Student and Teacher

Student and Teacher (Chapter 5)

Kathryn M. Burke

Truth be told, one of the main reasons why Iris had introduced Damon to Marla was to share the sexual burden a bit. She had still not told him the story of her past experiences with men, but even he could sense that she wasn't quite used to the pace and intensity of his sexual demands. They didn't, of course, have sex

every

night—but when a twenty-year-old man meets a woman whom he worships and idolizes, what is he to do? He just couldn't keep his hands off of her.

There was one time when she was scrubbing some pots and pans after dinner. Damon, stationed at his usual place at the dining table, with books, papers, and laptop surrounding him, kept eyeing her through the archway leading to the kitchen. Something about the placid domesticity of the scene inflamed him, although in a way he couldn't quite grasp (did she remind him of a wife or his mother?). And so he quietly approached her from behind.

At first, he did nothing but take her gently around the waist and give her little kisses on her cheek, neck, and shoulders. Even this was unexpected, and Iris chided him by saying, "Oh, Damon, please! I'm busy!" But that didn't dissuade him.

It was the work of a moment to lift up the hem of her housedress and pull down her panties to her knees. Now Iris was getting really annoyed, but there wasn't much she could do about it, given her wet and soapy hands. A few seconds later she heard Damon slip his sweat pants down and then felt his cock sliding up and down the crack of her butt.

"Damon, what are you doing?" she said exasperatedly.

She of course had a sense of what he was doing, but didn't quite comprehend the full scope of his intentions until he reached around her and squeezed a little dishwashing liquid onto his hand.

At that her eyes widened and she cried, "Damon, no! Don't you dare!"

But there was no stopping him. She felt the thick liquid coating her nether orifice, his fingers probing more deeply than they needed to do. Then he deftly slid over a little footstool and made Iris stand on it, since they had to be roughly equal in height for him to do what he wished.

Then he entered her anus.

By this time she was used to the sensation, so there wasn't much pain or discomfort; but she was still a tad offended that he hadn't bothered to ask her permission for the procedure. At the same time, her heart couldn't help swelling with pride that such a desirable young man had found

her

so desirable—and she also tried to fight off the incongruous feeling that she was merely indulging an importunate son in his demands. For some strange reason she felt obliged to continue her housework, scrubbing pots and pans with a kind of manic determination while he pumped her.

With his hands he seized her breasts, not minding that they were covered by the dress and a bra. By this time he knew their contours so well that he could still be stimulated even without seeing them. (Of course, he would have preferred to see and feel the bare flesh, and he wondered what Iris would say if he asked her to do the dishes naked.) As things progressed, he slid one hand down to her sex to make sure she was gaining at least a modicum of the pleasure she was providing him; and, since she was still at the stage where her climaxes came early and often, she came just about when he did. The peculiar sensation of feeling his fluid enter her just as hers was pouring out of her and onto his fingers was head-spinning, and when he pulled out of her she dropped a pan into a pool of soapy water and grabbed the countertop to prevent herself from collapsing in a heap.

She hastily pulled up her panties and said over her shoulder, "That was

extremely

naughty! Don't you ever do that again!"

"Yes, ma'am," Damon said, although his tone of voice made it clear he had no intention of denying himself similar experiences in the future.

"And go wash! You know the rules."

"Yes, ma'am."

He did go and wash, then resumed his studies at the dining table.

It was incidents like this that led Iris to introduce him to Julia Schneider.

As they were lying in bed one night after still more passionate sex, she in her usual position on top of him, she looked into his eyes and said:

"Would you care to meet another friend of mine?"

He had had his third meeting with Marla a few days ago, and by this time he was getting quite comfortable with her. But he was always one to try new experiences, so he said:

"Who is she?"

"She's a woman named Julia."

"Is she at the college?"

"No, heavens no. I think she works at some office downtown."

"What's her situation?"

"Well, she's in her mid-forties. Really pretty, I think."

"Kids?"

"No kids." She paused uncertainly. "But, um, she

is

married."

Damon stiffened at once. "No, ma'am," he said decisively. "I don't want to be with any married ladies."

Damon's scruples weren't entirely based on any ideas about the sanctity of matrimony. The idea of dallying with a married woman had of course flitted through his mind occasionally, but the dangers of such a union struck him as not worth the titillation of being involved in an adulterous affair. Men didn't take kindly to their wives straying—and a lot of people around here had guns! It was one thing to slip into the bed of an unattached woman like Iris, or a widow like Marla; but a wife—

"But she's

separated,

Damon—and she'll probably divorce her no-good husband before long."

"Why 'no-good'?"

Iris gave him a sour look. "He did what you might expect a lowlife like him to do: he cheated on her."

Damon scowled. "That's not good. Why would he have done something like that?"

"Who knows? Why do men ever do something like that? They've been married for a long time, and maybe he got bored."

"So what do you want me to do—with her, I mean?"

"Anything you like," she said, echoing what she had told Marla in a similar situation. "Anything at all."

"Do you think she's up for it?"

"I'm pretty sure she is."

"Maybe you should tell me a little more about her."

Iris sighed. "Well, I actually don't know her all that well. She really is awfully pretty—dark hair, nice figure. A few inches tall than me: you might like that."

You could do her standing up without making her get on a footstool.

"But I will say she is a little, um, high-strung. Takes things a little too seriously, I think."

"Gee, that sounds promising," Damon said sarcastically. "Kind of neurotic?"

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. Well, maybe a little. But she's still quite sweet. And I think she's pretty lonely. I haven't heard much from her since she kicked her husband out of the house a few months ago."

"So you don't think she's seeing someone else?"

"Oh, God, no!"

"Then why do you think she wants to see me?"

Iris smiled at him. "Because you're a wonderful young man who can show her a really nice time without any complications."

"Iris, dear heart, there are always complications when people get, um, intimate."

"Okay, maybe, but I think you'll be good for her. She needs someone to take her out of herself. I think she's been brooding a lot, and that can't be good."

Sure enough, Iris came back a few days later with the news that Julia did want to meet him.

"How about Friday? You can spend the night if you want."

"Only if

she

wants," he added.

"Well, of course. Just be your sweet, loving self, and everything will be fine."

So Friday evening, around 8 p.m., saw Damon heading over to Julia Schneider's house. It was about a mile away from Iris's, and he saw that it was a fairly modest structure, although in a good part of town. There didn't seem to be many lights on in the house, but a few lamps appeared to be lit in the living room.

As the door opened in response to his knock, he got his first look at Julia.

She really was quite a beauty. About five foot eight, she was slender as a willow but with succulent curves at bust and hips. But, as with Iris, her face was her best feature. Very pale blue eyes, a cute little snub nose, high cheekbones, and full lips, all encircled by an abundance of intensely black hair that had been expertly coiffed (for his benefit?). He was startled to see that she was wearing only a robe or dressing gown, with probably nothing on underneath.

But the look she gave him as she saw him on her doorstep was like that of a startled rabbit.

He saw her chest heave with agitation. Her mouth was hanging a little open, but she seemed unable speak.

So he ventured with, "Are you Julia?"

She managed to gulp out a feeble "Yes."

"I'm Damon."

At the mere mention of his name, a little shudder went through her whole frame. She remained motionless, and Damon felt as if he were in a film where a viewer had abruptly pressed the Pause button on the remote.

"May I come in?" he said at last.

"Of course!" she breathed, with a nervous little laugh. "How silly of me."

She backed away and let him enter. As she did so, she seemed to gaze at him as if he were some apparition from another world. Damon did the best he could to settle her down by giving her a genial and welcoming smile, but that didn't seem to help much.

As he sat down on a long couch in the living room, he looked more closely at the robe Julia was wearing. It now struck him more like a kimono, its silky and multicolored outlines adhering closely to the contours of her body. For all that she was obviously wearing it to make herself look sexy, she was also holding it close to her chest as if to shield herself from some sort of onslaught—whether from him or some other unspecified assailant.

As with Marla, Julia went through the charade of offering Damon a drink and being politely refused. This decision seemed to upset her unreasonably—and Damon noticed that she herself had apparently been imbibing before his arrival, if the half-filled bottle of whiskey on the top of an elegant wooden cabinet were any indication. To make her feel a little better, he said:

"I wouldn't mind some kind of liqueur, if you have that."

"Yes, yes, I do," she said hastily, bending down to open a lower drawer of the cabinet. "How about some Amaretto?"

"What's that?"

"It's made from hazelnuts. It's really good."

"Okay."

She had to put it in a shot glass, as she couldn't find anything else of the appropriate size. When she handed it to him and he took a sip, he agreed with her that it was quite nice.

She sat hesitantly down on the couch about a foot away from him, sipping her own glass of whiskey with both hands like a little girl drinking a glass of milk. When he asked her to tell him a little bit about herself, she seemed taken aback, as if she wasn't expecting something like this to be on the agenda. But she grudgingly complied.

She was working in the human resources division of a big department store downtown, and she had married her husband, Daniel—a vice president at a small but highly regarded bank in town—for almost twenty years. But she admitted that, in the early years of their marriage, both had been so fixated on their careers that they hadn't had time for children or even for each other. She frankly confessed that sometimes a whole month would pass without any "intimacy," as she put it, and she wondered if that had had any role in the breakup of their marriage. That had happened when she caught him having an affair with his twenty-five-year-old secretary six months ago, whereupon she had summarily evicted him from the house. That was where things stood: neither had formally pursued divorce proceedings, but she suspected that was inevitable.

Damon was absorbing this tale with interest as she haltingly related it; but the moment he finished his drink, she took the glass from his hands, put both it and her own glass on a nearby end table, and then stood up in front of him. A little shudder went through her, and then she tugged at the drawstring of the kimono and let it fall to the ground.

What Damon saw was indeed a sight. Before she had disrobed, he could tell that she was tall and slender; but now she revealed an abundance of other treasures that would make any man's mouth water. Her breasts weren't quite as large as Iris's, but they were high, firm, beautifully shaped, and exactly in proportion to her figure; her hips flared a bit, and her flat stomach led the eye to the swelling

mons Veneris

with its thick tuft of dark fur, which looked as smooth as a cat's. Her thighs were strong but sleek; her calves were tapered; and her small feet were exquisitely manicured. If Damon weren't so devoted to Iris, he could easily have fallen for this gorgeous example of ripe womanhood.

There was a strange glint in her eyes as she exposed himself to his gaze. Without warning she all but leaped upon him, jumping into his lap, seizing his head, and forcing it to her chest, where she rubbed his face against her breasts. After only a few moments of this, she slid back on his lap a little and scrabbled at his belt buckle, getting a little frustrated that it wasn't coming undone as easily as she had hoped. But when she made the same frantic gestures in unbuttoning his fly, he grabbed her hands and said: "Hey, hey, easy there."

She looked at him in alarm. "Wh-what's the matter? Don't you—?"

"Yeah, sure," he said. "But there's no hurry. Let's take our time."

She seemed stunned by his apparent hesitancy, so he made sure to convey that he was in no way reluctant. Gently urging her to get off of him, he waited till she stood up, then got to his feet himself and calmly proceeded to undress. She watched him fixedly as he took off his shirt, pants, socks, and finally his underwear to reveal his growing erection. The sight of it caused her to place a hand over her mouth as she peered wide-eyed at it.

Damon recognized that, for all her seeming eagerness, Julia was actually pretty uncertain about how to proceed. In such situations, he felt, it was always best if he were to provide a little pleasure for his partner before receiving any for himself. He took her in his arms, held her close, then lifted up her chin so that he could fasten his lips upon hers. As had happened with Iris on that first time with her, those lips fluttered a bit against his own, but soon she was pressing them firmly against his and wrapping her arms around his neck as she also rubbed her breasts and groin against his frame.

Damon now pulled away from her and guided her back to the couch, where he silently urged her to sit down. Then he knelt before her, parted her legs, and brought his head close to her sex.

"What are you doing?" she cried agitatedly.

He looked up at her, bemused. "Um, I was going to lick you—and make you come."

Her heavy breathing was making her breasts rise and fall. She seemed on the verge of saying something, but remained quiet.

"You don't like that?" Damon said with a trace of incredulity in his voice.

"No, no, I do like it," she said, but wasn't at all convincing.

Damon paid no attention, fastening his lips on her labia—already quite wet with anticipation—and then her clitoris. She moaned harshly and placed her hands on his head; but Damon couldn't quite tell whether she was trying to dislodge him from her cleft or keep his face firmly fixed there. Maybe it was a little of both. Looking up at her from time to time, he saw that she had her eyes tightly closed and a painful grimace on her face.

I've never met a woman who doesn't like this,

he thought, and so he continued his pleasant work. He slid his hands around her waist and tried to squeeze her bottom, but had a little trouble getting his hands under her while she was in a seated position.

As the minutes passed, he felt that her hands really were intent on keeping him in position, and so he licked and sucked and kissed with vigor, sometimes inserting a tongue deep into her vagina. That elicited a high-pitched squeal of surprise (and, he hoped, pleasure), and pretty soon he detected a little tremor starting in her legs and proceeding up her whole body—a sure sign of her impending climax. When it burst upon her, she expressed it in a series of choking gasps of a sort he had never heard before. He looked up at her to make sure she wasn't in any actual pain, but he couldn't tell from her open mouth and tongue hanging out what she was really feeling. But he kept at it for minute after minute, until she finally did push his head away and fell over onto her side, her eyes glazed over and unseeing.

"Oh, God, omigod," she kept saying over and over, as if to herself. Eventually she recovered, but now seemed intensely embarrassed both at her nudity and at her shameless display. But the robe she evidently wanted to put back on was far away, on the floor in the middle of the room, and so she tried to cover her breasts and delta with her hands while she gazed up at Damon's own private parts as he stood up in front of her.

Damon gave her as much time as she needed to regain composure before saying, "Would you like to put it in your mouth?"

He didn't feel as if he needed to specify what "it" was, since she seemed to be staring at it the way a rabbit stares, hypnotized, at a snake. Slowly raising herself back up to a seated position, she gave the appearance of someone who has just been asked to leap into the Grand Canyon without a parachute.

"You don't like it?" he asked softly. He knew there were at least a few women who didn't care to give oral sex, but hoped desperately that this exquisite creature wasn't one of them.

"No, it's okay," she said ambiguously.

And as Damon approached her, his erection inches from her face, she took his member with index finger and thumb, pulled it down to her mouth, and put a few inches of it in.

Again that grimace came over her, and even though Damon liked the look of his cock surrounded by a woman's lips, she was not doing very much more to stimulate him. She wasn't even sucking on it, just keeping it in her mouth as if it were a piece of hard candy that would eventually melt. When he said encouragingly, "Try using your tongue," she gave him what he felt was an irritated, even angry look, but did as he asked. He himself took her hands and placed them on his bottom (

what woman doesn't like touching a man's bottom if it's firm and muscular?

), and she did seem to get into the spirit of things and gave it a few squeezes.

But Damon was now through with the preliminaries, and it was quite clear that Julia was also. As he withdrew his cock from her mouth, she smacked her lips as if she had just finished some bad-tasting medicine. She allowed herself to be led to her bedroom, where she instinctively fell on the bed, lying on her back and passively waiting for him. Even if she didn't seem to be fully engaged, she presented such a picture of feminine loveliness that he had little trouble in completing his arousal.

He mounted her quickly and efficiently, and she made clear her enjoyment of his entry by raising her legs and bending her knees in the approved manner. He would have liked her to use her hands to stroke his back and bottom, but she kept them fastened to his neck as he pounded her, and her eyes remained closed tight, as if she didn't even care who was in her so long as it was a man with the correct body parts.

Damon kissed her all over—her face, her neck, her shoulders, and even (once) her armpit—which brought forth that same high-pitched squeal as before. His own hands strayed over every part of her, fastening on her breasts, bottom, and thighs as he sought to come to a full awareness of the essence of this woman whose acquaintance he had made less than a half-hour ago.

There was, however, one curious incident.

At one point he said, "Julia, dear, will you stick your tongue in my mouth?" He had been struck by how tightly she kept her mouth closed while kissing or being kissed; and, much as he enjoyed tasting a woman's lips, he also wanted to probe her tongue and her probe his.