(Part one of this story dealt with how I cajoled my former teacher, a married woman 15 years my senior, into a sexual rendezvous in a no-tell motel. While it is not required you read that story before this one, it will help you understand the situation she found herself in.)
One week after getting my former teacher into a hotel room and having her reluctantly jerk me off, an idea on how to get her to suck my dick struck me.
The woman had never sucked a cock, in marriage nor in her extramarital affair I caught her in. She begged me not to make her do it, but that was the ultimate payback for the bitch that ruined my summer vacation more than a decade before.
I hated Mrs. Jennifer Sinkinson. These days she was a pillar of the community, hosting charity auctions and getting her photo taken with various local dignitaries at school openings and assorted other functions. But back in the day she was the teacher who ruined my summer by sending me to summer school and telling nasty stories to my then-girlfriend. That girl, Tiffany, was a blow job artist, a girl who could have been called Hoover for her sucking ability.
Yes, Mrs. Sinkinson made that summer a living hell. Now, some 15 years later, I had the goods on her, photos of her and her husband's business partner making nicey nice in a local no tell motel, or at least the expectation they were being naughty.
There were candid shots of her cavorting with a man not her beloved husband. Uh huh, I had the goods on the prim and proper socialite. And those goods had turned into a fine hand-job and promise of much, much more.
What I wanted, no, demanded, from the woman, was weeks of oral sex to make up for the summer lost. She nearly died on my demand, because she had never developed a like for blow jobs, admitting she had never really given one.
That was about to change.
It was Wednesday, and the social section of the local newspaper had a photo of Mr. and Mrs. Sinkinson unveiling a new portrait at the local senior citizen's center. It was quite nice.
I mentioned that to her when I saw her the next day at Starbucks.
"You looked very nice in the photo, Mrs. Sinkinson."
She looked at me with disgust. "Thanks, Jon. Now, can we discuss our arrangement? I've apologized, I did that other thing, and you got what you wanted. I'm humiliated. I'm sorry. Can we end this charade?"
I told the woman I appreciated her apology, but that I hadn't gotten what I wanted, that wonderful summer back. "You haven't blown me yet," I stage whispered, bringing heads of two middle aged men swiveling our way.
Mrs. Sinkinson stood and embarrassingly left the coffee shop as a smile crossed my face. I looked at the two guys, shook my head, and said: "women!" as they shook their heads in amazement at my outlandishness.
