The Rose of Singapore by Peter Neville

with her, still in her arms and on top of her.
    Placing her arms around his neck, she pulled him to her. “Oh, Peter, I want you so much,” she whispered. Their lips met and they kissed passionately. Intrigued, Peter began again to explore her, caressing and fondling her breasts and gently rolling erect nipples between his forefinger and thumb. She was sighing, it felt so good. With urgency in her voice, she whispered to him, “Peter! Kiss me here!” and she pushed her small body upward until her breasts reached his mouth. “Kiss me,” she repeated. Her breasts were so soft and beautiful, so close to him, the nipples so inviting. Lowering his lips, he took a nipple in his mouth and gently sucked upon it, her hand reaching up and holding the breast to him like a mother would her baby.
    â€œOh, Peter,” she whispered, “you’re a good boy.” And now her fingers were sliding through his hair, her lips passionately kissing the side of his neck. And as she clung tightly to him, he could feel sharp little teeth nipping at his skin. “Be good to me, Peter,” she was saying in a hasty whisper. “Be good to me.”
    He gazed down upon her tense face and desiring body. “I’ll always be good to you, Rose, always.”
    â€œDon’t talk, Peter,” she was saying, “Not now,” and she cuddled up tightly beneath him, her arms encircling him, pulling him down and holding him to her, so tight both could feel the heat and the dampness of perspiration between their bodies. His hand slipped down between her legs and found what it sought. He allowed his fingers again to explore beyond those lips that were so soft and inviting; inside it was wet and warm and slippery and everything was so soft, like velvet. He withdrew his fingers, feeling warm sticky moisture on them. He felt her hand slide down over his body and catch hold his manliness, felt it being positioned so that as he eased himself against her and pressed his body forward, it slid with ease into her. She was gazing with misty eyes into his; now there was love and want in them, and the smile had gone from her face. He felt her muscles growing taunt within her, and her stretched out legs quivering beneath him. Her eyes closed. He could feel the movement of her body quickening under him, and those muscles growing even taunter. Now she was biting him, holding onto him with sharp teeth as she allowed him to have his way with her. His lips roved over her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, her hair and on her lips. He wanted so badly to kiss her breasts, but she being so short they were out of his reach. Thus they held each other, she pulling him into her, closer, deeper. She felt in heaven, lost in a seething sea of ecstasy, a mist engulfing her whilst she lay gasping, moaning and softly crying out to him.
    Peter gazed at the contorted face beneath him. Was he too big for her, he wondered. Was he hurting her? Was she in pain? “Rose, am I hurting you?” he whispered.
    â€œNo! No! Don’t stop now,” she pleaded.
    Pressing his lips to hers, he slid his hands beneath her buttocks and pulled her even more firmly to him, pushing harder and faster into her, and as deeply as he could penetrate. Now she was gasping and crying out to him. He wanted to let her rest for a moment, but she didn’t want to rest, and their movements continued in frenzied haste until he could hold himself no longer, almost blacking out as he ejaculated into her. And she, at the same time, gave a few quick, short gasps, and cried out to him, “Oh! Oh! Peter! Peter! Ohhhhhh,” and then her gasps died away and she suddenly went limp beneath him, her body relaxed, her face composed.
    Several seconds passed before she smiled up at him and gave him a quick kiss and a hug. She was satisfied, not only physically but also with the knowledge that it was she who had broken him in; he was a boy-virgin no longer. She kissed him again,