Bigger Bites of Taboo Apples

Chapter 3: Permanent Houseguest

An illicit proposal …

I opened my eyes slowly, almost painfully. My mind was foggy, my memory hazy, but it only made sense that, for the ceiling of the bedroom to be awash with this much sunlight, it had to be morning. And not early morning.

I rolled my head to the side and was jolted wide awake. For the first time since becoming a teacher at Summerset Community College, I wasn’t simply late for work; it was after 10:00 and I was severely late. My hand shot out for the phone; I had to call the school and come up with some plausible excuse for not being in class, and it damn sure couldn’t have anything to do with the truth; that I had been fucked into unconsciousness by three of my own students. And all three of them Black students on top of that!

I was still fumbling for the phone when Chantel came into the room, dressed in apron and cradling a steaming mug a coffee in both hands. “I’ve already called school and told them we won’t be in today, Diane.”

“You what?”

“I called school a little after seven and told the attendance secretary that I had stopped by to pick you up, because you were taking your car in for a tune up, but found you throwing up in the toilet.” Chantel sat on the edge of the bed and handed me the coffee. “I told her that I was going to stay here and take care of you and assured her that, if you got any worse, I’d rush you straight to the hospital.”

I inhaled the coffee in an attempt to clear my head. It worked. “And she bought that?”

“I’ve never been caught in a lie,” Chantel answered indignantly. “And you haven’t missed a day since you came to Summerset, so why wouldn’t she believe me?”

“You just answered that yourself, young lady; because you’ve never been caught lying.” I sipped the coffee. It was stronger than I make it, but the additional caffeine was like a surge of adrenaline. “So, basically, the two of us are playing hooky today.” I smiled. “How delightfully high schoolish.” I carefully set the mug on the nightstand. “So tell me, what the hell happened after the lights went out?”

“They only went out for you… Slut,” Chantel bantered. “And you really shook the guys up with that stunt. You looked like you were foaming at the mouth and Darnell freaked; he just knew you were have an epileptic fit or something.” She laughed. “Guys flip out so easy. It was just my pussy cream bubbling on your lips when you exhaled.” She picked up the mug, sipped and grimaced. “That’s too strong. Next time I’ll only use a scoop and a half, instead of two scoops.” She set the mug back down. “Anyway, you were out cold as the proverbial mackerel. We tried, but couldn’t wake you up. Darnell suggested putting you in a cold shower. I went along with the shower, but not a cold one. You were out cold, not drunk off your ass. Guys!”

I chuckled. “Men can react instantaneously in sports, and especially in combat, but present them with a minor crisis, and they generally go way overboard.”

Chantel smiled and nodded. “So, anyway… again, we got you undressed and Clay held you up while Darnell and I washed you, then we dried you off and tucked you into bed.”

“And after that?” I asked.

“What else, I handled things by myself.”

”How? I want to hear juicy details, or you get an incomplete on this report, young lady.”

“Oh, they were juicy enough, Diane, but I’m afraid there aren’t that many. We went back in the den, Clay and Darnell were both still horny—like there’s a chance in hell they wouldn’t be; I gave them each a good night blowjob and sent them packing. I made sure everything was locked up tight and turned off the lights. Then I went in and took a shower and climbed into bed with you. End of story.”

”And you didn’t take advantage of the situation while you were all snuggled with me?”

“I won’t say I didn’t try, but… but I prefer my pussy wide awake and able to reciprocate.” She leaned down and kissed me. “Did you know that you purr like a kitten when someone pets your pussy?”

For the first time I became aware of my pussy. “I’m surprised I didn’t cry out,” I said with a weak smile. “I’m a little sore down there.”

“I was, too… for almost two days, the first time Clay fucked me.” A dreamy look came into Chantel’s eyes. “The guy does have stamina. We timed him once; he fucked two us of for over an hour; he wore Julie out before he finally exploded a huge load in my pussy.”

“You’ve done this sort of thing with Julie, then?”

“A number of times, Diane.” She kissed me again, this time deeper and sat up. “But, I like being a slut with you a whole lot more then doing the nasty with Julie.”

I had just been paid a backhanded compliment and really didn’t know how to responded to it. I fingered the apron she was wearing. “So, what’s this for?”

“I was doing some necessary cleaning while I waited for you to wake up,” she matter-of-factly explained. “We don’t want Edwin getting home sometime today and having the den smell like cum and cunt cream, do we?”

I liked the way she had said that “we” didn’t want my husband getting an olfactory hint of what we had been up to in the den. It set me to thinking along a line I probably shouldn’t have even seen, let alone should be seriously considering crossing.

For the rest of the day, no matter what Chantel and I were engaged in, the immoral idea born with my first cup of coffee continued to percolate in the back of my mind. Chantel and I did have sex—between us now, that was a given, but as sore as I was between my legs, it was pretty much one-sided sex. I kissed, and licked, and nibbled, and sucked, and tongued, and fingered Chantel to three explosive orgasms; once on the bed, again on the kitchen table and the third time—with the precaution of placing a thick fluffy towel underneath her sweet ass—on the couch in the den… with a lesbian porno playing on the TV for proper atmosphere.

By the time we were preparing dinner, the question was no longer should I do it, but whether Chantel would think my indecent proposal was way over the top. I finally decided to just come out with it and pray that I wouldn’t be laughed at. Or worse, that I would unintentionally hurt Chantel in some way and never see her again outside of class.

“Are you happy where you’re living, Chantel?” I hesitantly asked. “I mean, living in that little house with your aunt and sister.”

“It is cramped. Mesha and I have to share a bedroom and that’s ‘inconvenient’… for the both of us.” She took the salad she had been tossing over to the table. “Why do you ask?”

I mustered up every once of courage available to me. “Would you like to move in here… with me and Edwin? The spare bedroom has never been used for anything other than a convenient place to toss coats on the bed.” And that had been on very few occasions. Edwin was not a party person.

Chantel cocked her head and looked at me quizzically. I held my breath, waiting for her to answer. “Mesha would get her own bedroom, if I did,” she mused. “And that wouldn’t break her evil heart even a little bit.” Chantel was seriously turning the idea over in her mind, and that was encouraging, but I still didn’t dare to breath. “What would your husband think of having a permanent houseguest, Diane? A teenage girl, who just happens to be having sex with his wife on the side?”

I finally exhaled. “Edwin will probably welcome you with open arms, dear. Your presence will give me someone to chum around with and, therefore, keep me from bugging him when he’s closeted in his study, doing whatever it is that Economics professors do.” I stepped over to her and took her in my arms. “So what do say, you want to move into the spare bedroom and have kinky lesbian sex on the side with your teacher… whenever her pesky husband isn’t around?”

Chantel’s hands slid down my back and grabbed my white-skirted ass. Since Edwin had called from the airport and was due home any minute, Chantel and I were both properly dressed for the first time that day. “Why don’t we leave it up to Edwin when he gets home?” she suggested. She pulled my pubis hard against her own. “Leaving out the naughty part about us sneaking in hot, wet bouts of kinky lesbian sex whenever his back is turned, of course.”

I ground my sore pussy into hers. “Naturally, my kinky lesbian girlfriend.”

Had the sound of the garage door opening not intruded on the moment, I’m sure that Chantel and I would have swept the table clear and engaged in some hot, kinky lesbian sex right then and there in the kitchen. With a frenzied tongue kiss, we broke apart and were at opposite ends of the kitchen when Edwin came in from the garage.

Edwin was overly gracious to Chantel during dinner, more charming than I had ever seen him, actually, telling Chantel more than once that he found her to be not only charming and highly intelligent, but delightfully witty, as well. To be honest, I was becoming a little jealous… like my husband was hitting on “MY” lesbian girlfriend.

As things eventually turned out—especially in Edwin case, I couldn’t have been more wrong about anything. But, that will be explained much later on. I promise.

When the proposal that Chantel move into the guestroom was eventually put to Edwin, he sat back with that serious contemplation look on his face, but I could see in his eyes that he was immediately all for it. “I think it’s a superb idea,” he said, sitting up straight. “Chantel and her sister would each be getting their own rooms—which, I’ve been told, is one of the most basic requirements for a young lady’s healthy state of mind; Chantel would be gaining what would amount to a live in tutor—not that she needs one; and you, my dear, would at last have someone to watch that damnedible TV with.” He turned to Chantel. “I’m assuming that, being a cheerleader, you enjoy watching football?”

“I do, Mr. Chapel,” she answered politely. “It’s a very exciting game. Being a math wiz, you would probably enjoy the intricacies of the game.”

“I’ve been told that I might, Chantel,” Edwin said with a sour face. “And I am hardly a math wiz. What I like most about numbers is that they don’t lie.” Which was a lie in and of itself. “Along with these obvious benefits…” Edwin continued, undaunted by the wince I gave his last statement. For centuries royalty and politicians have been proving that numbers can be made to lie… and lie big time. “Perhaps, with Chantel’s clearly more organized influence pervading the household…” He wrinkled his nose “…you, my dear, might just be induced to do something about the deplorable condition of your office.”

I should probably take a moment or two to explain that. The rest of the house is neat and orderly. “Everything has its place, Diane, and everything in its place,” as my sainted mother used to proclaim. Our home, the house itself, is a showcase for the many nice things Edwin and I have filled it with; my nice things mostly because I liked them, Edwin’s things solely for their investment value.

My life used to be like the house, comfortable and structured. But, you should, by now anyway, see what has become of that utterly foolish notion.

However, as to the snide comment Edwin about my office. It was once a small bedroom, but since we had no need of a third bedroom, it became my “office” and it was in direct contrast to the rest of the house. Throw open the door to my small cluttered office and you would think a bomb had gone off inside it. The closet doors had been removed to create a sort of walk in library. The entire opposing wall on both sides of the window is floor to ceiling bookcase. The books on those shelves, as well as those on the shelves of the anteroom, are not arraigned in any decipherable order, not alphabetically, not by size, or by author’s name, or by genre, or even by color. I haphazardly return a book to the first available open slot I see.

A large, corner unit computer desk occupies the only wall-to-wall corner. The spare kitchen chair beside it and the small typing table alongside that are both piled high with papers of all sorts; school papers, brochures, what have you. Stacks of magazines are pushed up against what wall space is left. The desktop is littered with discarded pens and red pencils and scribbled on note pads. Yellow Post-it notes are stuck everywhere and on anything; on the desktop, to the sides and underneath of the computer screen, the spines of books.

Anyone looking for something in there could spend hours searching for it, and unless they got lucky, would likely exit the room empty handed. But ask me for it and in a matter of minutes I will hand it to you. It’s my office; I know where things are in there, or at least where they should be. Edwin had his study—an anally retentive nightmare of coordinated orderliness. This purposely-disorganized room was all mine, my private hidey-hole, and I liked it just the way it was; comfortably cluttered.

Edwin cleared his throat—a sign he was ready to bring this discussion to a close. “So, when do you two propose that this ‘move in’ should take place?”

“Whenever would be convenient, Mr. Chapel.”

“If you are to become a member of the household, Chantel, and I don’t mean in a servant capacity, I think we can dispense with the Mr. Chapel. Edwin is much less formal. And, as for when it is convenient, I think I will leave that up to you two.” He pushed his chair back and stood up. “Now, if you two will excuse me, I have some notes to go over from my conference in my study while you two put your heads together in what, I am certain, is a nefarious female plot to take over my home.”

We watched Edwin leave the kitchen, then Chantel turned to me with a huge grin. “How sick do you think you’re going to be tomorrow?”

I reached across the table and took her hands in mine. “No where near as sexually debilitated as I was today… girlfriend.”

While I cleaned up the dishes, Chantel called her aunt and told her that she was spending the night here again. And also that she would have a big surprise for her tomorrow. We stole hot kisses throughout the evening and even managed to surreptitiously finger each other’s pussy a little in front of the TV, but we didn’t dare carry things too far. Edwin was willing to let Chantel move in, but we didn’t think his wife and our houseguest having lesbian sex all over the house would go over very well.

Chantel slept in the guest room… so near, and yet so agonizingly unreachable. I didn’t sleep well that night. I had to get myself off twice, in fact; once in the shower before joining my already snoring husband in bed, and then again in the middle of the night, biting my bottom lip to keep from calling out “Chantel!” while finger-fucking the hell out of my recovering cunt on the toilet.

In the morning after Edwin was gone—and also after some hot and kinky, mutually necessary lesbian sex in the shower—I called the school and told the attendance secretary that I was feeling much better, but that I thought I should remain at home for at least one more day. I didn’t want to take the chance of passing whatever I had come down with on to the students, or other staff members.

Chantel took the phone from me and informed the secretary that she would also be missing school today, and that if she wanted to mark it down as being an unexcused absence, to go right ahead; she was eighteen, therefore, legally her own keeper. She hung up the phone and gave me a sassy-ass smile. “So, what’s it gonna be, girlfriend, some more kinky sex here in the kitchen, or do we spend the day getting me moved in?’

The first suggestion was, admittedly, pussy-wetting appealing, but the second one was, arguably, far more prudent.

We drove both vehicles over to Chantel’s aunt’s and when the proposal that her niece move in with my husband and me was put to the portly, sweaty, chain-smoking, but otherwise warmly pleasant woman, she almost seemed to breath a sigh of relief. “I must tell you, Mrs. Chapel, havin’ two teenage girls around the house, always snippin’ at each other over somethin’… well, it ain’t exactly been an easy thing for me.”

“Well,” I reasoned, “Chantel moving in with us will cut your worries in half.” That didn’t seem convincing enough and I added, “Besides, I’m sure Chantel will be here often enough that you’ll be glad when she finally prances her sassy booty on out of here and back over to my house.”

Chantel’s aunt let go with a booming laugh. “You sure got that that sassy booty part right, Mrs. Chapel. This gal wasn’t so damn serious about her studies, I’d be afraid she was out givin’ some of it away to them hunky football players.”

“I’ll keep a close eye out for any of that sort of hanky panky going on with the football team,” I assured the woman. I would be keeping an eye on Chantel, all right. Both eyes and real close up; enviously watching at least one, maybe even a couple of those hunky ball players fuck her with their hard black cocks and impatiently waiting for my turn to get my mouth on her cum and cunt-cream filled pussy.

It took two trips back and forth with both vehicles to move Chantel from her aunt’s into her new home and we spent the afternoon hanging her clothes in the closet and filling both dressers in her new room with the rest of it. By the time we were finished, I didn’t know about Chantel, but I was ready for a refreshing shower.

“What time does Edwin normally get home?” Chantel asked with a very, very naughty leer.

Damn her. She could make me instantly wet with just her eyes. “Any time after 6:00.”

She glanced at the clock on her nightstand. “Just after 4:00 now, that gives us plenty of time.” She grabbed my hand and pulled me from her bedroom in the master bedroom. “At least for a couple of quickies… you conniving slut.”

“I’m a conniving slut?” I laughed, hastily stripping myself naked. “Who’s the one who swore to her aunt—with a straight face, mind you—that she is still a virgin?”

“Not since I was twelve, Slut.” Chantel tossed her panties on the bed and with a sassy waggle of her sweet naked booty in my direction, pranced off to the shower.

I quickly joined her and had barely gotten the shower door closed behind me then she was on her knees, ravenously eating my pussy. I hadn’t cum since the night before, so it didn’t take long for me to be spurting cunt cream as I fucked her face with my pussy. I then, as a good host, returned the favor, getting a proper thank you from Chantel by way of a gushing cunt cream face bath.

As she was rinsing the fragrant soap off my back, Chantel went to her knees, spread my asscheeks and wormed her stiffened lesbian tongue into my receptive asshole. She tongued fucked and finger fucked me to a second orgasm before standing up, spreading her feet wide apart, bracing herself against the shower wall with her hands, and waggling her ass at me once again. I knew a suggestive invite when I saw one. Dropping to my knees, I slithered my tongue into her asshole, shoved two fingers up into her cunt, and got to work. When I felt her slippery cunt muscles grab hold of my fingers, I pulled my face away from her ass, yanked my fingers out of her cunt, swung around underneath her and glued my nasty slut mouth to her pussy. I managed to get the back of my tongue out of the way just in time, so that her hard gushes of sweet cunt cream could shoot right on down my throat and into my belly.

We both heard the garage door closing and Chantel just barely managed to make it into her room and have the door closed when I heard Edwin enter the kitchen. To cover her wet tracks, I snatched a glass off the counter, filled it with water, and was irritatingly mopping up the water I had “spilt’ on the floor as my unsuspecting husband came up the steps.

Talk about cutting things close! Chantel and I were going to have to get used to resisting temptation if we had any hope of continuing to keep Edwin in the dark concerning our hot and nasty lesbian dalliances. We managed to accomplish this, but it required a lot of necessary masturbating late at night; Chantel wide awake and horny in her bed, using her trusty vibe to get herself off, and me crouching over the toilet, my fingers desperately plunging in and out of my sorely-in-need cunt, groaning at seeing my cunt cream going to waste in the bowl.