The First Time with Driss (erotic story)
from The Almond by Nedjima
The Story
Badra is a 22-year-old Muslim widow who flees the small North African town of Imchouk and a bad 5-year marriage to an older man, to take refuge with her Uncle Slimane's iconoclastic ex-wife.
In Imchouk, it was expected that Badra's life should be limited by her husband's wishes, but at Aunt Selma's, Badra begins to think about how she wants to live from now on. She recalls her youthful curiosity about sex — what other girls' and women's bodies were like, her first attempts to spy on men, her fascination with the two beautiful pro s tit ute sisters who lived outside Imchouk. When she develops a passionate, consuming relationship with Driss, a wealthy doctor, Badra remembers and rediscovers her own sexual being, in scenes that are erotic, revelatory, and sometimes bittersweet.
The First Time with Driss
Driss got me settled in his living room, gave me strawberries and blueberries. Then he ran a bath, carried me at arm's length, and sat me fully dressed in the bathtub, its water fragrant with orange blossoms. Chopin whirled between the walls of the house, and through the collar of Driss's shirt I glimpsed his dense black hair.
He took my shoes off, caressed my toes and the bottoms of my feet. I was frozen. His mouth and breath burned my neck, ran down the full length of my legs. My breasts engorged and the wet fabric that was clinging to my skin made the nipples stand out, making me even more naked under his watchful eye. He squeezed and nibbled on them, and they doubled in size between his teeth. I was trembling, terrified, like a bird caught in a tornado, my womb aching with desire, my belly contracted with terror. What was he going to do to me? What had I come looking for?
He undressed me slowly, delicately, the way you loosen the fragile skin from a green almond. In the steam of the bath- room, I could barely distinguish his features. Only his eyes, which bored into me, drilling my heart and my vagina, masters of my fate. I told myself I was a whore. But I knew that I was not. Unless it was like the pagan goddesses of Imchouk, who were uninhibited femmes fatales, stark raving mad.
He soaped my upper and lower back, covered my pubis with foam. Its hair concealed my privacy from his look, but his fingers quickly slid beneath my panties and opened the lips, finding my clitoris, hard as a chickpea, then pressed down with a delicate and meditative gesture. I moaned, tried to take down my panties, but he wouldn't let me. He turned me over, embraced my thighs, and made me arch my back. There you are, I said to myself. You are his plaything. His object. He can do anything now, rip out your tongue, tear open your heart, or make you the Queen of Sheba.
Lowering my panties, he put his cheek on my buttocks, spreading the crack with his fingers and making room for his nose. I was wet. Then he took a small flask from one of the shelves, removed a drop of oil, and perfumed my anus with it, massaging it for a long time, to the point that I forgot my trepidation and my muscles began to relax as his knowledgeable hands became more focused. I had no idea what he wanted to do to me but was wishing that he would just do it and certainly not stop the circular motion that was driving me wild, opening me up for him, as my vagina discharged its joy in long translucent strands.
He found the spot, reaped my wetness, and daubed my buttocks with it before sinking his teeth in. No bite has ever been dearer to me. I could hear my belly laugh, weep, then bubble over with excitement. I begged, "Enough . . . enough," praying all the while that he wouldn't stop.
Then he carried me, dripping wet and moaning, to the bed. As soon as he bent over to lay me down, I pulled him by the collar, put my mouth on his, sucking his tongue, making the buttons on his shirt pop open, and bit his torso. He was laughing, beaming, squeezing my breasts with both hands, drawing their incandescent tips into his mouth, one finger roaming the edge of my soaking entry. My patience exhausted, I managed to inhale the dawdling visitor. My orgasm threw me up against him, panting and deeply embarrassed.
He didn't give me any time to catch my breath, guided my hands toward his fly and watched me open it. Incredulous, I discovered a sex organ that was stronger and larger than those I had seen before. It was brown and ripe, its skin silky and its glans impressive. I put my lips on it, improvising a caress until then unknown to me. He let me do it and watched me almost faint. I had him in my mouth and the magic of that touch alone made my belly convulse. I had no idea what animal was churning around inside there, nor why this cock provided me with so much pleasure as it came and went between my lips, rubbing my palate, gently tapping my teeth as it moved by. Driss remained upright, eyes closed, his flat belly filling me with the amber smell of his sweat and skin.
He left my mouth, raised my legs. The head of his penis knocked against my vagina. I pushed to help and let him in, but a hideous burning bowled me over. He took up the charge again, tried to interfere, ran into an unforeseen tightness, withdrew, and wanted to force the passage. I was moaning but not with pleasure anymore, now with pain, still wet but incapable of letting him enter. He took my face in his hands, licked my lips, then said smitten and laughing:
"My word, you're a virgin!"
"I don't know what's happening to me."
"What's happening to you is what happens to any woman when she neglects her body for too long."
He realized that I was in pain, caressed my back, licking and nibbling, sucking at my labia for a long time. He never lost his hardness for a moment, his cock feverishly striking against my belly, my buttocks, and my legs.
It was only when he supported my back with a pillow, placed his sex at the entrance of my rosebud, insisting on slipping in a few millimetres at a time, that he was finally able to fill me up, dilating my dripping wet walls, massaging my womb, pounding me with long slow movements, his sweat dripping on my breasts. He managed to open me, possess me, widen me until I was breathless, smoothing my lungs and the tiny fibres of my belly. His sperm gushed out in long streams and, like rain, flowed against my exposed wetness, purifying its earlier debasement.
He remained snuggled against me for a long time, and it was only when he was ******* for his packet of cigarettes that I saw his tears.
He didn't want me to get dressed again or put my wet panties on; he just smiled when he saw me hide my private parts with my hands. I sensed his bafflement, caused as much by my modesty as my awkwardness. Eyes half closed, he muttered, "Ah, if only you could see yourself!" I was afraid he might dislike some detail of my body. He guessed that, held my arms behind my back, drank from my mouth, then put his head between my legs. I shrank back, bruised with plea- sure and pain. My second deflowering had made me unable to tolerate any further caress. "Don't go home tonight, Badra, my wounded kitten," he asked.
"Aunt Selma won't sleep a wink all night.
"I'll deal with her tomorrow. In the meantime, look what I have for you."
He took a midnight blue box from the inside pocket of his jacket. Two diamonds lay sleeping inside it. Two limpid drops of water. I gave him back the opened box.
"What are you doing?"
I kept silent, tormented by too many contradictory feelings.
"They've been waiting for you for a month. I didn't know how to give them to you without offending you.
He took my hands in his, as he had done the first evening, and skimmed across them with a kiss.
I looked at him, dying to believe him, but mistrusting the man after being showered with the male of him.
'"You're a houri, you know? Only houris recover their virginity after every coitus."
I answered in cold and almost sarcastic anger:
"You're like all the others! You want to be the first!"
"But I am the first! And I don't give a damn about the others and what they want. I want you, you, my almond, my butterfly!"
He attached the water drops to my ears, caressing the lobe of each with the tip of his tongue. As if in a flash of lightning, I became aware that he was completely naked and that his cock had not grown slack. Worse, I discovered that I was still hungry and thirsty for his kisses and his sperm.
Desire is contagious, and Driss was very astute. He forced my legs open, smoothed my crumpled flesh, and applied a balm to soothe my irritated spots. Then he slipped his sex between my breasts and pressed them together, half serious, half playful.
"Every particle of your skin is a bed of love and a source of ecstasy," he said.
I blushed, remembering the power he had used to explore my every nook and cranny. But I couldn't feel guilty, disparaged, or outraged. His cock came and went between my breasts, gently bumping against my mouth at the end of each motion. When he flooded my chest with his milk, I sighed, sated. He delicately spread his liquid on my throat, put a finger to my lips to have me taste it. Driss was sweet and salty.
I shivered when he whispered in my ear:
"You'll see, one day you'll drink me! When you feel completely confident."
I felt like answering him, "Never," but remembered the pleasure he had just given me. The taste of eternity. The world had suddenly become a caress. The world had become a kiss. And I was nothing but a floating lotus flower.
The following day it was not only I who was in love with Driss. My genitals, too, revered him.
The Story
Badra is a 22-year-old Muslim widow who flees the small North African town of Imchouk and a bad 5-year marriage to an older man, to take refuge with her Uncle Slimane's iconoclastic ex-wife.
In Imchouk, it was expected that Badra's life should be limited by her husband's wishes, but at Aunt Selma's, Badra begins to think about how she wants to live from now on. She recalls her youthful curiosity about sex — what other girls' and women's bodies were like, her first attempts to spy on men, her fascination with the two beautiful pro s tit ute sisters who lived outside Imchouk. When she develops a passionate, consuming relationship with Driss, a wealthy doctor, Badra remembers and rediscovers her own sexual being, in scenes that are erotic, revelatory, and sometimes bittersweet.
The First Time with Driss
Driss got me settled in his living room, gave me strawberries and blueberries. Then he ran a bath, carried me at arm's length, and sat me fully dressed in the bathtub, its water fragrant with orange blossoms. Chopin whirled between the walls of the house, and through the collar of Driss's shirt I glimpsed his dense black hair.
He took my shoes off, caressed my toes and the bottoms of my feet. I was frozen. His mouth and breath burned my neck, ran down the full length of my legs. My breasts engorged and the wet fabric that was clinging to my skin made the nipples stand out, making me even more naked under his watchful eye. He squeezed and nibbled on them, and they doubled in size between his teeth. I was trembling, terrified, like a bird caught in a tornado, my womb aching with desire, my belly contracted with terror. What was he going to do to me? What had I come looking for?
He undressed me slowly, delicately, the way you loosen the fragile skin from a green almond. In the steam of the bath- room, I could barely distinguish his features. Only his eyes, which bored into me, drilling my heart and my vagina, masters of my fate. I told myself I was a whore. But I knew that I was not. Unless it was like the pagan goddesses of Imchouk, who were uninhibited femmes fatales, stark raving mad.
He soaped my upper and lower back, covered my pubis with foam. Its hair concealed my privacy from his look, but his fingers quickly slid beneath my panties and opened the lips, finding my clitoris, hard as a chickpea, then pressed down with a delicate and meditative gesture. I moaned, tried to take down my panties, but he wouldn't let me. He turned me over, embraced my thighs, and made me arch my back. There you are, I said to myself. You are his plaything. His object. He can do anything now, rip out your tongue, tear open your heart, or make you the Queen of Sheba.
Lowering my panties, he put his cheek on my buttocks, spreading the crack with his fingers and making room for his nose. I was wet. Then he took a small flask from one of the shelves, removed a drop of oil, and perfumed my anus with it, massaging it for a long time, to the point that I forgot my trepidation and my muscles began to relax as his knowledgeable hands became more focused. I had no idea what he wanted to do to me but was wishing that he would just do it and certainly not stop the circular motion that was driving me wild, opening me up for him, as my vagina discharged its joy in long translucent strands.
He found the spot, reaped my wetness, and daubed my buttocks with it before sinking his teeth in. No bite has ever been dearer to me. I could hear my belly laugh, weep, then bubble over with excitement. I begged, "Enough . . . enough," praying all the while that he wouldn't stop.
Then he carried me, dripping wet and moaning, to the bed. As soon as he bent over to lay me down, I pulled him by the collar, put my mouth on his, sucking his tongue, making the buttons on his shirt pop open, and bit his torso. He was laughing, beaming, squeezing my breasts with both hands, drawing their incandescent tips into his mouth, one finger roaming the edge of my soaking entry. My patience exhausted, I managed to inhale the dawdling visitor. My orgasm threw me up against him, panting and deeply embarrassed.
He didn't give me any time to catch my breath, guided my hands toward his fly and watched me open it. Incredulous, I discovered a sex organ that was stronger and larger than those I had seen before. It was brown and ripe, its skin silky and its glans impressive. I put my lips on it, improvising a caress until then unknown to me. He let me do it and watched me almost faint. I had him in my mouth and the magic of that touch alone made my belly convulse. I had no idea what animal was churning around inside there, nor why this cock provided me with so much pleasure as it came and went between my lips, rubbing my palate, gently tapping my teeth as it moved by. Driss remained upright, eyes closed, his flat belly filling me with the amber smell of his sweat and skin.
He left my mouth, raised my legs. The head of his penis knocked against my vagina. I pushed to help and let him in, but a hideous burning bowled me over. He took up the charge again, tried to interfere, ran into an unforeseen tightness, withdrew, and wanted to force the passage. I was moaning but not with pleasure anymore, now with pain, still wet but incapable of letting him enter. He took my face in his hands, licked my lips, then said smitten and laughing:
"My word, you're a virgin!"
"I don't know what's happening to me."
"What's happening to you is what happens to any woman when she neglects her body for too long."
He realized that I was in pain, caressed my back, licking and nibbling, sucking at my labia for a long time. He never lost his hardness for a moment, his cock feverishly striking against my belly, my buttocks, and my legs.
It was only when he supported my back with a pillow, placed his sex at the entrance of my rosebud, insisting on slipping in a few millimetres at a time, that he was finally able to fill me up, dilating my dripping wet walls, massaging my womb, pounding me with long slow movements, his sweat dripping on my breasts. He managed to open me, possess me, widen me until I was breathless, smoothing my lungs and the tiny fibres of my belly. His sperm gushed out in long streams and, like rain, flowed against my exposed wetness, purifying its earlier debasement.
He remained snuggled against me for a long time, and it was only when he was ******* for his packet of cigarettes that I saw his tears.
He didn't want me to get dressed again or put my wet panties on; he just smiled when he saw me hide my private parts with my hands. I sensed his bafflement, caused as much by my modesty as my awkwardness. Eyes half closed, he muttered, "Ah, if only you could see yourself!" I was afraid he might dislike some detail of my body. He guessed that, held my arms behind my back, drank from my mouth, then put his head between my legs. I shrank back, bruised with plea- sure and pain. My second deflowering had made me unable to tolerate any further caress. "Don't go home tonight, Badra, my wounded kitten," he asked.
"Aunt Selma won't sleep a wink all night.
"I'll deal with her tomorrow. In the meantime, look what I have for you."
He took a midnight blue box from the inside pocket of his jacket. Two diamonds lay sleeping inside it. Two limpid drops of water. I gave him back the opened box.
"What are you doing?"
I kept silent, tormented by too many contradictory feelings.
"They've been waiting for you for a month. I didn't know how to give them to you without offending you.
He took my hands in his, as he had done the first evening, and skimmed across them with a kiss.
I looked at him, dying to believe him, but mistrusting the man after being showered with the male of him.
'"You're a houri, you know? Only houris recover their virginity after every coitus."
I answered in cold and almost sarcastic anger:
"You're like all the others! You want to be the first!"
"But I am the first! And I don't give a damn about the others and what they want. I want you, you, my almond, my butterfly!"
He attached the water drops to my ears, caressing the lobe of each with the tip of his tongue. As if in a flash of lightning, I became aware that he was completely naked and that his cock had not grown slack. Worse, I discovered that I was still hungry and thirsty for his kisses and his sperm.
Desire is contagious, and Driss was very astute. He forced my legs open, smoothed my crumpled flesh, and applied a balm to soothe my irritated spots. Then he slipped his sex between my breasts and pressed them together, half serious, half playful.
"Every particle of your skin is a bed of love and a source of ecstasy," he said.
I blushed, remembering the power he had used to explore my every nook and cranny. But I couldn't feel guilty, disparaged, or outraged. His cock came and went between my breasts, gently bumping against my mouth at the end of each motion. When he flooded my chest with his milk, I sighed, sated. He delicately spread his liquid on my throat, put a finger to my lips to have me taste it. Driss was sweet and salty.
I shivered when he whispered in my ear:
"You'll see, one day you'll drink me! When you feel completely confident."
I felt like answering him, "Never," but remembered the pleasure he had just given me. The taste of eternity. The world had suddenly become a caress. The world had become a kiss. And I was nothing but a floating lotus flower.
The following day it was not only I who was in love with Driss. My genitals, too, revered him.
11 月 前
