My First Time at Sainte Clarisse’s Well: Shattering Innocence
The sun baked the fields as Julien and I left the carriage behind. My heart hammered like the procession bells. We’d groped in the tower, jerked him off in the caleche amid chanting faithful. But now, alone at Sainte Clarisse’s well, no turning back. The air hummed with risk—pèlerins could wander by. I clutched the tourie, knees weak. Julien’s eyes burned. Fear twisted with that ache between my thighs. Forgot my protection. Vagina off-limits. But my ass? It throbbed with forbidden want. We reached the stone wall. Poplars whispered warnings. I bent over the edge, dipping the bucket. His hands gripped my hips. Pulse racing. Breath short. I turned, lips parting. This was it—the plunge.
Clothes shed like sins. My blouse unbuttoned slow, breasts spilling free, nipples hardening in the heat. Skirt, petticoat pooled at ankles. No panties. Bush of black curls framed my slit. Leg up on the margin, fingers spread pink folds. Clit peeked, begging. ‘Your mouth,’ I gasped. He knelt. Hot breath first—teasing agony. Tongue flicked lips, circled hood, dove in. Sucked my pussy like ripe fruit. Salty waves crashed. I bucked, screamed as orgasm ripped me. Legs shook. Now him. Stripped bare, cock jutted stiff from dark hair. Thick vein pulsing. Balls heavy. I gripped, skinned back foreskin. Pearl of pre-cum glistened. Licked shaft, veins bulging under tongue. Swallowed head, bobbed deep. His growl fueled me. Then he erupted—hot spurts coating throat, chin. Still hard. He spun me, ass to the edge. ‘Open yourself.’ Fingers pried cheeks, lubed hole with my juices. Cockhead nudged my tight ring. Eyes locked. Push. Burn—sharp, stretching pain melting to fire. Inch by inch, he filled my virgin ass. So full. Wrong. Divine. Hips slammed. I rode back, impaling. Waves built. ‘Finish me!’ Hand over mouth, I shattered—ass clenching, milking him. He flooded deep, cum hot inside.
