Chastity Chronicles -- Part Two
Welcome to part two of the Chastity Chronicles. These short stories will follow a forty-year-old woman as she discovers her true sexuality. They are an exploration of complete freedom of embracing sex in all its many forms.
These templated stories are going to be wild, completely unrealistic, flights of fancy, but a fun journey. This second story follows Chastity's second student in the sexual arts. A young man's life is turned upside down by a fearful young girl.
But Chastity will fix him because that's what she does.
Sure hope you enjoy.
Love,
Lana Ocean (Estcher)
Content: Heterosexual sex, oral sex, cum swap, anal sex.
P.S.: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. All fictional characters engaged in sexual acts are
eighteen
or over.
The Homeless Boy
My name is Chastity. I'm forty-years-old, fit, good-looking, a red-head, and I have an insatiable desire to bed young men and teach them the ways around a woman's body. So far, and I freely admit it, at this point in time I had only experienced one student. A virgin eighteen-year-old skinny boy from my condominium called Petey.
I was with him for most of the month of July until his parents drove him across the country to California so he could prepare for his residency at Berkeley. He was a smart kid, but I imagine he's much smarter now that he learned how to pleasure a woman. The gals at Berkeley were in for a treat. He was a pro and knew how to bring a woman slowly up to his level of experience.
Part of my teachings to him were how to identify when false feelings of love insert themselves into relationships just because the sex is good. I pulled him down from his delusions, and he left happy and content. His woman was out there somewhere. He understood it was never going to be me.
Petey's mother had given me a strange look one day in the condominium lobby before they left. She stared long and hard at me and I knew she knew. Women have that sense. I was fucking her boy. Finally, she simply nodded at me, and I knew she was thankful for what I had done with her son, but would never admit it. That gave me all the confidence I needed to continue what I was doing.
But I should have taught myself how to separate love from sex, because I missed Petey deeply. Sex does that. It overrides common sense. I started running more and more because those were the only times I could empty my mind and forget about him.
That lasted about two weeks before I found a poor boy crying on a park bench in Centreville, USA, where we lived.
Here's what happened.
* * *
The paved trail along the lazy river in my town is really quite nice. There are tons of flowers and trees and benches are placed in critical places to allow a relaxed view of the city skyline and the water. On weekends, the trail is far too busy with runners, bikers, long boarders, and rollerbladers. Dogs are everywhere being walked with an enthusiasm only dogs can display. So I run the trail only on weekdays during the morning hours before lunch. I work from home as the senior editor of an East Coast magazine and do very well for myself. Including setting my own hours.
I had been running for a little less than an hour. The distance was no bother since I routinely run half-marathons and can vary my run length and strides as I need to. My stamina is excellent, and it is more about maintaining the right speed than the distance. I was at twelve kilometres and was thinking of heading home. My water was low and dammit, my left shoelace was coming loose, which was impossible seeing as I had tied a runner's knot.
I spied a bench up ahead with a young man sitting on the edge almost to the point of falling off. He was turned away from me and had his head hanging low. Not really caring about the man, I stopped and plunked my left foot up on the bench near the middle. When I bent to tie the offending shoe, I heard a sniffle.
I rolled my eyes. Oh, the drama of youth. I was so glad those days were far behind me. I spent too many nights crying in bed over some boy to ever want to return to that. They're just not worth the tears. If a man makes you cry, dump him. Easy as that. No one should ever make you cry.
With my shoe tied, I was ready to bolt and get away from the kid. Right then and there my left calf cramped like a son-of-a-bitch, and I cried out. I could see the muscle undulating and I was sickened by it. My cry of pain had the kid looking up at me, and I could see the streaks of tears on his face.
He looked to be Petey's age, but with a terrible goth thing going on. Dyed black hair, pasty white skin, zits, wearing black baggy clothes in July in the oppressive heat. He was an idiot.
"A-are you okay?" he asked me. His voice surprised me. It was soft and gentle. Pleasant even.
"No! I'm not. Look at my... FUCK! Look at my calf here? Does that look okay?"
"Oh, my God! Why is it moving like that?"
"It's a ceti eel, numb nuts."
"From Star Trek?"
That made me forget the intense pain I was feeling for a second. If you don't know, the cramp I was experiencing is painful to the extreme. It's caused by a lack of salt or something to the muscle, causing it to clench painfully and THEN just to say fuck you, it unclenches and clenches over and over. It fucking hurts. But it is not a ceti eel from Star Trek, which is the thing they put in people's ears to mind-control people. They're not real. I was actually really impressed this kid got it. It was a pop culture reference from before his time. Then I remembered: Goth kid. Right.
By this time, I was on the ground with my left leg extended flat and perched on the bench seat. I was massaging my calf hard, but it wasn't working. Sweat poured down my face, and I was in pain. A lot of pain.
"Can I help?"
I didn't want his help, but dammit I needed a strong pair of hands to massage my calf. "Yes! Massage my calf!" I hesitated and then added, "Please?"
He moved quickly and sat near my leg on the bench and soon had his hands on my calf. Even in pain, I noticed a couple of things. He had large hands. Girls notice that. Large hands and large feet really do mean a large cock. I've never been proven wrong. Second, he had remarkably strong hands. And they were callused. Rough hands. Beautiful hands. I watched those hands as they touched my flesh and dug into the muscle. It hurt like hell, and I cried out. He stopped immediately.
"Don't stop! Keep going!"
He hesitated and then started again. I lay back flat on the ground and clenched my teeth. He worked the muscle expertly. He dug in and found the right spots. Jesus, he was good. I panted with the exertion and slowly, so very slowly, the cramp loosened. I was a piece of jelly on the ground.
"Okay, thanks kid."
"I'm not a kid. I'm an adult. I'm eighteen."
There it was. That Goth sneering voice. I much preferred the other voice and said so. It's great being forty, you can say whatever you want.
"What?"
"Why speak like that? It's not very impressive. When you first spoke to me you had a lovely voice. Why hide it?"
He stayed silent and kept massaging my calf.
"Cat got your tongue, Mr Adult?"
He let go of my leg and I felt bad for selfish reasons. The kid had the touch.
"Are you okay now?"
I almost snorted. He had gone back to a normal voice.
"Yes. Thank you. That's much better. Um, can you help me up?"
"Um, sure." He stood up and reached down to me with both hands, and I grabbed them. Then he hoisted me up like I weighed nothing. Although I should brag and admit I'm only just over one hundred pounds. But the kid had hidden strength. I could see his forearms and they rippled with muscle. I was intrigued.
I carefully put weight on my left leg and reached out and grabbed his right bicep to steady myself. Really, I wanted to cop a feel. See what he was hiding under there. He was rock solid and buff. I gasped.
"Does it still hurt?"
It did, but it wasn't why I gasped. This kid was a hidden gem. I wondered what his ass looked like naked. Solid too, I bet. Hard and firm.
"Yeah, but much better. You have magic hands there, kiddo. Thanks."
He just stood there, and I squeezed his bicep. I really didn't want to let it go, but I was past the best before date and really should let go. Another squeeze and I did. I felt sad.
"I need to get home and ice this. And get some electrolytes into me. Thanks again, kid."
"Ben."
"Pardon?"
"My name is Ben and you're welcome."
"Thanks Ben. I'm Chastity. See you around."
He nodded and sank back down on the bench. He was returning to Gotham city.
I took a couple of tentative steps toward my condominium when pain shot down my left calf. I cried out and almost toppled, but I grabbed the bench rail. "Fuck!"
He was by my side in a heartbeat. I never saw him move. Fuck, he might be the batman, I thought.
"You're not okay. You're flushed with sweat. Clearly in pain. You can't walk, can you?"
I shook my head. "No, I'll be fine. I just need to walk it off."
"How are you going to do that if you can't walk? How far away is your home?"
I pointed at the tall condominium building visible over the trees about three miles away. "That building right there. The condo complexes."
