His hand pushed her panty aside.
The fabric, already wet and displaced, was hooked by his finger. Pulled. The cotton, stretching, slid to the left. Her pussy, the hairy, wet, swollen pussy that had been hidden beneath layers of cloth, was exposed.
The dark hair, thick and untrimmed, covered her mound. The lips, swollen and pink, glistened with arousal. The inner lips, darker, peeked from within. The clitoris, engorged, was hidden beneath its hood.
His finger found her entrance.
One finger. The tip, calloused and warm, pressed against the opening. The flesh, virgin, resisted. The hymen, the thin membrane that she had protected her entire adult life, was there. His finger pressed against it. Not breaking. Pressing. The 'I-know-you-are-a-virgin-and-I-am-here' pressure.
One inch. The finger pushed in. Past the outer lips. Into the canal. The walls, wet and tight, gripped. The muscle, the vaginal sphincter, clenched. The finger, one inch inside, was held.
He pulled out.
