Chapter 2 — She Smells Like Peaches - Short Story Chapter 1 (2)

He wanted to enter her now. Pre-cum had leaked so much it felt like arousal fluid, slick and urgent.

"Wait a sec."

"Why? Huh... huh..."

"Go buy condoms."

"You idiot! Motels always have them, and besides—you don't need to! I'm on birth control."

"Really? You're sure?"

"I hate that feeling. That's why I've been taking pills consistently."

Who was this woman? Was she a gold-digger? Or just wildly promiscuous? Doubt crept in.

A flicker of concern about STDs surfaced too. Suddenly, every oral act they'd shared felt uncomfortably risky.

"Aaahh… hurry up and do it…"

She wriggled her hips, pouting. Whatever hesitation he had vanished. He chose to move forward.

Her entrance was as hot as her personality. It wasn't tight in that exaggerated way porn described, nor did she possess any special technique—but she was burning hot.

Back then, he lacked the experience to analyze penetration deeply. Sex itself was thrilling enough; once inside, his body automatically switched to pumping mode.

"Ahh—huh! Ahh—huh!"

With each thrust, her moans echoed through the room. Feeling climax approaching, he decided to calm himself by trying everything he'd seen in pornos.

"Let's do it from behind!"

"You know all kinds of things, huh? Okay… but no anal."

He didn't want to, didn't even consider it. His experience was limited, and back then, the idea of penetrating there still felt strange, almost alien.

He flipped her over, pushed her down, lifted her up, laid her flat again—over and over. Around thirty or forty minutes must have passed. Her eyes began to glaze over.

He'd never seen it in real life before, but he recognized that look from adult videos.

The gaze of someone who's gone all the way.

An urgent wave of climax surged.

"I'm coming too."

"Uhh… uhhhnnn…"

He held her tightly as he came. With each spasm, her body trembled, and waves of peak pleasure ran down his spine.

They stayed locked together, catching their breath. But it wouldn't go down. Not fully erect, but not soft either.

"It's not shrinking."

"Hehe… yeah, I can feel it. You're strong, huh? This only happens in novels, right?"

"Novels?"

"You think girls don't read erotica?"

"But most of it's written from a guy's perspective."

"True… but ahh—don't move while talking… I can't focus… ahh… Still, it's fun when women read it too, isn't it?"

"I didn't move."

"You're twitching."

"Kheek… It's not twitching—it's reacting."

"Ahhfuuk… Do you think you can go again?"

He glanced down. Her folds were slick with her wetness and his earlier cum. When he pulled away, the peach scent intensified.

"This is my first time doing this… My ex said she'd die if we did it more than once."

"What… hmmm… For a beginner, that's pretty normal, right?"

"You're not a beginner?"

"Just saying… hnnn… makes me sound like one?"

"I'll try moving… see if it gets hard again or not."

Sensation slowly returned. Breathing in the peach fragrance, touching her peach-like breasts again, sucking gently on her nipples.

That feeling—like reloading—came back.

"It's getting hard. Ahh… it's getting hard…"

Soon, it was just as firm as before. He started thrusting again. More intense reactions brought sharper pleasure, lasting longer.

Even during masturbation, the second round always lasted longer—he was experiencing it firsthand now.

His lower back ached slightly, and above all, he was drenched in sweat. Sweat dripped between her breasts, sliding sideways every time they shifted positions.

Clumsily changing positions, he didn't know how to add new foreplay. All he could do was grip her breasts and shoulders and rock back and forth.

Still, she seemed to reach climax several more times.

When her breathing turned from panting to choked gasps, he came again.

"Ahhfuunn… uuuhhh…"

Pulling out his still-throbbing cock, a final gush of cum spilled out.

Worries about pregnancy resurfaced briefly—but then, sudden exhaustion crashed over him. They both fell asleep.

When he woke up, she was gone. His groggy mind told him to check his wallet, but there was nothing missing—and even if there was, it couldn't be helped. He reached for his phone instead.

A message waited.

[You were amazing. I really liked you! Saved your number—text me when you wake up, around dinner time:)]

The text, complete with a little heart, erased all his vague worries. He saved her contact as "Sarah," closed his phone, and lay back.

On the way home, he debated whether to call Sarah that evening—or not. But the deeply satisfying, refreshing memory kept pushing him toward replying.