to meet the slick dome of his head.

The contact was electric. For both of them.

He felt the incredible heat and slick wetness of her against his scalp. She felt the cool, smooth, oiled surface of him pressing against her most intimate flesh.

“Fuck…” she cried out, her whole body trembling. She began to move, rubbing herself against his head in slow, deliberate circles. He could feel the shape of her, the hard bud of her clit sliding against him. Her juices coated his scalp, mixing with the oil. The scent of her arousal filled the air, a musky, sweet perfume.

He was rock-hard, trapped in the confines of his jeans, aching for release. But this was her show. His role was to be her instrument, her object of pleasure.

“Faster,” she gasped, her movements becoming more frantic. She was grinding against him now, using his head for her pleasure, chasing her climax. “Oh, god… right there… don’t stop…”

He held perfectly still, letting her use him, the vibrations of her moans traveling through her body and into his. He could feel her thighs quivering against the sides of his face.

Suddenly, she stiffened. A high-pitched keen escaped her lips as her orgasm crashed over her. She convulsed, her inner muscles clenching around nothing as wave after wave of pleasure wracked her small frame. She collapsed forward, her hands bracing on the headboard, her body trembling violently, her pussy pressed flush against his head.

For a long moment, the only sound was her ragged breathing. Then she slowly lifted herself off him, her legs shaking. She looked down at him, her face flushed and glistening with sweat, a look of profound satisfaction in her eyes.

“Good,” she breathed, a lazy smile playing on her lips. “Very good.”

She wasn’t done. She reached down and unbuckled the collar from around his neck. But instead of dropping it, she lifted it to her own neck. “My turn,” she whispered, fastening it snugly. The sight of her, naked and dominant with the black collar around her throat, sent another surge of desperate lust through him.

She then turned her attention to the straining bulge in his jeans. She moved down his body, her breasts dragging over his chest and stomach. With a deft movement, she unbuttoned his jeans and pulled down the zipper. His cock sprang free, long, thick, and angrily erect, the tip already weeping with pre-cum. It was a foot of desperate, throbbing need.

Lea’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second, a flicker of genuine surprise at his size before her mask of control was back in place. “Well, well, iha,” she smirked. “A big surprise for a virgin.”

She didn’t wait for a response. She wrapped a small hand around the base, her fingers barely meeting. She leaned down and, without warning, took him into her mouth.

The wet heat of her mouth was a blinding shock. He cried out, his hips bucking off the bed. She took him deep, deeper than he thought possible, her throat relaxing to accommodate his length. Her tongue was a demon, swirling around the head, tracing the sensitive vein on the underside. She began to bob her head, her lips a tight, slippery ring as she fucked him with her mouth. One of her hands cupped and massaged his balls, while the other stroked the length of him in sync with her mouth.

He was delirious with pleasure. “Lea… oh god, Lea… I’m gonna… I can’t…”

She pulled off him with a wet pop, a string of saliva connecting her lips to the glistening head of his cock. “Not yet,” she ordered, her voice husky. She climbed up his body again, straddling his hips. She positioned herself over him, the slick entrance of her pussy poised at the tip of his cock.

She grabbed his face, forcing him to look at her. “I want you to fuck me,” she snarled. “Fuck my pussy. Now.”

She sank down, impaling herself on him in one slow, fluid motion. The sensation was incredible. A tight, velvety heat that enveloped him completely, a perfect, clutching sheath. He groaned, a deep, guttural sound from the pit of his stomach. He was inside her. All twelve inches of him buried to the hilt in her tight, wet heat.

She began to move, rising and falling, her muscles gripping and releasing him in a rhythmic dance. She placed her hands on his smooth, slick head for leverage, her fingers digging into his scalp. “You feel that?” she panted. “You feel how tight I am? Fuck me back, Marcus. Show me you want it.”

He was lost. He began to thrust his hips upwards, meeting her downward strokes, driving himself deeper into her. Their bodies slapped together, the sounds of their flesh a lewd, percussive beat in the quiet room. He reached up, grabbing her bouncing breasts, his thumbs rolling over her hard nipples.

“Yes! Harder!” she cried out, her head thrown back. Her dark hair clung to her sweaty neck, the collar a stark black band against her skin. The sight of her, riding him, lost in her pleasure, using him, was the most erotic thing he had ever seen.

She shifted her angle, and suddenly he was hitting a new spot deep inside her. “Oh! Right there! Don’t stop! Right fucking there!” she screamed. Her movements became wild, erratic. She was grinding against him, chasing another release.

Her pussy clenched around him like a fist as her second orgasm tore through her. She screamed, a raw, primal sound of pure ecstasy, her body shaking uncontrollably. The sight and feel of her coming undone on his cock was his undoing. With a loud roar, he thrust up one last time and erupted, pouring himself into her in long, hot spurts. It felt like it would never end, a lifetime of pent-up desire flooding out of him.

They collapsed together, a sweaty, breathless tangle of limbs. He was still inside her, and he could feel her inner muscles still twitching with aftershocks. He lay there, his chest heaving, the slick, smooth surface of his head resting on the pillow. His mind was blank. He couldn’t think. He could only feel.

After a long silence, he finally found his voice. “I… I can’t believe that was my first time.”

Lea stirred, propping herself up on an elbow to look at him. A slow, wicked smile spread across her face. “We’re not done yet,” she purred.

She slid off him, a trickle of his cum escaping to run down her thigh. She rolled onto her stomach, pulling a pillow under her hips to raise her ass into the air. She looked back at him over her shoulder, her dark eyes smoldering.

“I want you to fuck me in the ass, iha,” she said, her voice a low, velvety command. “And I want you to make it hurt.”

His spent cock, unbelievably, began to stir at her words. He had never imagined such a thing, never even considered it. But the way she said it, the authority in her tone, the wanton way she presented herself to him—it was a command he was powerless to resist.

He knelt behind her, his hands running over the smooth, firm globes of her ass. “How?” he asked, his voice rough.

“Lube,” she said, pointing to the nightstand. “In the drawer.”

He found the bottle, his hands fumbling. He poured the slick, clear liquid onto his fingers, warming it. He tentatively touched her tight, puckered hole, and she gasped, pushing back against him.

“Don’t be gentle,” she warned. “I want to feel all of that big cock stretching me open.”

He coated his own now fully erect cock with the lube, stroking it until it glistened. He positioned himself at her entrance, the head pressing against the tight ring of muscle.

“Push,” she commanded. “Hard.”

He did. He thrust forward, and the head of his cock breached her tight resistance. She cried out, a sharp, pained gasp that quickly melted into a moan of pure pleasure. “Yes! Like that! All of it! Give me all of it!”

He sank into her, inch by incredible inch. The feeling was mind-blowing. A tight, hot, velvety grip that was completely different from her pussy. It was a forbidden, illicit pleasure that sent sparks shooting through his entire nervous system.

When he was fully buried in her ass, he paused, letting her adjust. But Lea was having none of it.

“Move!” she snarled, reaching back to grab his thigh, her nails digging into his skin. “Fuck me like you mean it!”

He began to thrust, slowly at first, then faster, harder, building a rhythm that stole the breath from his lungs. He watched as his cock, slick with lube, disappeared into her ass, over and over. The sight was obscene, beautiful, and it drove him wild.

He reached around, his fingers finding her clit, already swollen and sensitive. He began to rub it in tight circles as he fucked her ass.

“Fuck, yes! Just like that!” she screamed, her body arching like a bowstring. “I’m gonna come! Make me come with your cock in my ass!”

He drove into her with wild abandon, the bed creaking in protest, the sound of their bodies slapping together echoing in the room. He was a man possessed, driven by a primal need to claim her, to fulfill her every command, to lose himself completely in the dark, powerful pleasure she had unlocked within him.

She came with a guttural scream, her entire body convulsing, her ass clamping down on his cock so tightly he saw stars. The feel of her orgasm pulsing around him was the final straw. With a roar that ripped from his very soul, he buried himself to the hilt and exploded, flooding her with a second, even more powerful release.

He collapsed onto her back, his chest heaving, his heart hammering against his ribs as if it wanted to break free. They were slick with sweat, their bodies tangled, the scent of sex and shampoo and raw exertion thick in the air.

He didn’t know how long they lay there. Minutes. An hour. Time had ceased to matter. He was vaguely aware of her soft breathing, the gentle weight of her body beneath him.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled out of her and rolled to the side, landing on the bed with a soft thud. He stared at the ceiling, his mind a complete and utter blank. He felt empty, spent, but also strangely whole. A deep, satisfying ache had settled into his muscles.

Lea shifted, rolling over to face him. She propped her head up on her hand, her dark eyes studying him in the dim moonlight. She reached out, her fingers gently tracing the contours of his newly shaven head. Her touch was soft, reverent, a stark contrast to the demanding forcefulness of earlier.

“So smooth,” she whispered, a soft, satisfied smile on her lips. “Perfect.”

He turned his head to look at her. The collar was still around her neck. He reached up and, with a trembling finger, traced the line of the black leather against her skin. “What was that, Lea?” he asked, his voice hoarse. “All of this?”

Her smile widened. “That,” she said, her voice a low purr, “was me making a fantasy come true. My fantasy.” She leaned in and kissed him, a soft, lingering kiss this time, full of tenderness. “Did you hate it?”

The question hung in the air between them. He thought about the shock, the humiliation, the loss of his hair. He thought about the fear, the sharp blade against his scalp. But then he thought about the raw, untamed pleasure. The thrill of her dominance. The feeling of being completely and utterly at her mercy. The way she had screamed his name.

“I… I don’t know,” he finally answered, and it was the honest truth. “It was scary. And… incredible.”

She laughed, a soft, musical sound. “Good.” She snuggled closer, her naked body pressing against his. “Because we have a lot more fantasies to explore.”