Naivety

We recently had a new housemate move in with us. Angela was a strange young woman. She was nearly twenty, doing a double degree in the sciences and would probably go on to get herself a doctorate in whatever field she chose. She was truly a brilliant young woman.

And naïve. Hopelessly naïve. Naïve beyond the bounds of common sense. If asked, she could probably tell you all about sex. Intellectually she knew human behaviour and human physiology. She could probably describe the physical side of sex from conception through to birth. But for all her knowledge she was still naïve.

You see, she had never made the connection between sex and herself. Her knowledge was purely intellectual; it didn't actually apply to her. She was the consummate observer, watching life and taking notes, letting life itself pass her by. She didn't date so she had no boyfriends who would have been willing to give her a more hands on type of education. This led to some odd situations.

Angela was completely unselfconscious about her body. She had good taste in clothes and make up and used both with flair, but only because that was how things were done. I found that as a new housemate her behaviour was just a little unnerving.

Angela, you must understand, as well as being really smart was also healthy, fit and quite lovely. Combine that with her total lack of self-consciousness. The result would be that she'd wander around the house in her undies or her nightie, having no idea what it did to the male members of the house. A couple of the boys tried a pass and just got a blank stare in return. Angela just didn't understand what they were driving at.

Eventually an irate girlfriend had a word with Angela. She was smart enough to not accuse Angela of trying to attract the boys; just let her know that it made the boys uncomfortable to have Angela wandering around not properly dressed. Angela had no wish to cause us discomfort, so after that she took to wearing a dressing gown when it was appropriate. Pity, that.

It was a hot Saturday morning when Angela lapsed from her good behaviour. For some reason everyone in the house was up and about early, bar Angela and my good self. By the time I strolled out to the kitchen everyone had gone about their business. From various conversations I recalled my understanding was that they would all be gone for the day.

Standing in the kitchen was the other last occupant, Angela. She must have misjudged the number of housemates who'd shot through and thought she had the house to herself. She was wearing a shortie nightie, one that barely covered her pretty little bottom, and had just finished having her breakfast and was carrying her dishes over to the dishwasher.

Apparently she considered that the get properly dressed rule only applied if there were other people in the house, and she hadn't counted on me being there. When she bent forward to put her things in the dishwasher her nightie crept up her bottom and it was obvious that a dressing gown wasn't the only thing she hadn't bothered to put on.

"Morning, Angela," I murmured as I drifted over towards her.

She glanced up, a little startled.

"Oh, hi, Peter," she said. "I thought I was the last one here."

"Not quite," I said.

Standing next to her I dropped my hand down and started rubbing her bottom. Under her nightie.

"I assume that's why you didn't bother dressing properly," I said.

"Uh-huh. I suppose I should get some things on."

"Don't bother on my account," I told her. "You've got very nice skin and I like looking at it."

I was still, by the way, stroking her bottom. She hadn't thought to move away. Finally it did, but I moved with her.

"Um, my bottom," she said, blushing slightly.

I squeezed one cheek.

"You have a very nice one," I assured her, continuing to get a very good feel of it.

"I don't think you're supposed to be doing that sort of thing," she said, pushing my hand away.

"Why not?" is asked, letting her move my hand.

"Nice soft curls," I added, as now that I was no longer patting her bottom I'd decided to lift up the front of her nightie slightly and do some investigating there.

"It's just not done," Angela said, looking a little embarrassed. "And I know you shouldn't be touching me there. I'm not an idiot, you know."

She was now trying to push away the hand that was tangled in her curls and squeezing her mons.

"Don't be silly," I told her. "It's done all the time. Are you saying you don't like it?"

"Of course I don't like it," she practically snapped at me. "Please stop it."

"That was just you saying what you thought was expected of you," I told her. "Now just stop for a moment and consider what I'm doing and how it really feels."

She did. She actually stood there, head tilted slightly to one side and considered the feel of me massaging her mons and running my fingers through her curly muff.

"Mmm?" I prompted.

"It feels different," she finally decided. "I think I like it but I have this feeling I shouldn't."

"Uh-huh," I murmured, "and what about when I was doing this?"

My hand drifted around and started caressing her bottom again.

"OK," she conceded. "It's nice, but I still feel that I shouldn't be letting you do it."

"You're not letting me," I pointed out. "I'm just doing it, so relax a little."

While I continued to stroke her bottom and Angela stood there in indecision, I slipped my other hand under the front of her nightie again. I gave her curls a gentle tug, which caused her to squeak, and then ran my hand over her tummy, moving slowly upward until I captured a soft breast.

"So how does this feel?" I asked, stroking her breast and letting my thumb roll her nipple around. "The same as your bottom or is it more like when I played with your curls?"

"Now I know you're not supposed to be touching my breasts," she gasped. "You'll have to shift your hands at once."

"OK," I grumbled, "but you still haven't said what it feels like."

"And I'm not going to. Are you going to take your hand off me or not?"

I considered the question.

"Not," I decided. "I like the feel of you."

"That was a rhetorical question," Angela said, sounding a little heated.

"Then I hope I gave the right answer," I said, while my hand drifted away from her breast and back down to her mons, and then even further down and around, cupping her mound.

She gasped again when my hand closed over her.

"What are you doing? You have to take your hands off me."

"No, I don't," I told her. "Now lift your arms."

"What? Why?"

"Because I'm taking this scrap of nothing off," I told her, taking the hem of her nightie and lifting. "I've decided I want to see your body properly. So arms up."

"I most certainly will not," Angela protested. "Now let me go. I want to go and get dressed."

"Far too late for that," I said, trying to sound kind and compassionate. "I'm taking your nightie off first, and I'd hate to have to tear it, so lift your arms."

A stretching of the nightie caused a slight ripping sound and Angela hastily lifted her arms. With the nightie off, I stepped back to enjoy a decent view of a very fine body.

Angela didn't even think of trying to cover herself. She was more indignant that worried or scared. She seemed to have the idea that I shouldn't be teasing her this way.

"You're like a little boy," she snapped at me. "I hope you're satisfied now."

I laughed.

"Angela, we're just getting started," I told her. "I intend to touch you quite a bit more before I let you go. Tell me, haven't you ever been curious about what a man's body looks like and feels like?"

"Not really," she said. "If I wanted that sort of information I can look it up on the internet."

"And you probably have at some stage," I suggested, "but it doesn't really compare to actually touching."

I unzipped my trousers and made sure my erection was outside my underpants, without actually taking it out of my trousers.

I moved closer to Angela, and she backed up a little. Only a little, as the dishwasher was right behind her.

"Now I'm going to touch you some more," I told her. "If you want to touch me go right ahead. I won't mind."

I took her hand and pressed it against the bulge in my trousers and then my hands were back on Angela. Not just my hands, either. My mouth closed over one breast at the same time as my hand closed over her pussy and started playing.

Angela, I noticed had not gone looking for my cock, which she could plainly feel under her hand, but neither had she moved her hand away.

I massaged and squeezed her lips, scratching lightly along them where that met, feeling them separate slightly, inviting me in. Going deeper I explored inside Angela. She was definitely virgin, I found, but hot and already wet, even if she didn't know why.

She gave a little squeak and jumped when my fingers grazed against her clitoris. At the same time her hand seemed to jerk convulsively and slipped past my fly to find what was there.

I gave her time to explore my erection, occupying myself pleasantly with exploring her body. It was soft in all the right places, with curves that eye and hand just had to follow. While I was doing this Angela was staring at me looking slightly shocked while her hand was running up and down my cock, feeling it carefully.

I finally disengaged, stepping back for a moment. Angela dropped my erection but her eyes swivelled down to look at it.

"Angela," I said quietly, "lift your leg."

I patted her right leg on the thigh to indicate which one I meant. Looking blankly at me Angela did as I asked and I caught it behind the knee and lifted it higher. She was now wide open to me and I stepped closer.

A slight adjustment as I closed with her and my cock slid into her as neat as you please. Angela gave a shocked gasp as I pushed straight past her hymen, brushing it aside as though it was nothing. Then I was pushing deeper into her.

She was tight and virginal and I could only press in slowly. My touching her had helped by getting her natural juices flowing and inch by inch I was pushing into her.

"What are you doing to me," she gasped. "What are you playing at?"

"Just relax and let it happen," I told her softly. "You know what's happening. You'll find it'll be just fine."

Her eyes were wide as she stared at me, not really believing I was doing this to her. She seemed to give a little blink each time I pushed in a little further.

"Are you raping me?" she asked, suspicion plain in her voice.

I gave another little thrust while shaking my head.

"I wouldn't do that," I assured her.

One last thrust and I was right inside her, pressed hard against her.

"You're having sex with me, aren't you?" she whispered. "I didn't say you could do that."

"You didn't say I couldn't," I gently pointed out. "Why don't you consider how it feels right now? Do you want me to stop?"

She'd bloody better not say yes or I'd strangle her. My erection was screaming for some real action and I was forcing myself to hold still while she considered it.

"No," she said finally in a thoughtful voice. "You've gone this far and I admit I'm curious. It feels nice so far."

Nice? What a terrible word. I'd have to upgrade that to fantastic.

I hooked her leg around my waist and then encouraged her to lift the other so that she was firmly settled on my cock, legs around my waist and arms around my neck. Then I went for a walk.

Angela was gasping as she bounced slightly on my cock as I strolled along.

"What are you doing?" she gasped.

By that time I'd reached my bedroom. I opened the door and entered.

"Taking you to bed," I said, tilting her back so that she landed flat on her back, me on top of her.

Then I started trying to improve on nice. I drew back and then drove firmly into her, hearing her gasp at the onrush. A few more drives like that and she finally started to react to me, lifting her bottom as I came down into her.

"Good girl," I murmured. "And again."

She flushed, smiling, and eagerly pushed herself up against me as I came down on her again. Like I said, a very intelligent girl. Show her once and she catches on real quick.

From that point on it was a dual, my sword and her sheath, and my sword was put away hard and often. I made love to her, moving from my initial slow rocking to a full on pounding of her pussy with considerable strength behind each forceful drive, with Angela staying with me until the end.

And, quite frankly, I delayed that end for as long as possible. She was young and soft, keen and responsive, and it would have been a criminal act not to draw out the pleasure until she was ready.

All her other-worldliness vanished under my driving input. She moved from an intellectual to a passionate and sensual lover as though a switch had been flicked, and I was getting the benefit of her learning experience.

She was squealing eagerly towards the end, sensing something more was about to happen and wanting it. The squeal turned into a sudden scream when I gave up holding back and slammed down, letting me seed flood her.

She bucked frantically under me, clinging to my erection, desperate to hold onto me while her own climax raged through her.

I lay next to her afterwards, just holding her while she slowly settled down. When she finally seemed to have gathered herself together, I started talking.

"Now you know why you're supposed to get dressed when you wander around the house," I told her. "You've seen what can happen when you wander around half naked. I'll give you another example.

Just imagine that tomorrow you wander into the kitchen dressed the way you were this morning. That would tend to show you need another lesson about good house manners.

Just imagine yourself being put across my knee and getting your bottom soundly spanked for being a naughty girl. It would be so embarrassing for you, especially if there are others around. Then imagine being escorted back to your own room, bottom all red and smarting, and bent over the bed and ravished without mercy.

So think of that before you come wandering out half dressed.

Apart from all that, did you enjoy yourself?"

Angela looked thoughtful, then nodded.

"Yes," she said. "It was nice."

"Nice?"

"Oh yes, quite nice."