31-08-2026, 10:44 AM
(This post was last modified: 31-08-2026, 10:45 AM by adams_masala. Edited 1 time in total. Edited 1 time in total.)
Chapter 146: Too pure to suck cock.
Scene 1
Selvam set Jennie down at the foot of the bed and did not follow her onto it.
They stood in the lamp light. The crop top. The white ruffle skirt. His shirt still open from the hallway. For a second neither of them moved.
Jennie took his right hand.
The ink was still there, faint now, her address smeared across his palm. She looked at it first, as if she needed to be sure it had survived the night. Then she lifted the hem of the crop top and pressed that palm flat to her bare stomach.
Warm skin. The small dip of her navel under the center of his hand.
“You… kept it,” she said.
“I didn’t wash it off.”
She nodded once, shy. Her ears were already a little pink.
“Then… please.”
He went to his knees.
Not fast. Not as a show. He went down because that was the only height that made sense. The ruffle skirt stayed on. The crop top stayed pushed up, bunched under her breasts, leaving her midriff bare in the low light.
Her navel was small. Neat. Set in a flat, narrow stomach. He had seen it a hundred times on screens... stage lights, crop tops, the particular second in a chorus when she lifted her arm and the shirt rode up and the whole world saw the same inch of skin he was looking at now.
He stared at it like it might disappear.
“I have seen this on stage,” he said. His voice was lower than it had been in the hallway. “In the videos. Every time you lift your arm. I never thought I would get to kiss it.”
She looked down at him. Her hand rested in his hair, light, almost undecided.
“You can,” she said. “If you want.”
He kissed the skin an inch to the left of her navel first.
Not the center. Around it. The warm flat of her stomach, then closer, then the soft edge where the rim began. She made a small sound above him. Not a word. Just air leaving.
He did it again on the other side.
Then he traced the rim.
Slow. Cell by cell. The circle of it. The tiny dip. The faint crease at the top. He kissed the upper edge, then the lower, then went around again as if he refused to miss a point. His hands held her waist the whole time, thumbs low on the waistband of the skirt, fingers almost meeting at her spine.
Goosebumps rose under his mouth.
He felt them. Small. Sudden. Standing up across the skin he had just kissed. Her stomach tightened. The navel drew in a fraction when she breathed in.
“Ah… Selvam.”
He did not lift his head.
He kissed the center.
Open mouth. Slow. The rim under his lips. Then again, smaller, like he was trying to learn the exact shape of it by taste. Her fingers tightened in his hair. The ruffle skirt shifted against his chest when her hips moved, not away, just a small adjustment she could not stop.
He went back to the rim.
Around. Then across. Then the little hollow again. He used the edge of his lower lip on the upper curve, then the flat of his tongue on the dip, then a closed kiss right on the center that made her stomach jump. Goosebumps again, sharper this time, running sideways toward his hands.
He stayed there.
One minute. Then another. Left side. Right side. Upper rim. Lower rim. Center. He kissed just under the navel and came back to the hollow as if he had forgotten something and needed to finish it. Her breathing changed. He could hear it above him. He could feel it under his mouth.
After a while her voice came down to him, almost a whisper.
“You are still there.”
“I know.”
“The bed is… behind me.”
He kissed the navel once more. Slower than the others. Then he began to move up.
His mouth left the hollow and found the line of her stomach above it. Then the shallow place under her ribs. Then the underside of the crop top, fabric and skin together. She shivered when he kissed the center of her chest over the buttons. He stood only when he reached her throat. His mouth opened against the clean line of her neck, then her jaw, then her mouth.
The kiss was unhurried. She came up onto her toes to meet it. When they broke he lifted her the short distance onto the bed and came over her.
He undid the lowest button of the crop top first. Kissed the new strip of skin. The next button. Another kiss. He worked upward like that until the last two opened over her breasts.
He parted the fabric.
First time.
Not stage lighting. Lamp light. For him only. Small. High. Pale. Her nipples already tight, darker than the rest of her. She turned her face a little to the side because she could not watch him see her.
“Soft,” she said. “Please.”
He started outside the nipple. The inner curve. The underside. Then the edge. Then the nipple itself, light, wet, slow. Left first. Then right. Then back. He sucked gently, not hard. Her back arched. Her hand went into his hair again.
“Ah… like that.”
That was when she felt him hard against her thigh. She glanced down, then away at once.
“Your… rocket.”
The word came out tiny. Embarrassed.
“Not launching,” he said.
He took the crop top off fully and dropped it beside the bed. Then he slid his hands under the ruffles, found the waistband of her panties, and drew them down her legs. She lifted her hips once. The panties came off over her feet. He kept them in his hand, brought them to his face, and inhaled.
“These are wet.”
She slapped his chest, hiding her face against his shoulder.
“Don’t say that.”
He let the panties fall onto the crop top. He kissed the inside of her left thigh. Then the right. High. Slow. The ruffle skirt he pushed up around her waist and left there.
Then he stopped.
Not because he was uncertain. Because he was looking.
The lamp reached her there too. Jennie from the screens. Jennie from the stadiums. Jennie with her skirt around her waist and her knees a little open and nothing left to hide her from him. Her pussy was neat, flushed, already wet from his mouth on her navel and his mouth on her breasts and from the way she had been holding herself still. The outer lips were smooth and dark-pink where they met. At the top, her clit sat under a small, pretty hood, gathered like a flower just starting to open... soft folds, a tight hidden center, the tiniest peek of the pearl beneath.
He stared.
“I can’t believe I am about to kiss Miss Jennie’s clit,” he said.
The words came out low. Almost careful. Not a joke.
She made a small sound and tried to close her knees. His hands held her thighs open, gentle, not forcing, just keeping her there so he could keep looking.
“Selvam…”
“It looks like a flower,” he said. He was still looking at the hood. At the way it tucked in on itself, delicate, wet, impossibly precise. “This little hood. The way it sits. I have seen you in front of fifty thousand people and I have never seen anything as pretty as this.”
She covered her face with one hand.
He leaned in and kissed the inside of her thigh again, closer this time. Then the soft skin just beside her pussy, not on it yet. Then the other side. He was making himself wait. Ceremonial. The way he had waited at her navel.
When he finally kissed her there, he did not start on the clit.
He kissed the outer lip first. Closed mouth. Almost polite. Then the other. Then the seam where they met. She jerked, a small helpless jump, and her hand left her face and found his hair.
Only then did he kiss the hood.
Soft. Direct. The flower under his mouth. He felt how small it was, how wet, how it yielded when he parted it with his lips and found the clit beneath. He made a sound against her that he did not mean to make.
“Miss Jennie,” he murmured there, against her. “This is your clit. I am kissing it.”
She whispered his name like a protest and a request at the same time.
He licked her after that.
Slow. Around the hood first, tracing it the way he had traced the rim of her navel. Then a flat stroke through the whole length of her pussy. Then back to the clit, the hood pushed up by his tongue so he could kiss the center of the flower directly. He stayed there. Circled. Sucked very gently. Let go. Kissed it again.
She tried to keep still and could not.
It had been so long since her body had done this for anyone. So long since she had come without having to invent it, without having to finish later alone and quietly and tell herself that was enough. The thought arrived in pieces while his mouth worked her. She had forgotten the beginning of it... the deep, ugly, beautiful pull low in her belly. She had forgotten that it could take her like a wave instead of a polite little shiver.
“Selvam... wait... I... ”
He did not wait. He stayed on her clit.
The first tremor was not polite. It slammed through her stomach and lifted her off the bed. Her thighs clamped around his head and then flew open again. A sound tore out of her that she tried to swallow and could not. Her hand left his hair and fisted in the sheet so hard the fabric burned her palm.
Then it broke.
Violent. Whole-body. No choreography left in her. Her back arched until only her shoulders and heels were down. Her pussy pulsed against his mouth in hard, helpless beats. She came so sharply it frightened her, as if something locked for years had been kicked open. Tears sprang into her eyes at once, hot, humiliating, unstoppable. She was crying and coming at the same time and she could not choose which one to stop.
“Selvam... ”
It ripped out of her. Not pretty. Not trained. His name, cried, broken in the middle.
“Selvam... Selvam... I can’t... ”
Another wave hit harder than the first. Her whole body jerked. She sobbed once, a raw sound, and said his name again as if it were the only word she still owned. Her clit throbbed under his tongue. Her stomach seized. Her thighs shook so badly he had to hold them. She kept coming, longer than she understood, tears running into her hair, mouth open, the careful girl gone for those few violent seconds.
When it finally let her go she collapsed as if dropped. She was still crying, smaller now, one arm over her face, her pussy still twitching against nothing. She turned toward the pillow and whispered his name one more time, wrecked and ashamed of how loud she had been, of the tears, of how long it had been since anything had made her do that.
He kissed the hood once more, softer than before, and kissed the inside of her thigh, and looked up.
Her face was wet. Her eyes were darker. She could barely look at him.
“Are you…” She swallowed. The word took a second to arrive. “Are you going to show me?”
A tiny pause.
“Your rocket.”
Scene 2
He did not rush it.
He stood first. Just stood. The lamp put a long shape of him against the wall, shirt already gone, trousers still on. Jennie stayed on the bed in the ruffle skirt and nothing else, knees together, watching him as if the next part required permission she had already given and still could not believe.
His hands went to the belt.
Slow. One hole. The leather sliding free. He watched her face while he did it, not his hands. She watched his hands and then his face and then his hands again. Her throat moved.
He is going to show me, she thought. The real thing. Not the shape against his trousers. Not the videos I am not supposed to imagine. Him.
He opened the button.
Then the zip, tooth by tooth, because pulling it down fast would have made this ordinary. The sound was small in the quiet room. She heard every bit of it.
Selvam felt the weight of himself behind the cloth and almost laughed at how ceremonial he was being with a pair of trousers. Then he looked at her again... the bare shoulders, the skirt, the mouth that had just come apart on his name... and the laugh died.
If I take this out like it is nothing, I am a fool. She is looking at me the way people look at a first time. Let her look.
He pushed the trousers down.
Underwear still on. The shape of his cock was obvious now, thick against the fabric, a dark press she could not pretend to not see. Her lips parted. No sound yet.
It is already big, she thought, and the thought arrived with a shy heat in her face. And that is still covered.
He hooked his thumbs in the waistband and paused.
Not teasing her. Giving her one more second. She did not look away. She could not.
Then he drew the last thing down.
His cock came free heavy and dark and already rock hard, falling slightly forward with its own weight before it stood. The lamp caught the head, the vein, the wet shine at the slit from how long he had been ready. He stepped out of the rest of his clothes and let her see all of him.
Jennie stopped talking.
Her mouth fell open. For a second she only stared, eyes wide, as if her body had understood before her voice could.
That cannot go inside me, she thought first, helpless and almost frightened. That is… that is a person. That is him. I asked to see his rocket and this is what he was hiding.
Selvam stood still and let her look.
There it is, he thought. No more polite shape under cloth. She can leave the room. She can laugh. She can change her mind.
He watched her eyes move over him and felt the opposite of shame. Only a raw, careful pride. Look properly. This is what you asked for.
“…It is big,” she murmured. “Selvam.”
He did not make a speech about it. He waited.
She sat up a little. Her eyes were still on his cock, then on his face, then back again, as if she needed permission for each look.
“Can I…” She stopped, shy. “Can I see it closer?”
He came to the bed as if the floor might make a sound. He did not thrust it toward her. He stood near her knees and let her close the last of the space.
She leaned in.
Slowly. Hands in her lap at first. Her hair fell forward. She looked at him the way she had looked at the address on his palm... careful, wondering, a little afraid to breathe on it. The lamp made a small shine on the head of his cock. She studied that shine for a long second.
“It is even…” She did not finish. Her ears were pink.
Her fingers moved on her own thigh, restless, wanting.
“Selvam.” A whisper. “Can I touch it? Please?”
He nodded once. His voice came out softer than the nod.
“Yes. You can, Jennie.”
Only then did she lift both hands and hold his cock, ceremonial, as if he had placed something precious in her palms. She did not stroke. She turned him in the light. One fingertip traced the thick vein. She studied the head as if she had just discovered it.
“It is… warm. Heavy. The skin is so soft, but underneath it is not.”
His cock twitched in her hands.
She jerked back with a small sound, then covered her mouth and laughed, shy.
“It moved. I didn’t... ”
He cupped her face.
“You’re so adorable.”
“Don’t say that. I am being strange.”
After a moment she took his cock again. She held it upright like her stage microphone and pretended to sing Solo into it in a quiet voice.
She sang her whole debut song, into his cock mic.
They both laughed. The laugh knocked the head of his cock against her lips.
She went quiet at once.
The head of him was right there. Against that mouth. The same mouth that had sung in stadiums. Soft. Slightly open. A shine on her lower lip from the accidental bump.
Put it in, something in him said, ugly and immediate. She asked. She is right there.
He did not move.
Because the rest of her face undid the thought as fast as it arrived. The wide eyes. The pink ears. The way she looked up at him as if kissing his cock would be a secret she was not sure she was allowed to keep.
Not her. Not like that. Not this mouth.
Jennie felt the heat of him on her lip and could not think in a straight line.
It touched my mouth. I want to again. I want to know the taste. He will think I am dirty. I am not dirty. I just… I want to.
She looked up, coy, almost pleading.
“Can I taste?”
He stroked her cheek with his thumb.
“No. Not that. You’re too pure to suck my cock.”
Something warm moved through her chest.
He thinks I am pure. He is protecting me. That is why.
The wanting did not leave.
“Please.”
“Jennie.”
“Just a little. I want to. Please.”
He did not take her mouth.
He reached down and took his cock out of her hands.
Gently. Both of her hands were still wrapped around him, soft, as if the microphone game had never fully ended. His fingers closed over hers first. He loosened her grip one hand at a time. Her fingers resisted without meaning to, a small unconscious hold.
He is taking it away, she thought, and the disappointment arrived faster than she could hide it. I only just had it. It was warm. It was mine for a minute. If I let go I may not get it back.
She let go anyway.
Her palms felt empty at once. Cool. Stupid. She looked at his cock as it left her hands and had to sit on the urge to reach for it again.
I asked too much. That is why.
He bent down.
Not onto the bed at first. He bent at the waist, one hand beside her hip, the other still around himself so he would not bump her lips again by accident. He came to her height. Close enough that she felt his breath on her cheek before she felt his mouth. He paused there, looking at her.
Then he kissed her.
Slow. On the mouth. The kind of kiss that was an answer and a refusal at the same time. Not there. Here. She made a small sound into it, half protest, half relief, and her empty hands found his shoulders.
He stayed in the kiss until the grabby feeling in her fingers eased. Then he eased her down onto the bed with the kiss still happening, one arm around her back, laying her back into the sheets as if he were setting something down that could break. His cock, free of her hands now, rested heavy against her stomach instead of her mouth.
She hid against his neck when the kiss ended.
He said no. He still wants me. That is enough. I can ask again later.
“Not your mouth,” he said, quiet, against her hair. “I want to be inside you.”
“Then slowly. I am a little… scared. But I want you.”
“I’ll go slow. I won’t hurt you.”
She reached down and put the head of his cock against her.
Even that was not easy.
He was thick enough that the first touch spread her open before he had entered her at all. The blunt head of his cock sat against her wet pussy and her body tried to close around nothing. She was slick from his mouth, from coming, and still the opening looked too small for him. He pressed. Her lips stretched around the tip and then stopped him. The head slipped up, missed, came back. He took himself in one hand and held his cock steady against her hole.
She felt it then... the exact shape of him trying to go where nothing that size had gone.
He pushed.
Her pussy mouth opened around the head, slow, shiny, forced wide. The stretch burned at once. A deep, sharp stretch that made her knees pull inward and her breath catch. The head of his cock sank in perhaps a finger’s width and her body clamped down on it so hard he hissed through his teeth.
“Ah... wait.”
He stopped at once. Only the head was in her. His arms shook from holding still.
“That’s enough. I should stop.”
She shook her head against his throat. Her eyes were wet. She was still decided.
“No. I am fine. Just… don’t move.”
He waited.
Inside that wait he could feel her heartbeat around the head of his cock.
When he tried again, the rest of the head went in with a thick, wet sound.
Her knees pulled in tighter. A small broken sound left her. She hid her face in his neck.
“It is too big.”
“Jennie. Let me pull out.”
“Don’t. I am fine.” A breath. “A little more. Please. Only a little.”
He gave her another inch.
It went in slower than an inch should go. He watched his own cock feed into her, the shaft vanishing by degrees, her lips dragged inward around him, shiny and strained.
He froze. His arms shook.
She breathed against his throat.
“Wait. Wait.”
He waited until the clamp of her eased by a fraction.
“Okay,” she whispered. “A little more.”
Another inch.
Her fingers dug into his back. Her knees stayed pulled in, trembling against his sides. He felt the inch enter as a long, thick drag. Her pussy made a small wet sound around him.
“Selvam... ”
“I can stop.”
“No. Stay. A little more only.”
It took a long time.
Inch by inch. Each time he pressed only as much as she asked for. Each time he stopped the second her breath caught. He looked down between them because he could not help it: his cock opening her, her pretty hole forced into a shiny circle, the shaft disappearing into her one slow measure at a time.
“A little more.”
He kissed her temple and gave her another inch.
Halfway in she could barely speak. Half his cock was inside her and half was not.
“Still… only a little.”
He held there until the shake in her thighs changed. Then another inch. She whimpered and nodded at the same time.
When he was almost there she whispered,
“Wait. Please wait.”
He held still. Only the last part of him was outside her. His arms trembled.
Then the last inch.
It took more than the others. Her body tried not to give it. He pressed, stopped, pressed again. She made a small hurt noise and pulled him closer anyway. The last of his cock slid into her with a slow, thick glide, all the way, until there was nowhere else to go.
He was fully inside her and did not move.
They stayed like that for a full minute.
No jokes. No rocket. Only breathing. Her knees slowly opened again. Her hand stayed on his back. He could feel her heartbeat around the whole length of his cock. He could feel himself throbbing against her deepest place and made himself do nothing with it. Her pussy kept squeezing him in small shocked pulses, wet and tight, as if she were still taking him even though he was already there.
Then she peeked up at him, shy.
“Your rocket is… all the way in.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Why? It is true.”
He started to move.
Very little at first. Not strokes. Shifts. The smallest withdrawal, enough that she could feel the thick shaft drag out against that stretched rim, shiny and clinging, then the smallest return, filling her again to the end. Her pussy made a wet sound around him. A thin slick followed his cock when he drew back and disappeared when he pushed in.
Slow, he told himself. She just took all of it. If you fuck her the way you want to, you will scare her.
The want was already there, ugly and clear. To hold her waist and drive in. To hear that careful voice break. To watch his cock disappear into her faster than this.
He did not.
She hid against his neck, then talked between breaths, soft and a little playful now that the hard part was over.
“You said slowly.”
“I am.”
“It still does not feel small.”
She tightened around him on purpose and watched his face change. A small laugh, surprised at herself.
“See? Your rocket likes me.”
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
“A little.”
He gave her a real stroke then. Not hard. Longer. Out until the ridge of the head tugged at her opening, then back in to the root. Her mouth opened on his shoulder. Her pussy dragged on him, greedy and too tight at the same time.
She can take that, he thought, watching her face. Ask for a little more and see.
He did it again. Same length. A fraction deeper at the end, his hips meeting her, his cock kissing the place inside her that made her gasp.
“Ah... ”
He stopped at the bottom.
“Too much?”
She shook her head quickly, ears pink.
“No. It is… deep. Do it again. Same.”
He did.
Each thrust opened her all over again. He looked down because he could not help it: his thick cock spreading her pretty hole into a wet circle, her lips pulled shiny around him, the shaft coming out slick and disappearing again. Miss Jennie’s pussy. Stretched. Taking him. The ruffle skirt bunched at her waist like it did not belong to this at all.
I could fuck her properly now, he thought, and the thought made his hands tighten on her waist. She is wet enough. She is holding me. One hard push and she would feel the whole thing.
He tested her instead of taking it.
The next stroke came in a little faster. Not violent. Just less careful. The wet sound got louder. Her breasts jumped. Her eyes flew to his.
“Selvam.”
“Tell me.”
She swallowed. Her voice stayed small.
“That was… more.”
“Do you want me to stop that?”
A pause. Honest. Shy.
“No. But not too much more.”
There. That is the line.
He kept the new pace and did not add to it. His body hated him for that. His cock was soaked with her. Every time he pulled back she clung, a slick string between his shaft and her open pussy, and every time he pushed in she took him to the end with a soft broken sound.
When he went deeper she gasped, then smiled against his cheek, still innocent even with him buried in her.
“You think I am too pure… but you put all of it in.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“It just is.”
“Liar,” she whispered. “You like this too.”
“I never said I didn’t.”
He showed her how much, just once.
He hooked one hand under her knee and opened her a little wider. The next thrust went in so fully his stomach pressed her. She made a high sound and her nails found his back.
Too far?
Her eyes were wet again. Not from stopping. From fullness.
“Wait... wait... ”
He froze inside her, shaking.
“I can go back.”
She breathed. Once. Twice. Her pussy fluttered around him in tiny panicked squeezes.
“Don’t take it out. Just… don’t do that hard again. Stay in. Move like before.”
“All right.”
He kissed her mouth and gave her the slower stroke again. Relief moved through her body under him. Then, a moment later, a different thing: she lifted her hips to meet him. Small. Almost accidental. Then again, on purpose.
She wants it, he thought, and the conflict sharpened. Not hard. But she wants it. Don’t confuse those.
“Then look at me,” she whispered.
He did.
She got shy the moment he looked, but she still said it.
“Stay there. Your rocket can stay.”
He kept that angle.
Long. Exact. The kind of fucking that was still fucking. Wet. Deep. Steady. Her clit rubbed against him when he came down. Her pussy made a filthy soft sound she would have been ashamed of in any other room. He felt her getting looser by degrees, then tighter when she got close, then looser again.
Harder, his body said.
No, he answered. She told you the limit.
He tested it one last time, smaller than before. A little more weight at the end of a stroke. A low slap of skin. He watched her face like a gauge.
Her mouth fell open.
“Selvam... ah... ”
Not stop. Not wait. His name, surprised.
“Too much?”
She shook her head, hiding against him.
“No. I felt… all of you. Again. Please. That one.”
So he gave her that one, and only that one, over and over. Not the brutal version in his head. The edge of it. Enough that she knew he could ruin her and was choosing not to.
She came a second time with her face against his throat.
It took her harder than she expected. Her body locked around his cock and milked him in helpless pulls, wet and violent in such a small person. She cried his name into his skin and held on as if she might fall through the bed. He kept moving through it, slow, so she would feel every pulse of herself on him.
After she came down she was shaking. She touched his cheek.
“You too. I want to feel your rocket land.”
“Look at me.”
She did.
He finally let a little of the control go. Still not savage. Just complete. His mouth found her shoulder. His hands locked on her waist. He fucked her through his own ending in deep, heavy strokes, each one seating him to the root, and came inside her with his face turned into her neck... pulse after pulse, hot, filling the place he had spent so long opening. He stayed in her after. Did not pull out. She was so full he could feel his cock twitch in the wet heat of it, and a slow leak already trying to escape around him.
She kept him there.
“Stay. Don’t leave yet.”
He didn’t.
I could have fucked her harder, he thought, with her still fluttering around him. She would have let me, maybe. I didn’t. That is the only reason I get to stay.
Later, very small, against his skin:
“It landed.”
He kissed her hair.
“Don’t start.”
She shook her head, almost smiling, wrecked and still shy.
“I am not. I am happy.”
Scene 1
Selvam set Jennie down at the foot of the bed and did not follow her onto it.
They stood in the lamp light. The crop top. The white ruffle skirt. His shirt still open from the hallway. For a second neither of them moved.
Jennie took his right hand.
The ink was still there, faint now, her address smeared across his palm. She looked at it first, as if she needed to be sure it had survived the night. Then she lifted the hem of the crop top and pressed that palm flat to her bare stomach.
Warm skin. The small dip of her navel under the center of his hand.
“You… kept it,” she said.
“I didn’t wash it off.”
She nodded once, shy. Her ears were already a little pink.
“Then… please.”
He went to his knees.
Not fast. Not as a show. He went down because that was the only height that made sense. The ruffle skirt stayed on. The crop top stayed pushed up, bunched under her breasts, leaving her midriff bare in the low light.
Her navel was small. Neat. Set in a flat, narrow stomach. He had seen it a hundred times on screens... stage lights, crop tops, the particular second in a chorus when she lifted her arm and the shirt rode up and the whole world saw the same inch of skin he was looking at now.
He stared at it like it might disappear.
“I have seen this on stage,” he said. His voice was lower than it had been in the hallway. “In the videos. Every time you lift your arm. I never thought I would get to kiss it.”
She looked down at him. Her hand rested in his hair, light, almost undecided.
“You can,” she said. “If you want.”
He kissed the skin an inch to the left of her navel first.
Not the center. Around it. The warm flat of her stomach, then closer, then the soft edge where the rim began. She made a small sound above him. Not a word. Just air leaving.
He did it again on the other side.
Then he traced the rim.
Slow. Cell by cell. The circle of it. The tiny dip. The faint crease at the top. He kissed the upper edge, then the lower, then went around again as if he refused to miss a point. His hands held her waist the whole time, thumbs low on the waistband of the skirt, fingers almost meeting at her spine.
Goosebumps rose under his mouth.
He felt them. Small. Sudden. Standing up across the skin he had just kissed. Her stomach tightened. The navel drew in a fraction when she breathed in.
“Ah… Selvam.”
He did not lift his head.
He kissed the center.
Open mouth. Slow. The rim under his lips. Then again, smaller, like he was trying to learn the exact shape of it by taste. Her fingers tightened in his hair. The ruffle skirt shifted against his chest when her hips moved, not away, just a small adjustment she could not stop.
He went back to the rim.
Around. Then across. Then the little hollow again. He used the edge of his lower lip on the upper curve, then the flat of his tongue on the dip, then a closed kiss right on the center that made her stomach jump. Goosebumps again, sharper this time, running sideways toward his hands.
He stayed there.
One minute. Then another. Left side. Right side. Upper rim. Lower rim. Center. He kissed just under the navel and came back to the hollow as if he had forgotten something and needed to finish it. Her breathing changed. He could hear it above him. He could feel it under his mouth.
After a while her voice came down to him, almost a whisper.
“You are still there.”
“I know.”
“The bed is… behind me.”
He kissed the navel once more. Slower than the others. Then he began to move up.
His mouth left the hollow and found the line of her stomach above it. Then the shallow place under her ribs. Then the underside of the crop top, fabric and skin together. She shivered when he kissed the center of her chest over the buttons. He stood only when he reached her throat. His mouth opened against the clean line of her neck, then her jaw, then her mouth.
The kiss was unhurried. She came up onto her toes to meet it. When they broke he lifted her the short distance onto the bed and came over her.
He undid the lowest button of the crop top first. Kissed the new strip of skin. The next button. Another kiss. He worked upward like that until the last two opened over her breasts.
He parted the fabric.
First time.
Not stage lighting. Lamp light. For him only. Small. High. Pale. Her nipples already tight, darker than the rest of her. She turned her face a little to the side because she could not watch him see her.
“Soft,” she said. “Please.”
He started outside the nipple. The inner curve. The underside. Then the edge. Then the nipple itself, light, wet, slow. Left first. Then right. Then back. He sucked gently, not hard. Her back arched. Her hand went into his hair again.
“Ah… like that.”
That was when she felt him hard against her thigh. She glanced down, then away at once.
“Your… rocket.”
The word came out tiny. Embarrassed.
“Not launching,” he said.
He took the crop top off fully and dropped it beside the bed. Then he slid his hands under the ruffles, found the waistband of her panties, and drew them down her legs. She lifted her hips once. The panties came off over her feet. He kept them in his hand, brought them to his face, and inhaled.
“These are wet.”
She slapped his chest, hiding her face against his shoulder.
“Don’t say that.”
He let the panties fall onto the crop top. He kissed the inside of her left thigh. Then the right. High. Slow. The ruffle skirt he pushed up around her waist and left there.
Then he stopped.
Not because he was uncertain. Because he was looking.
The lamp reached her there too. Jennie from the screens. Jennie from the stadiums. Jennie with her skirt around her waist and her knees a little open and nothing left to hide her from him. Her pussy was neat, flushed, already wet from his mouth on her navel and his mouth on her breasts and from the way she had been holding herself still. The outer lips were smooth and dark-pink where they met. At the top, her clit sat under a small, pretty hood, gathered like a flower just starting to open... soft folds, a tight hidden center, the tiniest peek of the pearl beneath.
He stared.
“I can’t believe I am about to kiss Miss Jennie’s clit,” he said.
The words came out low. Almost careful. Not a joke.
She made a small sound and tried to close her knees. His hands held her thighs open, gentle, not forcing, just keeping her there so he could keep looking.
“Selvam…”
“It looks like a flower,” he said. He was still looking at the hood. At the way it tucked in on itself, delicate, wet, impossibly precise. “This little hood. The way it sits. I have seen you in front of fifty thousand people and I have never seen anything as pretty as this.”
She covered her face with one hand.
He leaned in and kissed the inside of her thigh again, closer this time. Then the soft skin just beside her pussy, not on it yet. Then the other side. He was making himself wait. Ceremonial. The way he had waited at her navel.
When he finally kissed her there, he did not start on the clit.
He kissed the outer lip first. Closed mouth. Almost polite. Then the other. Then the seam where they met. She jerked, a small helpless jump, and her hand left her face and found his hair.
Only then did he kiss the hood.
Soft. Direct. The flower under his mouth. He felt how small it was, how wet, how it yielded when he parted it with his lips and found the clit beneath. He made a sound against her that he did not mean to make.
“Miss Jennie,” he murmured there, against her. “This is your clit. I am kissing it.”
She whispered his name like a protest and a request at the same time.
He licked her after that.
Slow. Around the hood first, tracing it the way he had traced the rim of her navel. Then a flat stroke through the whole length of her pussy. Then back to the clit, the hood pushed up by his tongue so he could kiss the center of the flower directly. He stayed there. Circled. Sucked very gently. Let go. Kissed it again.
She tried to keep still and could not.
It had been so long since her body had done this for anyone. So long since she had come without having to invent it, without having to finish later alone and quietly and tell herself that was enough. The thought arrived in pieces while his mouth worked her. She had forgotten the beginning of it... the deep, ugly, beautiful pull low in her belly. She had forgotten that it could take her like a wave instead of a polite little shiver.
“Selvam... wait... I... ”
He did not wait. He stayed on her clit.
The first tremor was not polite. It slammed through her stomach and lifted her off the bed. Her thighs clamped around his head and then flew open again. A sound tore out of her that she tried to swallow and could not. Her hand left his hair and fisted in the sheet so hard the fabric burned her palm.
Then it broke.
Violent. Whole-body. No choreography left in her. Her back arched until only her shoulders and heels were down. Her pussy pulsed against his mouth in hard, helpless beats. She came so sharply it frightened her, as if something locked for years had been kicked open. Tears sprang into her eyes at once, hot, humiliating, unstoppable. She was crying and coming at the same time and she could not choose which one to stop.
“Selvam... ”
It ripped out of her. Not pretty. Not trained. His name, cried, broken in the middle.
“Selvam... Selvam... I can’t... ”
Another wave hit harder than the first. Her whole body jerked. She sobbed once, a raw sound, and said his name again as if it were the only word she still owned. Her clit throbbed under his tongue. Her stomach seized. Her thighs shook so badly he had to hold them. She kept coming, longer than she understood, tears running into her hair, mouth open, the careful girl gone for those few violent seconds.
When it finally let her go she collapsed as if dropped. She was still crying, smaller now, one arm over her face, her pussy still twitching against nothing. She turned toward the pillow and whispered his name one more time, wrecked and ashamed of how loud she had been, of the tears, of how long it had been since anything had made her do that.
He kissed the hood once more, softer than before, and kissed the inside of her thigh, and looked up.
Her face was wet. Her eyes were darker. She could barely look at him.
“Are you…” She swallowed. The word took a second to arrive. “Are you going to show me?”
A tiny pause.
“Your rocket.”
Scene 2
He did not rush it.
He stood first. Just stood. The lamp put a long shape of him against the wall, shirt already gone, trousers still on. Jennie stayed on the bed in the ruffle skirt and nothing else, knees together, watching him as if the next part required permission she had already given and still could not believe.
His hands went to the belt.
Slow. One hole. The leather sliding free. He watched her face while he did it, not his hands. She watched his hands and then his face and then his hands again. Her throat moved.
He is going to show me, she thought. The real thing. Not the shape against his trousers. Not the videos I am not supposed to imagine. Him.
He opened the button.
Then the zip, tooth by tooth, because pulling it down fast would have made this ordinary. The sound was small in the quiet room. She heard every bit of it.
Selvam felt the weight of himself behind the cloth and almost laughed at how ceremonial he was being with a pair of trousers. Then he looked at her again... the bare shoulders, the skirt, the mouth that had just come apart on his name... and the laugh died.
If I take this out like it is nothing, I am a fool. She is looking at me the way people look at a first time. Let her look.
He pushed the trousers down.
Underwear still on. The shape of his cock was obvious now, thick against the fabric, a dark press she could not pretend to not see. Her lips parted. No sound yet.
It is already big, she thought, and the thought arrived with a shy heat in her face. And that is still covered.
He hooked his thumbs in the waistband and paused.
Not teasing her. Giving her one more second. She did not look away. She could not.
Then he drew the last thing down.
His cock came free heavy and dark and already rock hard, falling slightly forward with its own weight before it stood. The lamp caught the head, the vein, the wet shine at the slit from how long he had been ready. He stepped out of the rest of his clothes and let her see all of him.
Jennie stopped talking.
Her mouth fell open. For a second she only stared, eyes wide, as if her body had understood before her voice could.
That cannot go inside me, she thought first, helpless and almost frightened. That is… that is a person. That is him. I asked to see his rocket and this is what he was hiding.
Selvam stood still and let her look.
There it is, he thought. No more polite shape under cloth. She can leave the room. She can laugh. She can change her mind.
He watched her eyes move over him and felt the opposite of shame. Only a raw, careful pride. Look properly. This is what you asked for.
“…It is big,” she murmured. “Selvam.”
He did not make a speech about it. He waited.
She sat up a little. Her eyes were still on his cock, then on his face, then back again, as if she needed permission for each look.
“Can I…” She stopped, shy. “Can I see it closer?”
He came to the bed as if the floor might make a sound. He did not thrust it toward her. He stood near her knees and let her close the last of the space.
She leaned in.
Slowly. Hands in her lap at first. Her hair fell forward. She looked at him the way she had looked at the address on his palm... careful, wondering, a little afraid to breathe on it. The lamp made a small shine on the head of his cock. She studied that shine for a long second.
“It is even…” She did not finish. Her ears were pink.
Her fingers moved on her own thigh, restless, wanting.
“Selvam.” A whisper. “Can I touch it? Please?”
He nodded once. His voice came out softer than the nod.
“Yes. You can, Jennie.”
Only then did she lift both hands and hold his cock, ceremonial, as if he had placed something precious in her palms. She did not stroke. She turned him in the light. One fingertip traced the thick vein. She studied the head as if she had just discovered it.
“It is… warm. Heavy. The skin is so soft, but underneath it is not.”
His cock twitched in her hands.
She jerked back with a small sound, then covered her mouth and laughed, shy.
“It moved. I didn’t... ”
He cupped her face.
“You’re so adorable.”
“Don’t say that. I am being strange.”
After a moment she took his cock again. She held it upright like her stage microphone and pretended to sing Solo into it in a quiet voice.
Quote:Innocent and delicate. I'm tired of pretending. I'm done, what are you up to? Where are you? Did you eat? Goodnight. Baby, darling, honey, I miss you but it's all useless.
She sang her whole debut song, into his cock mic.
They both laughed. The laugh knocked the head of his cock against her lips.
She went quiet at once.
The head of him was right there. Against that mouth. The same mouth that had sung in stadiums. Soft. Slightly open. A shine on her lower lip from the accidental bump.
Put it in, something in him said, ugly and immediate. She asked. She is right there.
He did not move.
Because the rest of her face undid the thought as fast as it arrived. The wide eyes. The pink ears. The way she looked up at him as if kissing his cock would be a secret she was not sure she was allowed to keep.
Not her. Not like that. Not this mouth.
Jennie felt the heat of him on her lip and could not think in a straight line.
It touched my mouth. I want to again. I want to know the taste. He will think I am dirty. I am not dirty. I just… I want to.
She looked up, coy, almost pleading.
“Can I taste?”
He stroked her cheek with his thumb.
“No. Not that. You’re too pure to suck my cock.”
Something warm moved through her chest.
He thinks I am pure. He is protecting me. That is why.
The wanting did not leave.
“Please.”
“Jennie.”
“Just a little. I want to. Please.”
He did not take her mouth.
He reached down and took his cock out of her hands.
Gently. Both of her hands were still wrapped around him, soft, as if the microphone game had never fully ended. His fingers closed over hers first. He loosened her grip one hand at a time. Her fingers resisted without meaning to, a small unconscious hold.
He is taking it away, she thought, and the disappointment arrived faster than she could hide it. I only just had it. It was warm. It was mine for a minute. If I let go I may not get it back.
She let go anyway.
Her palms felt empty at once. Cool. Stupid. She looked at his cock as it left her hands and had to sit on the urge to reach for it again.
I asked too much. That is why.
He bent down.
Not onto the bed at first. He bent at the waist, one hand beside her hip, the other still around himself so he would not bump her lips again by accident. He came to her height. Close enough that she felt his breath on her cheek before she felt his mouth. He paused there, looking at her.
Then he kissed her.
Slow. On the mouth. The kind of kiss that was an answer and a refusal at the same time. Not there. Here. She made a small sound into it, half protest, half relief, and her empty hands found his shoulders.
He stayed in the kiss until the grabby feeling in her fingers eased. Then he eased her down onto the bed with the kiss still happening, one arm around her back, laying her back into the sheets as if he were setting something down that could break. His cock, free of her hands now, rested heavy against her stomach instead of her mouth.
She hid against his neck when the kiss ended.
He said no. He still wants me. That is enough. I can ask again later.
“Not your mouth,” he said, quiet, against her hair. “I want to be inside you.”
“Then slowly. I am a little… scared. But I want you.”
“I’ll go slow. I won’t hurt you.”
She reached down and put the head of his cock against her.
Even that was not easy.
He was thick enough that the first touch spread her open before he had entered her at all. The blunt head of his cock sat against her wet pussy and her body tried to close around nothing. She was slick from his mouth, from coming, and still the opening looked too small for him. He pressed. Her lips stretched around the tip and then stopped him. The head slipped up, missed, came back. He took himself in one hand and held his cock steady against her hole.
She felt it then... the exact shape of him trying to go where nothing that size had gone.
He pushed.
Her pussy mouth opened around the head, slow, shiny, forced wide. The stretch burned at once. A deep, sharp stretch that made her knees pull inward and her breath catch. The head of his cock sank in perhaps a finger’s width and her body clamped down on it so hard he hissed through his teeth.
“Ah... wait.”
He stopped at once. Only the head was in her. His arms shook from holding still.
“That’s enough. I should stop.”
She shook her head against his throat. Her eyes were wet. She was still decided.
“No. I am fine. Just… don’t move.”
He waited.
Inside that wait he could feel her heartbeat around the head of his cock.
When he tried again, the rest of the head went in with a thick, wet sound.
Her knees pulled in tighter. A small broken sound left her. She hid her face in his neck.
“It is too big.”
“Jennie. Let me pull out.”
“Don’t. I am fine.” A breath. “A little more. Please. Only a little.”
He gave her another inch.
It went in slower than an inch should go. He watched his own cock feed into her, the shaft vanishing by degrees, her lips dragged inward around him, shiny and strained.
He froze. His arms shook.
She breathed against his throat.
“Wait. Wait.”
He waited until the clamp of her eased by a fraction.
“Okay,” she whispered. “A little more.”
Another inch.
Her fingers dug into his back. Her knees stayed pulled in, trembling against his sides. He felt the inch enter as a long, thick drag. Her pussy made a small wet sound around him.
“Selvam... ”
“I can stop.”
“No. Stay. A little more only.”
It took a long time.
Inch by inch. Each time he pressed only as much as she asked for. Each time he stopped the second her breath caught. He looked down between them because he could not help it: his cock opening her, her pretty hole forced into a shiny circle, the shaft disappearing into her one slow measure at a time.
“A little more.”
He kissed her temple and gave her another inch.
Halfway in she could barely speak. Half his cock was inside her and half was not.
“Still… only a little.”
He held there until the shake in her thighs changed. Then another inch. She whimpered and nodded at the same time.
When he was almost there she whispered,
“Wait. Please wait.”
He held still. Only the last part of him was outside her. His arms trembled.
Then the last inch.
It took more than the others. Her body tried not to give it. He pressed, stopped, pressed again. She made a small hurt noise and pulled him closer anyway. The last of his cock slid into her with a slow, thick glide, all the way, until there was nowhere else to go.
He was fully inside her and did not move.
They stayed like that for a full minute.
No jokes. No rocket. Only breathing. Her knees slowly opened again. Her hand stayed on his back. He could feel her heartbeat around the whole length of his cock. He could feel himself throbbing against her deepest place and made himself do nothing with it. Her pussy kept squeezing him in small shocked pulses, wet and tight, as if she were still taking him even though he was already there.
Then she peeked up at him, shy.
“Your rocket is… all the way in.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“Why? It is true.”
He started to move.
Very little at first. Not strokes. Shifts. The smallest withdrawal, enough that she could feel the thick shaft drag out against that stretched rim, shiny and clinging, then the smallest return, filling her again to the end. Her pussy made a wet sound around him. A thin slick followed his cock when he drew back and disappeared when he pushed in.
Slow, he told himself. She just took all of it. If you fuck her the way you want to, you will scare her.
The want was already there, ugly and clear. To hold her waist and drive in. To hear that careful voice break. To watch his cock disappear into her faster than this.
He did not.
She hid against his neck, then talked between breaths, soft and a little playful now that the hard part was over.
“You said slowly.”
“I am.”
“It still does not feel small.”
She tightened around him on purpose and watched his face change. A small laugh, surprised at herself.
“See? Your rocket likes me.”
“You’re doing that on purpose.”
“A little.”
He gave her a real stroke then. Not hard. Longer. Out until the ridge of the head tugged at her opening, then back in to the root. Her mouth opened on his shoulder. Her pussy dragged on him, greedy and too tight at the same time.
She can take that, he thought, watching her face. Ask for a little more and see.
He did it again. Same length. A fraction deeper at the end, his hips meeting her, his cock kissing the place inside her that made her gasp.
“Ah... ”
He stopped at the bottom.
“Too much?”
She shook her head quickly, ears pink.
“No. It is… deep. Do it again. Same.”
He did.
Each thrust opened her all over again. He looked down because he could not help it: his thick cock spreading her pretty hole into a wet circle, her lips pulled shiny around him, the shaft coming out slick and disappearing again. Miss Jennie’s pussy. Stretched. Taking him. The ruffle skirt bunched at her waist like it did not belong to this at all.
I could fuck her properly now, he thought, and the thought made his hands tighten on her waist. She is wet enough. She is holding me. One hard push and she would feel the whole thing.
He tested her instead of taking it.
The next stroke came in a little faster. Not violent. Just less careful. The wet sound got louder. Her breasts jumped. Her eyes flew to his.
“Selvam.”
“Tell me.”
She swallowed. Her voice stayed small.
“That was… more.”
“Do you want me to stop that?”
A pause. Honest. Shy.
“No. But not too much more.”
There. That is the line.
He kept the new pace and did not add to it. His body hated him for that. His cock was soaked with her. Every time he pulled back she clung, a slick string between his shaft and her open pussy, and every time he pushed in she took him to the end with a soft broken sound.
When he went deeper she gasped, then smiled against his cheek, still innocent even with him buried in her.
“You think I am too pure… but you put all of it in.”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“It just is.”
“Liar,” she whispered. “You like this too.”
“I never said I didn’t.”
He showed her how much, just once.
He hooked one hand under her knee and opened her a little wider. The next thrust went in so fully his stomach pressed her. She made a high sound and her nails found his back.
Too far?
Her eyes were wet again. Not from stopping. From fullness.
“Wait... wait... ”
He froze inside her, shaking.
“I can go back.”
She breathed. Once. Twice. Her pussy fluttered around him in tiny panicked squeezes.
“Don’t take it out. Just… don’t do that hard again. Stay in. Move like before.”
“All right.”
He kissed her mouth and gave her the slower stroke again. Relief moved through her body under him. Then, a moment later, a different thing: she lifted her hips to meet him. Small. Almost accidental. Then again, on purpose.
She wants it, he thought, and the conflict sharpened. Not hard. But she wants it. Don’t confuse those.
“Then look at me,” she whispered.
He did.
She got shy the moment he looked, but she still said it.
“Stay there. Your rocket can stay.”
He kept that angle.
Long. Exact. The kind of fucking that was still fucking. Wet. Deep. Steady. Her clit rubbed against him when he came down. Her pussy made a filthy soft sound she would have been ashamed of in any other room. He felt her getting looser by degrees, then tighter when she got close, then looser again.
Harder, his body said.
No, he answered. She told you the limit.
He tested it one last time, smaller than before. A little more weight at the end of a stroke. A low slap of skin. He watched her face like a gauge.
Her mouth fell open.
“Selvam... ah... ”
Not stop. Not wait. His name, surprised.
“Too much?”
She shook her head, hiding against him.
“No. I felt… all of you. Again. Please. That one.”
So he gave her that one, and only that one, over and over. Not the brutal version in his head. The edge of it. Enough that she knew he could ruin her and was choosing not to.
She came a second time with her face against his throat.
It took her harder than she expected. Her body locked around his cock and milked him in helpless pulls, wet and violent in such a small person. She cried his name into his skin and held on as if she might fall through the bed. He kept moving through it, slow, so she would feel every pulse of herself on him.
After she came down she was shaking. She touched his cheek.
“You too. I want to feel your rocket land.”
“Look at me.”
She did.
He finally let a little of the control go. Still not savage. Just complete. His mouth found her shoulder. His hands locked on her waist. He fucked her through his own ending in deep, heavy strokes, each one seating him to the root, and came inside her with his face turned into her neck... pulse after pulse, hot, filling the place he had spent so long opening. He stayed in her after. Did not pull out. She was so full he could feel his cock twitch in the wet heat of it, and a slow leak already trying to escape around him.
She kept him there.
“Stay. Don’t leave yet.”
He didn’t.
I could have fucked her harder, he thought, with her still fluttering around him. She would have let me, maybe. I didn’t. That is the only reason I get to stay.
Later, very small, against his skin:
“It landed.”
He kissed her hair.
“Don’t start.”
She shook her head, almost smiling, wrecked and still shy.
“I am not. I am happy.”
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