Emily's virgin blood trickled slowly, dark and glistening, down the length of my cock. Some smeared across her inner thighs. Some splattered in bright drops onto the table and the floor below, tiny beads of red marking her first time.
I looked down at Emily, chest still rising and falling with uneven gasps, my sweat beading and sliding down between my ribs. Her body was a masterpiece of ruin beneath me—glistening, flushed, trembling faintly with each shaky exhale. Her arm was thrown across her forehead, eyes half-lidded but glowing, lashes wet from unshed tears, her lips parted and damp. Her thighs were splayed open beneath me in a way that could only be called debauched, yet nothing about her expression looked ashamed.
"Ahh… aahh… nnhhh…" Her breath caught again and again, like each sound was drawn from the ghost of our climax. She was still twitching beneath me—still bare, still raw, still so goddamn beautiful it hurt to look.
Her breasts were marked by me, the peaks swollen and sensitive, that perfect rose-gold hue of her nipples standing taut in the cooler air of the empty classroom. I'd kissed them, sucked and nibbled until she cried out, her back arching off the table like her body had wanted to climb into mine. Now those same peaks bore faint teeth marks and a sheen of my saliva that reflected the flickering light above.
My cock was still inside her. Deep. Buried in that tight, now thoroughly claimed pussy, and even though I'd just come, my body didn't want to move. She pulsed around me with little spasms, aftershocks that clenched down so sweetly I could feel the need waking again.
I couldn't believe it—I'd fucked Emily Johnson. The idol of the class, the untouchable, the poised and perfect girl with smiles that made boys fumble. And I'd been the one to take her virginity.
My fingers gently combed her hair away from her flushed face, and I finally whispered, "How are you feeling?"
She winced as I slowly, carefully pulled my cock from her. "Nnnh—ah… it still stings," she admitted, her thighs giving a slight twitch.
I continued pulling out, holding her hips steady, and as I slid free, a slow, thick mix of fluids followed—my cum, her wetness, and unmistakably, the delicate streak of red. Her blood. Her first time. It clung to my cock, then dribbled from her swollen, stretched opening in soft globs that ran between her thighs, down to the edge of the desk. It dripped over with a soft plip, leaving a trail that glistened on the wood and pooled on the linoleum below.
I exhaled hard, swallowing thickly at the sight. Her pussy was still open, slightly parted, visibly throbbing, trembling with the ache of being taken for the first time. A pink, glistening bloom that looked utterly ravaged—and utterly exquisite.
She turned her face toward me, cheeks flushed, lips curved up in a sleepy, blissed-out smile. "Good," she murmured softly, her voice hoarse and shaky. "Really… ah… good."
I couldn't help myself. I leaned down and kissed her—slow, full, warm—and she hummed into it, lips parting with a gentle mmmn~. She tasted like breathless heat and the faint tang of sweat, and she kissed me back with a kind of need that hadn't gone anywhere. Still hungry. Still greedy.
When we parted, I stepped back to let her breathe. She blinked slowly at the ceiling. "How much time do we have left?"
I checked the wall clock. "Maybe half an hour," I said.
She gave a little sigh, her fingers trailing over her belly, then slipping lower until they hovered just above her raw, glistening folds. Her hand settled there, and she drew in a breath, fingertips feathering over the sensitive skin.
"Do me again," she said.
I blinked, stunned. "What?"
Emily turned her head toward me, eyes heavy with that same fire that had pulled me under earlier. "I want to feel pleasure this time. Not just pain. Please."
I hesitated, still half-hard but rapidly stiffening at the sight of her spreading her legs again, completely unashamed. "You just lost your virginity… it'll still hurt."
"But I'll feel pleasure too," she whispered, then sucked in a sharp breath as her fingers pushed her folds apart. "I want more. I want you again. Ryan… fuck me."
My control cracked like ice under a boot. She was lying there with her pussy still leaking, still red and glistening, inviting me in again like I was the only thing that could soothe that ache.
I stepped forward without another word, hands reaching down to her hips as I leaned over her once more. My cock throbbed back to life, eager, rigid, already nudging the entrance slick with the aftermath of our first time.
"Don't cry later," I murmured, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek.
Her lips curved up into a tired but wanton smile. "Just fuck me."
This time, I didn't hesitate. I lined up, gripped her hips more firmly, and slid back inside.
She gasped—"Aah! Ahhnn~!"—but this time it was layered with a shiver of pleasure, her walls welcoming me back despite the soreness. I moved slowly, deeper, filling her until our bodies pressed flush, pelvis against pelvis. She clung to my shoulders, nails digging in, eyes fluttering shut.
I didn't pound her. Not yet. I rocked my hips, slow and deep, watching her face twist, watching the wet sounds as our bodies came together again—schlk, schlk, schlk—and her pussy fluttered around me like it was still figuring out how to take me again.
Her moans became more musical, less pained—soft little nnh, ahh, ahhhn~ noises that she tried to smother against my neck but couldn't. I whispered to her, sweet filth against her ear, telling her how beautiful she looked like this, how perfect her cunt felt around me, how she was taking me better than I'd ever imagined. She squirmed under the praise, but her hips started to move too—just a little, meeting my thrusts with a trembling rhythm.
"Ryan," she whispered, breath catching, "I… I feel it—oh God—I feel it now…"
And I felt her tighten. Hard. All around me. A sudden, desperate clenching that made me groan, pushing me toward the edge again.
She was coming. Even through the soreness, even through the aftershock, she was unraveling beneath me.
"Ahhh… ohhh—yes, yes, right there, don't stop, don't—ahh, Ryan—fuck—fuck—!"
I thrust harder, deeper, losing control as she spasmed under me, her climax crashing through her in waves. Her legs locked around my back, and I drove into her with every ounce of pressure she could take, the sound of our bodies colliding now sharp and soaked.
And I came again.
Harder than the first time. I grunted against her neck as I buried myself, cock pulsing, unloading inside her until it was overflowing, a new flood mixing with the last. I could feel it leaking out even as I remained sheathed, our mess thick between her thighs, trickling out from where we joined.
We lay there in silence, both shaking, stuck together in heat and sweat and cum and something that felt heavier than just lust.
She turned her head, kissed my cheek, and whispered, "Thank you."
"Y…yeah…" I whispered, the word barely escaping my lips, chest heaving with the effort of breathing. My limbs felt heavy, a sweet burn settling into my muscles, and the pounding in my ears hadn't fully subsided.
I hadn't known it could be this exhausting. That sex—not just the act but the intensity, the release, the way every nerve in my body was still humming—could leave me so completely drained. It had been my first time. And yeah, I wasn't proud of my stamina, but at least… at least I'd made her feel good. That was what mattered.
Emily's body trembled slightly when I eased back. My cock slipped free with a wet, sticky sound, and she let out a soft, helpless moan, her pussy still gaping and leaking from everything I'd poured into her. My seed was trickling out in creamy rivulets, running over her swollen folds and dripping down to the edge of the table again.
I stumbled to my feet, legs wobbly beneath me, and stepped across the clutter we'd pushed aside earlier. My eyes landed on the small stack of tissues. I grabbed a handful and wiped myself down, the touch brisk and businesslike, though the sight of my cock, still flushed and sticky with her slick and my cum, made it twitch faintly with a leftover echo of desire.
Then my gaze returned to her.
Emily hadn't moved. Her legs were still parted, still twitching faintly with each shallow breath, and the soft pink of her pussy was gleaming, visibly twitching, still leaking steadily.
Beside the tissues was a bottle of water—mine, I realized, from earlier when I'd left it behind after lunch. The condensation still clung to its sides. I poured a bit of it onto a clean tissue, letting the coolness soak in, and stepped toward her again.
She blinked up at me, eyes heavy, lids fluttering.
I gently lifted one of her legs to better reach her and began wiping her clean, slow and careful. The cold water on her oversensitive folds made her whimper—"Hmn~"—but she didn't stop me. She lay still, letting me care for her, her body twitching now and then at the contact. I moved gently over her, brushing away the mixture of blood, semen, and her own arousal.
When I was done, I folded the last tissue away and tossed it in the corner with the others. My pants were still rumpled at my ankles. I pulled them up slowly, then shrugged my shirt back on, fingers fumbling at the buttons. Halfway through, a sharp noise made me pause.
"Ughnn…"
My head snapped back toward her.
"You okay?" My voice cracked with alarm. For a heartbeat, fear lanced through me—what if she was changing? But no. She wasn't trembling like that. Instead, she was trying to sit up, her face twisted in discomfort.
Her waist. It must've been sore—after how hard I'd taken her, after her first time. She hadn't moved since. Of course it hurt.
I moved without thinking, crossing back to her and sliding one arm beneath her knees, the other behind her shoulders. Her body curled against me as I lifted her off the table in a princess carry, her head pressing against my chest as I took her gently to the nearest wall and knelt down, settling her against it. She winced slightly, her breath catching, but didn't protest. I kept one hand behind her to support her as she adjusted her position.
My eyes scanned the mess around us. Her bra was somewhere—probably under the desk. I was about to go find it when I heard her voice.
"Just my shirt is enough."
I turned and saw her holding her hand out.
I passed her the shirt, and she slipped it on with tired movements, only bothering to button a few of the middle ones. The open fabric gave glimpses of her flushed chest, and the curve of her left breast peeked out as the shirt clung to her damp skin, sweat glistening at the valley of her cleavage.
I sat beside her, drinking from the bottle briefly before offering it to her. She drank deep, throat working with each gulp, the bottle tilting higher in her hand until it was nearly empty. Then she set it down and leaned into me, her head resting gently against my shoulder, her breath brushing my neck.
The silence stretched comfortably between us.
Then, after a minute or two, she murmured, "Why in class were you always so silent and asocial, Ryan?"
I didn't answer right away. Her voice wasn't accusing—just curious. Soft. I stared at the opposite wall, remembering.
"I don't know," I said finally. "I'm not someone who talks a lot to begin with. And my father used to beat me when I was a kid, so…" I shrugged faintly, my voice drifting quieter. "I guess that played a role."
Emily stiffened against me slightly, then lifted her head to look at me. Her eyes were wide, shining. "Sorry…"
"You don't have to be," I said simply, meeting her gaze. "My mom divorced him when I was ten. Things got better after that. But… it's been hard. Trusting people. Especially men. Teachers, strangers, even classmates. It never went away."
Her hand found mine, fingers weaving between my knuckles surprising me.
I wondered stupidly if she ever truly liked me—or if what happened between us was just a desperate act. A final rebellion against the cold, brutal fate waiting at our doorstep. It wasn't love, at least not the kind you read about in books. It was survival, and loneliness, and the aching need to feel something before the end came. We didn't want to die as virgins. Maybe that's all it was. Or maybe, deeper down, we just didn't want to die alone.
She clung to me that night like someone trying to remember what it felt like to be human. Maybe I was doing the same. The world outside was ending—hell, we were ending—but in that moment, we found warmth in each other, even if it was only borrowed warmth.
"I feel really privileged hearing you now," she said softly. "My dad and mom have always spoiled me. Since I was little."
Of course they did. Emily was their only daughter. A princess raised in comfort, her parents wealthy enough to shield her from most of life's ugliness—until the world turned upside down.
A tear slipped from the corner of her eye, trailing down her cheek in silence. I didn't need to ask what she was thinking. She missed them. She probably wanted, more than anything, just one last hug from her mother or father. I felt that too. I missed my mom with a rawness that lived in my chest like fire. But there were no goodbyes. No last embraces. Just the waiting.
"Ryan…" She whispered.
"Yeah?"
"If one of us transforms before the other…"
"I'll go," I told her without hesitation. "I'll leave this place and give you the key."
She nodded. A quiet understanding passed between us. We had both been bitten. Not long ago. We weren't sure how much time we had left. But we knew it wouldn't be much.
"You should sleep," I told her gently.
She gave me a tired smile, her head resting on my shoulder like it belonged there.
"Just don't bite me while I'm asleep," she said, trying to make light of it.
I chuckled. "I'm going to sleep too, so we'll see."
Then we leaned into each other, two fading lights, and closed our eyes.