The Book of Firsts

By Nikki Blaise

The Book of Firsts. Five enthralling tales of women's erotic first experiences. A first threesome, a first gang bang, a first time in a sex club - it's all here.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nikki Blaise
• Release date: Sep 25, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311745125

Nikki Blaise

Books by Nikki Blaise so far: My Life as a Sex-o-Gram Book 1 My Life as a Sex-o-Gram Book 2 My Life as a Sex-o-Gram Book 3 Prescription for Passion - a novel Juicy Morsels Adult Education Coming soon... The Book of Firsts With Holly J Gill Desires Touching Angel’s Desires Desires’ Secrets About the author Nikki Blaise likes cats, erotic art, sex, running, music, writing and singing (badly and drunkenly). She writes naughty stories she daren't tell her mother about and lives in London with her collection of carnivorous plants. Will tweet for money.

Book preview

The Book of Firsts

by

Nikki Blaise

Copyright 2015 Nikki Blaise

Smashwords Edition

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Chapter One:

Samantha’s First Threesome

Samantha giggled as she wobbled back from the bar, clutching the glass pitcher of strawberry woo-woos – their third so far – to her chest.

Here’s to the single life! she yelled over the music, plonking the pitcher in the centre of the sticky table.

Melissa took the pitcher by the handle without a word, filling their glasses. Yeah, she muttered, downing half her glass in one go.

Samantha regarded her as she sipped at her own drink. She’d had to virtually drag Melissa out this evening, but she’d wallowed in misery long enough. Her bastard husband had cheated on her yet again, and this time she’d finally found the guts to leave him. She was only twenty-eight, young enough to start again, and no kids thank God. She needed to find someone new. But as Melissa slumped back on the patchy velvet banquette and gulped down another slug of woo-woo, Samantha sensed that tonight would not be the night.

They had been approached by men throughout the evening, but Melissa had brushed off every single one. In solidarity, Samantha had stayed with her, trying to persuade her to get out on the dance floor, but she had stayed stolidly put, sucking down woo-woos like a sponge. As Melissa put her empty glass on the table, her face wobbled and tears spurted out of her eyes.

How could he? she wailed once more. I gave him another chance and he threw it away.

He’s a bastard, Samantha said. He doesn’t deserve you.

I’m sorry. Listen, I’m gonna go home, Melissa said, struggling to her feet. It’s too soon for this.

Are you sure? Samantha offered, although she was relieved. Maybe with Melissa gone she might be able to start having some fun.

Yeah – sorry babe. Didn’t mean to ruin your night. Are you coming or stopping?

Think I might stop here for a while, Samantha said. She grabbed the pitcher and walked Melissa to the door, watching her climb into a black cab. As soon as it pulled away, Samantha whirled, casting her eyes over the packed club.

Would it be the cute blond in the corner in the faded denims? Or the sharp-looking dark-haired guy in the business suit? Or…

She started as a hand slapped her bottom and she whirled to see a paunchy old rock star wannabe wearing dark glasses (in a night club!) leering at her breasts. A thick gold chain nestled among the grey chest hair poking out of the top of his unbuttoned-to-the-navel denim shirt.

Hey sweet thing! His hand slipped around her waist and he pulled her close. Wanna go back to my hotel room?

Hey!

They both turned at the male voice from behind.

Get your hands off my wife!

Wife? Samantha’s eyebrows shot up as she surveyed the man who had come up to them, displaying every evidence of righteous anger. He was tall, with wavy dark hair and dark eyes to match. His thick black brows were bunched together with anger and his Irish lilt made her knees go weak.

Rock Star immediately removed his hand from her waist and he held up both hands in apology.

Sorry, mate, but your wife’s a stunner.

Yes, I know. Come on, baby.

Samantha didn’t resist as he took her hand and led her away. Once out of eyeshot, he let go and turned to face her, looking not the least bit repentant.

Sorry for taking liberties, but you looked as if you needed rescuing.

The independent woman inside Samantha wanted to retort that she was perfectly capable of handling creeps like that, and she didn’t need rescuing, but all that came out was a weak, simpering, Thank you.

I’d offer to buy you a drink, but you seem to have one, or several, already. Samantha looked down at the pitcher she was still holding.

Oh, this isn’t all for me. I was with my friend… Her hand gestured toward the door Melissa had recently exited through.

I know. I saw.

You did?

Mm-hmm. A pause and then he stuck out his hand. My name’s Liam.

Samantha. They shook hands solemnly.

Nice to meet you, Samantha. So, you’re on your own now?

Looks that way.

Would you like to join us? Us? Who were ‘us’? As if he read her mind, he elaborated. I’m here on a stag night. There’s a bunch of us. You’re welcome to hang with us if you want.

I could do that.

He smiled and the corners of his eyes crinkled. Great. He took her hand and led her off to where a group of guys were hanging about, knocking back pints and eyeing up the talent. A noticeable ripple went around the group as Liam led her toward them.

Whoa, what have you found, Liam? one of them said. Another Irish accent. And then as they all began commenting, Samantha realised they were all Irish. She stood straighter, enjoying their appreciative looks and comments. She looked good; it was no arrogance to say that. She had a fantastic figure, slim waist, long legs, large boobs, and she dressed to show it off. Tonight she was wearing a silver shimmery dress so low-cut it barely covered her nipples. It plunged back and front, and the flirty hemline hung to mid-thigh. Silver jewellery complemented it and she wore her long blonde hair loose down her back.

One of the stag party in particular caught her eye. This one was a dirty blond, with sparkling blue eyes. Unlike Liam, who had been very gentlemanly, this one let his eyes flicker down to her cleavage, then back up to her face, with an added twinkle that told her he knew that she knew that he was looking, and he didn’t care.

Connor, he said, raising his hand in a half-salute.

Samantha, she replied.

I like your dress, Samantha. He pushed himself up from where he had been leaning against a pillar and took a couple of steps closer to her.

Thank you. She caught a whiff of his aftershave and the sudden flash of arousal made her knees sag. She glanced back to Liam, who was looking a little miffed, then back at Connor, whose lazy half-smile was doing wild things to her.

Would you like to dance, Samantha? Liam said, touching her arm. Liam’s and Connor’s eyes clashed over her head and she could virtually smell the testosterone. She smiled.

I’d love to.

Liam led her out onto the dance floor and she began to grind to the music, working her body, writhing in front of him. Someone was going to get some tonight. Question was: who? She turned and faced away from Liam, pushing her bottom toward him. She felt his hands on her waist and quivered. The two men were both young, but old enough to be experienced, probably about thirty. Both tall and well-built. Both gorgeous in different ways. Liam was more classically good-looking, but Connor looked more dangerous, rougher. Behind her, Liam leaned his body closer and his hands locked together in front of her. She pushed back, feeling his cock hard against her.

She twisted around, staying within his embrace and put her arms up around his neck, staring into his eyes. She pushed her breasts into his chest and he groaned, leaning down to kiss her.

His tongue probed, gently touching her lips. She opened to allow him in, and felt the familiar flood of arousal throughout her body. She closed her eyes, imagining them in bed, his cock filling her. His hands moved over the bare skin exposed by the plunging back of the dress, running up and down the ridge in her back. She shivered.

He broke the kiss and breathed, I want to fuck you, in her ear.

I know.

So, can I?

We’ll see, she said coyly, breaking away, although it killed her to do so. She walked back to where she had left the pitcher of woo-woos and topped up her glass. So who’s the groom? she asked Connor, hoping it wasn’t him, or Liam.

Seanie over there, Connor said, pointing to a plump, average-looking young man quietly drinking his pint. He’s been with the same girl since high school.

Sweet. Are you married?

Connor gave a bark of laughter. Fuck, no! I like my freedom too much. Maybe one day.

Good.

Why?

I don’t fuck married men.

Good for you. Does that mean you want to fuck me? What about Liam?

Is he married?

Nope. An annoyed expression crossed his face. Dammit. Shoulda said yes there, shouldn’t I? Then he’d be off limits. He half-smiled. So, do you?

Do I what?

Want to fuck me?

We’ll see.

She sipped her drink. Truth was,