Scribe peered around Clive’s bedroom curiously as he carried her in. He paused just inside the door. “What, Precious?”

“Well...”

“Let me guess. You were expecting Dungeon Modern, or perhaps Gothic Revival?”

“Sort of.”

“Playroom.”

“Ah.”

“We can visit that sometime later, if you want, but right now we’re aiming for a very traditional deflowering.”

Clive’s room came as a bit of a surprise. Scribe had expected lots of black, perhaps with scarlet and silver accents. She wouldn’t have blinked at wall shackles or ceiling hooks--perhaps a trapeze. Instead it was...

Well, it wasn’t Martha Stewart or Laura Ashley, but it wasn’t Alister Crowely, either. It was darkly paneled, but that was offset by the sunlight streaming through the French doors that opened onto a small balcony. The highly polished hardwood floor was a shade or two lighter than the paneling. At least the narrow strip she could see around the edges of the huge, rich oriental rug was.

In contrast the two night stands and huge dresser were in pale woods, and the drapes and bedspread were the color of raw honey--almost exactly the shade of Clive’s hair. The bed itself...

As Clive deposited her beside it she remarked, “Somehow I never pictured you as having a brass bed.”

Clive paused in the act of turning down the coverlet. “Why ever not, darling?” He gripped one of the headboard’s rails (which looked very sturdy) and shook it. “Have you ever in your life seen so many lovely restraint opportunities?”

Scribe couldn’t help a smile. “Nope.” Reaching down, she ran her hand over the ivory colored sheets, and her eyes widened. “Wow!” She unhesitatingly threw herself face first across the bed and wriggled ecstatically.

Clive watched her fondly, then said dryly, “Scribe, if you insist on presenting your rump like that I may not be able to keep my resolve to stick to the strictly non-kinky.” She wiggled her bottom again. “I’m warning you--I have a hard time resisting moving targets.”

She rolled onto her back. “I love these sheets. I want to marry them and have their babies. Or would that be handkerchiefs? Seriously, I’d like clothes made out of them.”

“You have good taste. They are 200 thread count imported linen--obscenely expensive, and yes, I will be putting down something to prevent the infamous ‘wet spot’. I’ll be right back.”

He went into the bathroom. Scribe caught a glimpse of black marble. Raising her voice she called, “Betcha have tether hooks in the shower.”

“You know me too well, pet.” He came back out, carrying what looked like an armload of white terry cloth. “Up.”

She stood. “Yes, sir.”

He began to spread the folded bath sheet over the mattress, neatly tucking the ends under the mattress. “You know, love, it’s a shame you’re not a full submissive. You have such marvelous instincts. Most nice little white-bread women would have run screaming out of Attitudes the first time I told them the rules.”

“Don’t think it didn’t cross my mind.”

He stood back up and regarded her, his hands on his hips. “And why, pray tell, didn’t you?”

“I figured you’d chase me down and drag me back, and I decided to preserve a little dignity.”

“Wise child.” He reached out and touched her cheek. “This is the last time I’ll ask, dear. Are you very sure about this?” She nodded slowly. She was smiling, but her eyes were serious. “Yes, I see you are. Still, I want you to choose some safe words. One for go slow, one for go on, and one for stop.”

“I trust you, Clive.”

“I know, pet, and you’re right to trust me, but we’re going to do this because I want this to be as near perfect for you as possible. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Tease. All right. Go slow?”

She thought. “Perry.”

“Beg pardon?”

“Perry--for Perry Como, one of the slowest guys in my world.”

“If you say so. Perry--go slow. Now, go on?”

“Bunny.”

Clive stared at her. “I’m sure you have a reason for that, but I’m not sure I want to hear it.”

“The Energizer Bunny. He keeps going, and going, and going...”

“You know, pet, I want to visit your world once you find your way back. It sounds fascinating. Bunny--go on. And stop?”

“Fly.”

“Because?”

“Because it’s more likely that pigs will fly than I will stop you, and ‘pigs’ just isn’t romantic enough.”

He laughed. “True. So, Perry, bunny, and fly.” Clive put his hands on her shoulders, leaned forward, and kissed her lightly. “We’re going to be very, very good to each other, Miss Scribe. Now, why don’t we get out of these things?”

As Clive began to unbutton her shirt she said, “You know, after all we’ve been through together, this is going to be the first time we’ve both been entirely naked at the same time?”

He had stepped behind her and was unhooking her bra. “I could keep my belt on, it that will make you more comfortable.”

She twisted her head to look back at him. “How big is the buckle?” He laughed. “No, seriously. I’m from Texas--land of the hubcap-sized belt buckles. That could be truly hazardous. Whoa...”

She trailed off as Clive reached under her arms and cupped her breasts, squeezing gently. “Mm. Perhaps there is a way to quiet you without gagging you.”

“Not necessarily, though I expect there’s going to come a point when I can’t form coherent speech.” He rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, bringing them to stiff points, and she purred. “That point isn’t too far away, if you keep doing stuff like that.”

Still standing behind her, Clive let his hands slide down her torso to rest on her waistband. He pressed his crotch against her rump, and Scribe felt a warm, firm bulge. He humped slowly as he opened her pants, and, her voice becoming breathy, she said, “I guess the reason you’re so good at doing things from behind someone is all that practice you got as a hairdresser.”

“Possibly. The fact that I like to watch what I’m doing in a mirror may account for some of it.” He slid his hand down the front of her panties, combing through her pubic thatch, and sighed. “I do so love your hair--all of it.” He pushed deeper, and smiled. “My, wet already. You’re such a sensitive little thing. I think you may get twosies out of this, pet.”

Clive pushed her clothes down her hips, and she stepped out of them. “Repose yourself, child, while I get ready.” Scribe stretched out comfortably on the bed, and wiggled luxuriously against the smooth sheets as Clive went about his preparations. It didn’t take long. He was soon back with a pan of steaming water and some cloths, which he deposited on the night stand.

Then he opened the night stand drawer and removed two wrapped condoms, setting them beside the basin. Scribe said, “Two? Planning some extracurricular activity?”

“Unless it’s a carefully planned scene, you never know where things will lead, pet, and I don’t like to interrupt the proceedings to search for protection. Besides, like everything else made by man, they have been known to break. If I rip one putting it on, I want to have a spare ready.”

“Boy Scout.”

“Some of the best years of my life, darling.” He started to strip. Scribe rolled on her side for a better view. When he got to his pants she cupped her hands around her eyes, miming binoculars. He laughed. “Thank goodness you aren’t acting like you’re using a microscope.”

The last of the clothes dropped to the floor, and he slid into bed with her. He took her in his arms and nuzzled against her neck. “Mm. So nice and warm. I’ve always called the shots before, but if there’s anything you want, precious, tell me, all right?” He nipped her shoulder lightly. “I want you to have everything your lusty little heart desires.”

“Well...”

He looked up quickly, smiling. “Sooo... She does have a secret fantasy, does she? Tell.”

“Um... You don’t have to, if you don’t want to. I mean, from what I’ve heard from some of my friends, most guys don’t, and I wouldn’t want you to do it if you didn’t want to do it, so...”

Clive laid a finger against her lips. “Darling, are you asking me to eat you?”

“Uh...”

“Oh, my Goc! She’s blushing! I love it. Of course I will, pet. I intended to, anyway. We haven’t tried that yet, and I think you’ll love it.”

“I thought that when it came to this most guys did a reverse on the ‘It is better to give than to receive’ philosophy.”

“I can’t account for the short-sightedness of the rest of my sex, pet. Besides, I told you how much I love your hair.” He kissed his way down. Her nipples were already hard, but he spent some time there. He licked each one several times, swirling his tongue around the peaks, then drew each bud into his mouth and sucked it. Just when Scribe thought that it couldn’t possibly feel any better, he started nibbling. She was squirming by then. The sharp little nips shot bolts of pure pleasure through her body.

Finally he moved down in the bed. She spread her legs quickly, throwing them wide, and he lay down in the vee, his head hovering near her crotch. “Precious? This is going to be a little intense. I’m going to make sure you’re properly lubricated and stretched before I fuck you. If we’re both patient, there should be very little actual pain. By now, you may not even still have the hymen, and then it will only be your internal muscles stretching for the first time.”

“Clive, aren’t there other things you can be doing with that tongue?”

He chuckled. “Yes, as a matter of fact, there are quite a few things.” He bent his head.

Scribe grabbed at the sheets as she felt the first hot, damp touch on her most private flesh. Her heels dug into the mattress in an effort to restrain herself from locking her legs around Clive’s head.

Clive combed aside the dark brown curls, gazing admiringly at the intricate folds and creases. Ah, the human body, in all it’s infinite variety. And it was so much more enticing when it encased the being of someone you cared for.

He pressed on either side of her genitals, gently spreading the crease, till he saw the clitoris. “Target sighted, precious. Hang on.” He licked it firmly. Scribe gasped and pushed up with her pelvis. “Oh, yes, that’s the spot!” He gave the little pink button the same loving attention he’d lavished on her nipples. When he drew it between his lips and started to suckle, she tried to snap her legs closed. Clive, veteran that he was, knew this was coming and hooked his arms around her thighs, holding her firmly.

When it was swollen hard, he gave it a last tender nibble and moved farther down. The lips of her sex were thickly smeared with the clear lubrication that her body was instinctively producing. He spent some time lapping it away, savoring the unique flavor of his lover, then he slipped the tip of his tongue between the soft, clinging lips.

Scribe groaned and lifted her hips, but he pushed her back down, holding her still. He licked again, sliding his tongue a fraction deeper. Clive kept doing this till he was thrusting his tongue in and out of the moist channel, and Scribe was whimpering steadily. He felt the muscles loosening, softening, and knew that she was almost ready.

Then the woman stiffened, clutching at his hair, and wailed softly. Clive felt the pulse as she rippled inside, and knew that she was climaxing. He continued to tongue fuck her as the waves of heat and tingling washed over her, then slowly died.

When he felt her relax, going limp, he pulled away, giving her still hard clitoris a last, sucking kiss. Her face was sweaty, glowing. She panted, “Oh, man. Now I know why the classic porn writers used to call it ‘the little death’.”

Clive sat beside her, dampened one of the cloth, and used it to wipe her bodily juices from his face. “I liked it, too, dear. See?” He took her hand and drew it into his lap, curving her fingers around his erection.

Scribe stroked slowly. “Yes, I’d say this was proof positive. Um... Clive?”

He closed his eyes in pleasure as she rubbed pre-ejaculate fluid over his cock head. “Yes, love?”

“Are you sure you’re going to be able to fit all this in there? My gynecologist told me that I’m built kind of small, and you... Well, you’re not.”

He kissed her again. “Don’t worry, pet. You’re well lubricated, and already relaxed. I’m going to open you a little more before I do it. It will be all right.” He reached down, stroking the length of her crease, then slowly slipped one finger inside her. Her legs flexed a little, and her brow puckered, but she made no protest. “You see?” He moved his hand slowly, and the wrinkles on her forehead smoothed out. Her eyes drifted half shut.

Clive slipped in another finger and probed, steadily and gently, pushing to the limit in her warm core. “One more, darling, and you’ll be ready.” He bunched a third finger with the others and pushed them into her slowly. “There, you see? It may ache a little at first, but you’ll be all right.”

When he withdrew his fingers, she muttered in discontent. “Oh, just a minute, impatient. Neither one of us want me to go in bareback.” He ripped open the condom and quickly rolled it on over

his rigid cock, then moved back between her legs. He positioned himself, fitting the latex clad tip of his prick against her slick slit, then paused. He stroked her face gently. “Well, Scribe, this is it.”

“Bout time,” she whispered.

“Be quiet, you sentimental thing, or I may cry.” His eyes softened. “Truly, dear, I’m so glad you chose me. Some women shed their virginity as casually as they shed their shoes, but I know this means something to you, and it means something to me, too. Now, keep your eyes open, precious. Look at me.” He pushed forward.

Scribe shuddered as she felt herself opened, the thick, hot mass of Clive’s sex sliding into her. He moved slowly, an inch at a time. Her pelvic exams had always been barely short of hellish, but this was so different. There was no pain, just a very faint ache that didn’t even make it uncomfortable, and the friction was so delicious that it was driving her crazy.

Then Clive stopped. “What? There’s more, I know there is. I saw it. Don’t hold out on me, Clive.”

He laughed softly. “Greedy thing! I’ve stopped because there’s something stopping me. Pet, you are literally cherry. You still have your maidenhead.”

“No shit? I thought that was long gone, all the bicycle riding I did when I was younger.”

“Brace yourself, dearheart.” He thrust hard, and slid the rest of the way into her, seating himself deeply.

Scribe felt a brief flare of pain, as if something had scraped her inside, but it was overidden by the sense of fullness. She groaned, and panted, “Oof, Clive! Oh, man! That’s all of you, isn’t it?”

“Yes, precious, that’s all. I can’t cram my balls in there, too.”

“Just as well. I feel like I’m about to explode.” She tilted her pelvis, and crooned. “Ooo, for more than one reason.”

“Flatterer.” He moved, drawing back an inch, then pushing forward “Still all right?”

“Purrrrr.”

“Pet the kitty.” Clive began to move, with short, gentle strokes. Scribe hooked her feet over the back of his legs. She let each thrust push her into the yielding mattress, then pushed up before he drew back, deepening the penetration.

Gradually he increased his pace and the length of his strokes. He had thought that he would have to restrain himself this first time, but Scribe met everything he gave her, and gave it back to him with sweet enthusiasm. Clive had learned long ago that each partner was unique, but this... This was truly special. He realized that he really was Scribe’s first--the first in all things, and the thought excited him even as it touched him.

Scribe clutched at Clive’s shoulders, arching to dig her head back into the pillow and lift her body to meet his. She’d enjoyed what she’d done with Clark/Superman, but this... The feel of Clive’s warm, solid body pressing her down, pressing into her, was unbelievable. To actually take part of him inside herself... She had never before been so close to being one with another person.

But she really didn't have time to contemplate the more esoteric aspects of the experience. She was too busy getting ready to blow apart at the seams.

Clive murmured, "Close, sweetheart? Hm? Me, too. Here..."

He grabbed her hips and stabbed into her with short, hard thrusts. Scribe gave a strangled cry and bucked against him. Clive felt her orgasm hit her, felt it in the way her body seemed to ripple around him, drawing him in even deeper, and it pulled him over the edge, too. He groaned as he came, filling the rubber with hot spunk. The come made him slide in the condom even more easily, and he indulged in a few more thrusts before he went soft, enjoying the slippery friction.

Scribe shuddered as waves of heat and chills passed over her. It felt like every nerve in her body was being warmed and caressed at once. She didn't pass out, but she thought that if any moment in her life had ever deserved a faint, this was it.

Clive was kissing his way along her jaw. When he got to her lips he gave her a long, liesurely soul kiss, sucking her tongue into his mouth to nibble on it. Finally he sighed and said, "Hello, Little Miss Experienced."

Scribe laughed and groaned at the same time. "How to go from Virgin to Slut in one easy step. Meet Clive."

"You say the sweetest things." He kissed her again. "Let's get cleaned up, then I'll get rid of our liner and we can have a nice nap."

"Works for me."

Clive pulled out of her carefully and reached down to peel off the condom. He was silent for a moment, then said, "Oh, dear."

Scribe stretched. "What? Did I bleed?"

"Um... a little."

"That's okay. It didn't really hurt, and I kind of like the idea of the traditional..."

"Scribe, precious, that's not why I said 'Oh, dear'. I suppose I should have said something a bit stronger, like 'Oh, shit!'"

"Why? I mean, I can't imagine anything that would make you do that, except..."

A horrible thought struck her. She sat up quickly. Clive was holding the stripped off condom. It hung limply, the end slightly bulged. He had his hand cupped under it. The horrifying thing was that there was a thick drip of white fluid plopping into his palm.

Scribe squeaked. "Clive! You... that..." She shook her head and said slowly, "That does not mean what I think it means."

"I'm afraid it does, precious. It broke." He threw it in a bedside wastebasket. "And I always buy the best quality! I'm outraged!"

"You're outraged? Jesus!!" She bent her knees, clamping her legs together and hugged them.

Clive said gently, "Pet, it's a little late for that." She put her head down on her knees. He sighed and stroked her hair. "It isn't funny, and I shouldn't joke about it. I'm sorry, love."

Her voice was muffled. "Not your fault, Clive. I know you--you were as careful as anyone could be. We are victims of faulty latex. I, for one, intend to sue. But in the meantime, I need to douche."

When there was silence, she peeked up at Clive. He raised an eyebrow. "Douche?"

She fell back on the bed. "No! I refuse to believe that this dimension has not yet invented douches."

"All right, darling, be in denial. Now, tell me what a douche is, and we'll see what we can do."

She sighed. "Do you know what an enema is?"

"Sweetie, I'm a bi-sexual Dom, heavily into B and D. What do you think?"

"Well, a douche is sort of like an enema for the female anatomy." Clive's eyes widened. "And please don't give me that 'My God, I never thought of that!' look. So, you have an enema bag?"

"At my playroom. Not here."

"Crap! And I can't just have you run to the drugstore for a bottle of Summer's Eve, either." She sat up, frowning in concentration. "Think, Scribe, think! You're a resourceful woman, your head is stuffed with information, both useful and trivial. They didn't always have commercial douches in your own world. What did people use to do?"

Suddenly her eyebrows flicked up. "You've thought of something," Clive said.

She frowned again. "Oo, no! Not that! Christ, it's so 1950s. And icky. And uncomfortable. Still, if you're desperate... and I am." She looked at him. "Clive, am I mistaken, or do you really like to drink your whiskey with that 7-Up clone, Limon?"

"Yes. I have some in the kitchen. Do you want a drink, dear? I can understand if..."

"Just bring me some of that Limon, huh?"

"If it will help." He padded naked into the kitchen. In a moment he returned and offered it to her.

"Thanks." She took it and drained half of it. "Now, can you bring me some still in the bottle, not in a glass?"

"But Scribe, it isn't chilled. It will be room temperature."

"Fantastic." Clive shrugged. A moment later he was handing her the greenish, narrow necked bottle. Scribe got up and walked toward the bathroom. "Do you have a shower or a bathtub?"

"Both."

"Hm. I think the tub would be best." She stepped into the bathroom.

Clive was bewildered when she put her thumb firmly over the mouth of the bottle and started to shake it vigorously. "Scribe! That's going to spew!"

"Good." She shut the door, and he heard the lock click.

Clive took a moment to process this. Then he banged on the door. "Scribe! You can't mean to..."

sssssssssss

"Yow! Damn, that tickles!"

"Oh, Scribe! I can't believe..."

"Damn good thing this wasn't chilled, Clive. I can just imagine you trying to explain it to the emergency crew."

"Sweety, for heaven's sake, open the door!"

"Not yet. I'm all right, Clive, but I think I should lay here a couple of minutes and let this stuff kind of... marinate. Then I'll shower and come back out. Just give me a little time, okay?"

Clive was worried, but she sounded all right, so he decided he had to trust her not to endanger herself. He cleaned himself up and cleared away the bed liner, basin, and other items. Then he sat on the bed, telling himself that he was not going to break down the door. Not unless she stayed in there more than another five minutes, anyway.

At last he heard the shower running, and relaxed. A little later Scribe, wrapped in a bath sheet, came out and silently sat on his lap again, laying her head on his shoulder. "Well, that was almost perfect."

"I'm sorry, darling, but..."

She kissed him. "Shut up. I already told you--it wasn't your fault. Hell, Clive, I was almost expecting something like this. I've just got to accept that shit happens to me."

"Really, dear, you shouldn't have such a negative outlook."

"Clive? I'm the woman who got snatched into an alternate reality by grabbing onto a nutty pixie. I'm the woman who managed to attract the attentions of what was probably the only predatory butch-lesbian Amazon in Metropolis, if not the known world. I'm the woman who then got herself kidnapped by a sociopathic evil genius. A little split condom isn't all that much. I can handle it," she hugged him. "Even if I'd known it was going to happen, I'd have done it anyway. You're worth a sticky soda-water wash, hon." She sighed, "But that sucker did tickle."

Clive smiled, looking thoughtful. "You know, that's an interesting idea. If one were to use plain club soda instead, and introduce it a bit more gently through the traditional form of the enema bag..."

"Clive..."

"My future submissives will either thank or curse you, my dear."