History SeXStoRY

*** The Present *** I am in ecstasy as her full lips plunge slowly down over the length of my hard cock, the sensations of her warm tongue tickling the shaft as she rhythmically increases and then decreases the intensity and speed of her suction. Her mouth is so dripping wet, I feel my sensitive balls soaked in her drool as she takes them in one palm and tickles them with her long fingernails. Her eyes light up the darkness of the bedroom on this early summer’s night, brilliantly bright in contrast to the darker shade of her ebony skin, though she shines with a vitality that defies her age, her body curved and reflective of the setting sun behind the curtains like rolling mountains capturing the last rays of twilight on the verge of full dark night. I cannot control my breathing, letting out sharp gasps of excitement with every pleasurable sensation I feel; every nerve ending standing to attention as the unseen tension rises between us. With one painfully deliberate and most delicious slurp, as she withdraws me from her insatiably lustful mouth, she smiles at me with her eyes and purrs that she is so fucking turned on. ‘I love to feel you swell up in my mouth, I’d love you to spunk down my throat sometime,’ she says. ‘I nearly just did,’ I told her, panting and dripping sweat, ‘but right now I know where I’d love to shoot my spunk...’ *** History *** Fifteen years ago, Patricia Williams was my history teacher in High School. The first black woman I’d ever had the pleasure of getting to know when black people in my part of England were as rare as snow in summer, I found a special place in my heart for her almost instantly. Little did I ever expect we would much later in life share a brief and solely sex-based relationship upon being reintroduced after those fifteen years had passed. Miss Williams was first introduced to the pupils of our High School when I was sixteen and studying for my final exams. Back then she must have been in her late twenties. Near the beginning I found I could not deny the cutest of cherub faces with the most entrancing, big kissable lips and lovely warm brown eyes. I say near the beginning because at the beginning she was so strict, it scared me, but after a few weeks she warmed to her pupils and we warmed to her, me especially. She was a voluptuous woman of short height that always hid the majority of her curves beneath long flowing dresses but those dresses had always been very low-cut at the neck and since she was never so shy as to deny her favourite pupils a hug for good behaviour, it was plain for all to see the red-faced joy the other k**s got from those special hugs whenever they were helplessly drawn into those massive rounded tits and commenced to have the life squashed out of them in front of the whole class. What we also loved about her, those of us that had so little time to really get to know her, was her hilariously frank attitude. Miss Williams was never above anybody and liked to remind us that neither were we, though she liked to make fun of us nonetheless, though no one was safe and god help anyone that tried to be funny right back in her face. She was also a woman of common sense and clearly very finely tuned to the social politics of a time that naively claimed to be one of unconditional equality and fairness. Her colour had clearly taught her otherwise during her own c***dhood and she had hinted this on many occasions whenever issues of discrimination were raised in the classroom. Admittedly, I was a “late bloomer” and not only did I only start to pay females any sort of attention that didn’t involve calling them silly c***dish names, I only started to have crushes on older women, our new history teacher here being a perfect model for my fantasies at the time. She was young enough to be in her prime and old enough to be experienced, she had a body that made it very hard for me to stand up straight in class – unless that involved standing to attention while sitting hidden beneath the desk – and thanks to my hyperactive imagination and her knowing too well about shy teenagers and their imaginations, she sometimes preyed on me because of it. The day she told us how well we did with our pre-exam coursework, I came out on top of the class by a mile. Unbelievably, as the object of my affections told me this, watching the grin spread across my red face, she slyly remained straight-faced before asking me if I wanted to go home with her... What the fuck? I screamed silently somewhere deep within, and I felt myself blush so hard that I almost broke a sweat. At that very moment the class turned to face me and I didn’t know the answer. Hell. I didn’t know the meaning of the question, but my pubescent nuts took a shot at guessing for me and nearly puked up in my pants there and then. ‘Maybe another time, Mrs Williams,’ I said with what was probably the most ridiculous smile ever displayed spread right across my spotty face, ‘I already have a lot of homework...’ She just looked at me as if to say, ‘yeah, whatever,’ as did the rest of the class, most of whom hated me anyway and the class went on, the other k**s getting shot down with their poor grades. How I cringed at remembering that moment every time it came back to me, and yet I never understood what she meant. I also remembered quite fondly, though cringing equally as much, the amount of masturbating material that one question had fuelled. Being invited back to the home of the one older woman I’d fuck over any other girl in my teenage wet dream collection, even Pamela Anderson from Baywatch; it was impossible for me to get out of the bathroom that evening. So sixteen years later, after having grown up some, not just physically (a lot) but even mentally (I know, scary), after having battled my way through countless meaningless jobs, relationships and personal identity crises, I found myself surfing the chat and date sites, looking for women to share my sense of humour with and hopefully even meet for drinks, dates, no strings fun... whatever... I had a few specific types I’d hunt for and it really should have come across as obvious that after all this time, my history teacher Miss Williams had made a lasting impression on me. In between the women my own age, the girls with shallow personalities and low senses of self esteem, I was trawling the chat rooms for both mature women and busty black women, though not often daring to mix the two as the area I lived in, it was rare to find such a type, especially one that captivated me like Miss Williams. Call it fate, call it chance, luck or whatever the hell you want to call it. Did I ever expect I’d come across her in a million years? Did I ever expect her to look anything like she did back in the day? You tell me! She had changed some, of course. Her hair, platted into cornrows as it always had been, was slightly salted now with the odd grey patch, she had cultured a few laughter lines and by the look of some photos showing a bit more body than the typical head and shoulder pics, she had lost a little of her curvaceous frame, if I recalled well enough. But essentially it was her, I was sure of it. I had read her profile just to be sure. It read: I’m Patricia, a 47 year old teacher from the North of England. I’m just here to look and chat, not looking for a relationship and not looking for a pervert either. Only come and say hi if you can think of a better way of saying hello than ‘what are you wearing?’ I don’t know what I was thinking but I dared to send her a message that said more than, ‘hi, do you remember me? I was one of your students in 1996. By the way what are you doing here?’ Instead, I told her my name, asked if she taught history at a certain High School from 1996 onwards and then confessed, if so then she was the object of the biggest teenage crush ever. I didn’t expect a reply, in fact, cringing like never before, I expected she’d probably delete her account without hesitation. I was shocked rigid the day I got back onto the chat and date site to find quite the suggestive reply. It read: Oh my God, I’m sorry if I upset you when I say I can’t remember just yet but yes I did teach history in that school from 1996 to 2001. And you say I taught you? Shame you’re not a teenager anymore, I do miss those teenage crushes, though you do look quite the hunk if you don’t mind me saying so xxxx To that I excitedly replied: That’s okay, I have changed a lot since then. And what school are you teaching now where you’re not the object of every young boy’s desires? A school for the blind? You still look fantastic Mrs Williams! The next day I returned to find one more message from her that simply read, ‘that’s MISS Williams,’ and right alongside it was her phone number. *** The Phone Call *** ‘Hi, oh my God, I can’t believe it,’ she chuckled as though she had been caught getting up to no good. ‘I know, I could barely believe my eyes, but I knew I had to be you,’ I responded nervously. ‘So how are you?’ ‘I’m great, yeah, and no I’m not teaching blind k**s these days,’ she replied in reference to my recent observation. ‘Are you sure?’ I asked and she laughed heartily, though I could sense something that signalled she knew this was maybe something of a taboo we were approaching; teacher and pupil having become reacquainted through a date site and now engaging in small talk over the phone. ‘So you had a crush on me,’ she reminded me, ‘I’m still at a loss. You know me but I still don’t know you. Who were you in my classes?’ I began to remind her the best I possibly could, describing what I looked like, what kind of a k** I was, telling her I left school at the head of her class and that seemed to have some effect but still she didn’t seem one hundred percent certain that she remembered me. ‘Short, fat, I wore glasses and had big red cheeks,’ I said. ‘Nope,’ she replied. ‘You used to make Joanne Heffer, the loudest, most annoying girl in school, sit next to me at the back of the class, so she wouldn’t talk so much,’ I said. ‘Nnnnn-nope,’ she replied. ‘In summer 1996 you invited me back to your house, to embarrass me in front of the other k**s,’ I stressed, ‘when I came out on top of the class for my coursework.’ As I dredged that memory up for what must have been near the hundredth time in my life, I felt heat rising in my cheeks again and then wilfully let the air fall silent. I didn’t know what the reaction would be and worrying that at the worst she would just hang up on me without another word spoken, I left the ball in her court. At the least she would know exactly what kind of impression she had left me with all those years ago. ‘That’s you?’ she asked in disbelief. ‘I can’t believe it. Look at you now, all grown up...’ ‘I pretty much had to, hormones do that to a man,’ I joked. ‘ Speaking of which, what are you doing on a dating site? A gorgeous, strapping young man like you should be able to pick any woman he chooses,’ she carried on until I suddenly knew exactly what I wanted to say to catch her off guard. ‘How do you think I found you?’ I asked frankly. There was a silence and then slowly came a gasp, or more a belated breath, and again I cringed. Did I just come across as the biggest creep on the planet when that’s what she wanted the least. ‘Daniel, you’re a young man,’ she said, relieving my sudden fears with a dose of humour in her voice, ‘you’re not telling me you’re hunting old women when you could be pulling them ten years younger than yourself, are you?’ ‘No,’ I laughed, almost ridiculing her, ‘I just clearly told you I used to have a crush on you. But what are you talking about, you’re not an old woman, you’re a knockout. You could be pulling men twenty years younger if you wanted to. And after you just admitted to missing those schoolboy crushes...’ ‘Or men your age,’ she joked back, to which I agreed. ‘That’s very flattering of you to say so, thank you, Daniel,’ she then continued to decline, ‘though you don’t half talk rubbish. So why are you really on that website?’ I took another chance hoping it wouldn’t be my last. After all, what else would I say or do when all of a sudden that old teenage excitement was making a comeback, making me feel dizzy and nervous in my gut. ‘Why are you? It’s not because you believe you’ll find a meaning relationship there of all places,’ I said with a nervous chuckle. ‘A question doesn’t answer a question, young man,’ she reminded me politely. ‘Are you looking to get up to no good?’ she asked and I found myself without the courage to answer the question. ‘Naughty boy!’ she added. ‘I like the anonymity,’ I confessed. ‘I won’t hide the fact I crave the odd encounter. It’s not a crime seeing if it led to one.’ ‘Not at all,’ she agreed, ‘but you’ve gone testing your old school teacher to see what she’ll lead to, am I right? I’m not so naive. After all, I am the teacher and you the pupil.’ ‘But if you blamed me for trying you’d be denying yourself the power you have over boys like me,’ I said tactfully. ‘That’s hardly taking advantage, or is it?’ ‘You tell me,’ Patricia said. The conversation had taken on a more serious tone. One from which I felt a tangible f***e at work, a chemistry between myself and the object of my teenage desires. But there was no doubt right then than she had set the tone and was using it to her advantage, snaring me from a distance and yet giving me the chance to get away. Only I kept walking into her traps on purpose, waiting for the chance to catch her off guard. I realised then that she had done this before; the sultry, suggestive phone conversations with her potential male candidates, to see if they had what she needed. ‘I don’t think either of us would lose in that situation,’ I guessed. ‘And what situation would that be?’ she raised the stakes further. ‘Me, you and an encounter,’ I dared. Another pause... ‘I can’t believe you’re saying this,’ she finally said but something in my mind told me that wherever she was, on the other side of the line, she was smiling but not only smiling. She was aching, almost sickening for something and I had put my finger on what that something was. I imagined if I’d been finger fucking her by now, she’d already willingly be my glove puppet. But of course I knew she wasn’t like that. ‘Five minutes of talking on the phone after a decade and a half and you’re already trying to get into my knickers,’ she laughed. ‘And what makes you think I’d let you?’ ‘I didn’t think you would, I don’t take you for some cheap tart, Miss,’ I explained quickly, afraid that I had fallen at such a late hurdle as my heart thumped along the track of my longest, deepest fantasy. ‘I just can’t explain it, I’m not normally like this...’ ‘So what did you take me for?’ she asked, sounding quite alarmed. ‘I...’ I stuttered. I couldn’t believe I stuttered. ‘I don’t know. I’m sorry, I should leave you alone,’ I concluded, feeling ashamed of myself and then hung up. No need to explain how I felt that night and the day after. I can’t say I felt jilted since the way the conversation had gone was my own fault. And since I hung up, I couldn’t say that she had jilted me for sure. But it seemed obvious that whereas she had been clearly up for a flirt, I had gone too far too soon and no doubt would have scared her off had I stayed on the phone one minute longer. I could not believe my eyes the next evening, as you would agree, when I returned to where I had first found her. When my inbox informed me of a new message, I guessed half-heartedly that it would either be some cheap, dirty skank looking for yet another sperm donor to add to her extensive social circle, or it would be her and she would have had some majorly hurtful things to say to me and about me. Instead I found an address under her name and a time for the following evening! *** Interlude *** She lies cradled between me and the stack of soft white pillows at the head of the bed, her thick, warm thighs pinned down beneath my broad shoulders and her feet resting on my upper back. Her legs are spread wide, her toes playfully digging into the flesh of my shoulder blades and her fingernails lightly scratch along the length of my forearms. I cup the heavy swell of each breast with the palms of my hands, massaging and squeezing with her nipples caught between my fingers. Despite her age, she is a dark bronze goddess and no less statuesque in her surrender as my tongue trails wet circles around her clitoris, runs deep along the track down between her labia and sinks deep inside her where I can taste the excitement within. Her chest heaves to meet my groping hands in their restless passion, her breathing uneven and changing from shallow to deep unexpectedly and her hips rise to meet the rhythmic licking of my tongue as I delve deeper with every slick return. ‘Now who’s teaching who?’ I ask before going back to work on her. Where her strength comes from I have no idea but suddenly her grip on my arms becomes tight and she pulls me up to meet her face to face, her legs splitting widely to set me free from beneath her feet. ‘I’m not done putting you through your paces,’ she tells me and see that she is the one in control. *** The Encounter *** Should I go? Was this an invitation to the encounter I’d half-suggested or was it an opportunity for Miss Williams to bait me about the gutter my mind had been sitting in when I suggested we basically get together and fuck? I hadn’t outright suggested that, let alone used the word ‘fuck’ or anything along those lines. Not that I could easily deny what I was getting at. It didn’t matter, I was as hard as a rock and wanted one thing only since I got her address. An hour before I practically dove into the car and raced to her address, I showered and spent way too long grooming myself as close to perfection as I would ever be, leaving out the aftershave so I didn’t come across as a try-hard. Just the scent of being fresh from the shower might give her the impression that I wasn’t as filthy as our previous conversation had suggested. I had a handful of condoms in my coat pocket – who wouldn’t have, even if it could have been seen as an innocent invitation – and a bottle of white wine I’d chilled all that afternoon. All else I needed was a little charm and a little willingness on her part. Miss Williams lived alone in a one bedroom bungalow on the quieter outskirts of town. The ride there led me through a long road shaded by tall green trees where every garden was a paradise from some other part of the world and where hardly another human being stood in sight. The sun hadn’t yet set, but painted a thick orange glow across everything it kissed through a late summer haze. Here the house numbers were panelled onto the gates at the head of the houses’ driveways, which was the only way I’d have found her had I not the patience to crawl at a snail’s pace so I could see the houses’ front doors through the thick summer foliage. I came to a white pebble-dashed bungalow sporting a garden full of palm trees and this was it. The gates were open and the driveway was empty but still I parked at the side of the road. I got out and took a brief glimpse at the house, its garden and the surrounding area, fetched the frosted bottle of wine from the front passenger seat and swung the door shut behind me, turning to face the house again. There I realised she was standing, without having even heard her exit her home and for all I knew she had been there all along. Miss Williams stood with her arms crossed and feet close together in a pair of sandals. She wore a long-flowing flowery orange summer dress that ended just above the calves of a pair of dark but glowing legs, her hips perfectly curved and robust, equalling the large outer curve of her bust and completing what was even now a lust inspiring hourglass figure. I smiled, approaching her with some absent sense of trepidation, maybe just because of how nervous I felt at that moment and waved slightly with the same hand the bottle hung from. ‘Hi,’ I said. It was all I could say, I was struck almost completely dumb by just how great she looked. Her face was still so young, her hair tied back straight in a bun to expose her beautiful features and a pair of black-rimmed glasses magnifying the depth of her lightish brown eyes. She smiled back, the cutest dimples creasing beneath full blushing cheeks. I was falling fast without knowing it and yet still stood before her perfectly still. ‘You’re early,’ she greeted, grinning back, her brilliant white teeth hinting themselves through her luscious lips. ‘I’m sorry, I can come back in...’ I quickly scanned my wristwatch, ‘fifteen minutes?’ ‘No, it’s okay, it’s nice that someone is happy to see me,’ she said disarmingly, which immediately caused a swell of excitement, and unfolded her arms to greet me properly. I walked to her, arms also outstretched and bent down to kiss her cheek. She tasted sweet against my lips, as I discovered while savouring the close and firm hug she reciprocated with, mashing her small but voluptuous frame against my much harder body. After the hug, she cleared her throat slightly and accidentally exposed a smile that hinted at her own nervousness. ‘Is that for me?’ she asked and the first thing I thought was that she had referred to the swelling hardness my trousers had just kept her from. If she had, her timing was impeccable. ‘The bottle of wine,’ she explained, pointing at it as I held it with a firm grip. I nodded and handed it to her and I found myself being led through the front door and into her home. Every room from the hallway and through to the kitchen seemed so well lit by the oncoming sunset despite the dimness of the street beneath the trees and the tone of the interior’s darker veneer of wooden furnishing. Wall hangings depicting natural landscapes filled the lighter spaces but still glowed with that pre-twilight colour that seemed to breathe life into everything it touched. Two glasses stood close together on the kitchen worktop, the light through the open window sending beams of colour off in every direction as she poured the wine from the bottle, explaining the last decade and a half of her life and listening to mine. Oddly, considering how interested we seemed in each other, the interest in our stories became more and more brief as time went on. We stayed standing in the kitchen as a mellow shade began to take over the house. The bottle emptied quickly and then we shared the tension of each others’ presences for some time, sharing the feelings our looks gave one another; feelings of comfort and an excitement that hid itself beneath a cover of well hidden fidgeting and occasional stutters. It wasn’t long before Miss Williams pondered on the possibility of another bottle of wine being shared. ‘I probably shouldn’t but I don’t mind if you do,’ I explained more than happily. ‘Do you have work tomorrow?’ she asked and then paused awaiting the letdown she feared. Of course I had only began with the intention of playing it safe. ‘No it’s just that I drove here,’ I began to explain before she interrupted. ‘Don’t be daft, we can get around that,’ she assured demurely before pulling another one from the fridge. ‘You’re not getting me d***k and staying sober!’ ‘Who said anything about getting d***k?’ I asked innocently and watched a smile dawn on her face that implied something of a lack of innocence. ‘Well isn’t this what grownups do?’ she asked me, a cleverly placed question. ‘Adults do a lot of things,’ I reasoned, ‘some things being better at least half-sober...’ ‘I’m listening,’ she indicated, pouring more wine carefully into our glasses before looking up at me. It was then clear to her that I would need a little more encouragement to get my words out more clearly and she then handed me my glass. ‘You know, you don’t have to act like an adult to gain my approval anymore.’ ‘I don’t?’ I asked, to which she shook her head and then took a large gulp of wine, then looking at me more seriously. ‘You already are an adult, we’re not in school anymore,’ she assured almost cynically, ‘just be yourself and relax. Just the same as I’m not your teacher anymore, I’m just Patricia.’ ‘That’ll explain why my crush has suddenly come back twice as big, then,’ I thought suddenly without realising I’d said it, followed idiotically by, ‘sorry, I’m not usually a wine drinker...’ Because of what I had just said, Miss Williams, standing there propping up the kitchen worktop with one hand and with the other on her hip didn’t realise her chest was literally heaving out towards me. Instead she just stood there with a smile on her face, slowly shaking her head at me. ‘What?’ I asked, tipping the glass towards my mouth. ‘You’re not the only one being affected by the wine,’ she admitted and then stifled a giggle. Instead of chasing the laugh to drag it out, I let her hide it and asked why. ‘I could tell you what I’m thinking but I’m having too much fun watching you fall to pieces and turn back into that little schoolboy again.’ I couldn’t let her. I had to at least have an answer for everything if we were going beyond the point of caring what we said to each other. Blatantly, I gave her the once over and looked straight back into her eyes. ‘You can tell me later if you haven’t thrown me out on my arse,’ I said and then laughed. We both did. ‘But that means you can’t ask me about the crush I used to have on you...’ She winked at me saying, ‘good move, now you’re getting the hang of it,’ to which I replied, ‘I had no warning we’d be playing games.’ ‘You skirting around the subject of wanting to get friendly with your old teacher isn’t a game?’ she asked and when I tried to deny it, the words wouldn’t come out of my mouth. When I tried to instead shake my head, it lolled to one side and a smirk assumed control of my face. ‘Men don’t tend to think of it that way,’ I explained. ‘Men don’t tend to think at all,’ she corrected. ‘No we don’t,’ I agreed, ‘we just do it.’ ‘Do what?’ she asked me, practically dared me, even. And that’s when I decided enough was enough. I crossed the small kitchen in the dim golden glow of the lowering sunset and approached her too quickly to think twice. She just stood there, one hand against the worktop still and the other cupping the curve of her hip, her eyes not trained on mine but seemingly soaking up the sight of me as a whole. I took her in one hand by the small of her back just where the valley of her rear began and was tempted to reach lower but time seemed too short to take liberties other than the one I had in mind. With my other hand I held onto her side, the outer curve of her heavy breast pressing against my inner forearm. Her lips then seemed to hunger, her eyes closing as she surrendered to me for the first time that night. I lowered my head and at the same time she raised hers and with all the anticipation leading to this moment racing through my veins, I gently pressed my lips to hers and kissed her. Our lips were pursed together in a soft embrace of bare flesh, unwilling to separate for what lasted longer than I had expected. When I tried to pull away to see her face, her hand snaked around my neck, but rather than pulling me back in close to her she coaxed me into making it last just that little bit longer, to savour the moment our bodies were pressed together passionately for the first time. ‘Something like that,’ I concluded, to which she nodded in acknowledgement, still her eyes closed and her lips pouting in absence of mine. ‘Maybe it’s about time you told me about this crush,’ she whispered, her eyes finally opening to accept me in a new light as the darkness began to take over the house. ‘Why me?’ ‘Just attraction, pure and simple,’ I said, ‘at least to begin with. Then the way you used to tease us k**s in front of each other; I bet you had no idea the effect you had on some of us. Me more than others...’ Her hand flattened against my chest then and I thought that this would be the moment she pushed me away, finally submitting to her fears or doubts, or both. She didn’t. Instead she began to feel me through my shirt, the palm of her hand tracing over the curves where my pectoral muscles sloped off towards my abdominals. Eye contact remained undone as we hadn’t yet come to terms with this new and exciting episode in the night’s events. ‘I used to go shy every time you spoke to me or asked me a question because up until someone took my mind off it, all I could think of was what would happen if an encounter like this sprung up. Can you imagine what those kind of daydreams did to a teenage boy?’ I went on. ‘Do you remember what your biggest fantasy was of you and me?’ she suddenly asked and I felt the need to take a step back and slow down. It felt wrong to take things that far right then. ‘Yes but I won’t tell, not until you tell me what you were thinking before wanting to see me... unravel,’ I teased. I was shocked then but also slightly more aroused strangely when maybe as a means of punishment her hand harshly smacked against my bottom through my trousers. ‘It was c***dish and tacky, probably a complete and utter turnoff to the mature and experienced mind,’ I pleaded, ‘I won’t tell but then again maybe I’ll show you sometime.’ ‘No, a turn off is when you deny a woman who’s been undressing you with her eyes the whole night what you’ve been thinking of doing with her,’ Patricia revealed, her fingers curling up beneath my belt buckle. ‘And you don’t seem to know how much of a turn on it is for me to understand that I’ve been the object of your desires for over fifteen years. I could teach you something about waiting but fifteen years is the same long time for the both of us. Now be a good boy for me and tell me before this bottle of wine is finished and maybe both our fantasies will come true!’ *** The Fantasy *** You didn’t call it detention but still you asked me to turn up after school to discuss some things. I don’t know what it could be but I never question or doubt you. I love your classes, I’m not always an A+ pupil but getting to sit across the room from you is always a plus. I turn up to find that only one other k** sitting there doing his homework from the week before. You ask me to sit down at the desk opposite you, clearly marking out the seat you intend for me, pointing to it with a pen in your hand as you trawl through your paperwork. Beneath a black cardigan you wear loose, you’re sporting your usual summer dresses, low cut and showing the cleavage that’s been the object of countless daydreams and fantasies at school as much as at home. I sit there waiting for you to pay me attention but you tell me to just sit tight and wait for you to get your work over and done with. It takes about ten minutes, most of which I use to sneak a glance at you, practically bursting out of your dress as you lean over your desk. Occasionally your eyes meet mine, not wondering what I’m staring at but confirming that which you already know. You are the object of my every hormonal urge and sexual desire and I cannot break out of this spell. In time, you tell the other k** to pack up and go home, to finish what they’ve started before tomorrow. Then your attention moves to me once he is gone. You then ask me to pull a chair up beside your desk and you begin to ask me questions skirting around the problem we have. I’m doing the homework, I’m trying to pay attention in class and sometimes I’m hitting the nail on the head but still, I’m in this permanent daze and you can’t seem to break me out of it. You ask me why I think that is and if there are any problems I feel need to be addressed. I tell you that when I try to pay you my full attention, I begin to feel things beyond my control. I get flustered whenever you ask me a question, as I’m doing now. I forget every word you say because I start concentrating on your lips instead of your words and I start to go into a trance. I become shy and withdrawn whenever you’re in a bad mood because rather than try to do what you need me to do – in order to be a better pupil – I’m more personally concerned about why you feel so frustrated. It’s made clear that I have a crush on you and there is little we can do about it. You don’t trust the other teachers to educate me better than you could, I’m at the age where every maturing member of the opposite sex seems attractive to me and I just have to deal with it the best I can and ask for help before I end up in trouble. You ask me if there’s anything I can suggest as to how we can deal with the problem. I go blank. I’m not looking at your tits, although you’re clearly offering me a birds-eye view of your cleavage. I’m lost in your eyes again and can’t break free. You ask me again and I can’t think hard enough to give you an answer. Out of resignation you drop the pen from between your delicate fingers and withdraw a long sigh, sitting back in your chair. ‘I’ll give you a lift home...’ you begin to say and I’m grateful, ‘if you come home with me first!’ My eyes almost pop out of their sockets, my pubescent hard-on out from the confines of my school trousers. You lean forward again and rest your chin in the palm of your hand, propped up on the desk by your elbow. ‘What for?’ I ask and you just stare at me and tell me it’s because you think I’m gorgeous. I don’t think you’re serious and answer, ‘okay,’ finishing with a c***dish laugh. Half an hour later, we’re driving back to your house and with one hand on the steering wheel, another places itself into my lap, squeezing my leg. ‘There’s only one way we can stop you falling asl**p in my classes,’ you say, and your hand runs firmly across my stiffening crotch. ‘I’m going to have to give you what you clearly need. Do you agree? Are you okay with that?’ you ask. I just nod in agreement and you grab a hold of me beneath the fabric of my trousers. ‘You’re quite big for such a young boy,’ you compliment me. We’re in your house, in your bedroom and you’ve stripped me down to my underwear and had me sit down in a wooden chair across the room from your bed. Slowly and sensuously, you take my hands and guide me towards unbuttoning your dress from the front. From the first hint of the white lace bra cupping your magnificent tits, I become so hard it hurts and when you’re completely free of your clothing, I’m shaking so hard with excitement I can’t sit still. You straddle my lap, encouraging me to touch your breasts through the white lace bra barely containing you. My smaller hands squeeze and stroke, rub and grope. All the while you start to grind and gyrate against me, drawing yourself further into me. ‘You’re a natural,’ you tell me, ‘you have been thinking of me a lot haven’t you!?’ I nod, my hands leaving your breasts and roaming freely across the rest of your body as the soft, moist spot of your vagina entrance presses hotly against my hardness through the thin fabric of the clothing keeping us apart. Your skin is the most erotic thing my hands have experienced, soft, smooth and warm, flesh to be toyed with at will. My hands find your buttocks and marvel at their fullness and shape. And with that you lean into me, whispering things into my ear that will almost take me over the edge. ‘I’m going to teach you pleasure most boys will never know their whole lives,’ you say, ‘but first, how would you like to kiss me?’ My lips press against yours and we kiss wetly and passionately. It is the beginning of my first sexual experience. You don’t kiss like any girl I ever knew and I tell you this. ‘Don’t you love my lips, how full they are, how they feel against yours?’ you ask and I nod, retrieving another kiss from your parted lips, enjoying their fullness. ‘No white women have lips like these. You’ll know that after I’ve wrapped them around your big hard cock. Would you like that?’ I say yes, not quickly enough, begging to be anything but eaten alive by you since you’ve suddenly turned into this wild sexual b**st, preying on your favourite pupil. You begin to unclasp your bra, hands behind your back and effectively forcing your breasts into my face. My hands reach out, pulling the undergarment away and meticulously studying in pure amazement the true magnificence of your form. Your breasts are so perfectly round, soft to the touch and feel like heaven. The nipples are large and dark and need sucking. I need to do this before we go any further. ‘Be careful,’ you instruct me, ‘lick gently around them and if you nibble on them with your teeth, don’t bite. That makes me sensitive and gets my pussy so wet, which it will need to be. Now suck on them slowly and show me what you’d like me to do to you with my mouth...’ I take my time and eventually get lost, sucking on your tits, engaging your lips in a full-on sensuous kiss with lips and tongue. You tell me that tongue will learn to lick pussy one day, something for me to look forward to in future if my studies improve. But for now, you remove yourself from my lap and ask me to stand up. I obey you and before long, you’re replacing me in the chair and having me stand between your legs and you’re fetching my erection from the fly of my boxer shorts. I’m 8” long and thick-shafted, the head of my cock is large and straining beneath the foreskin and the first sensation of your gentle hand wrapping around me is enough to have me spunking all over you. I don’t though. ‘If you feel like you’re going to come, tell me to stop. As young and fresh as you are, I want you spunking deep inside me when I’m done getting you nice and slippery. You have a nice big cock,’ you tell me, kissing the head with your full brown lips and then going back for a second taste as if it’s so suddenly addictive. ‘I could suck this cock for hours, shame you’re not old enough to stay the night!’ I am in ecstasy as your full lips plunge slowly down over the length of my hard cock for the first time, the sensations of your warm tongue tickling the shaft, like nothing I’ve ever felt, as you rhythmically increase and then decrease the intensity and speed of your suction. Your mouth is soon dripping wet and drooling saliva but for all I know by the sensations that are attacking every nerve ending in my body, it’s my come spilling out of my cock and down your cheeks. I feel my sensitive balls being soaked as you take them in one palm and tickle them with your long fingernails. Just watching you do this, my glistening wet length disappearing into the hot depths of your mouth and throat, and hearing the sounds of sucking fill the otherwise silent room, it brings me suddenly close and so I ask you, partly against my own desire, to stop and take me to the next level of our private lessons. You tell me to take off my boxers and go lie in the centre of the bed and as I do, waiting for your next move and watching in wonder as I see you in all your naked glory stand up and peel off that last vital piece of clothing, I take my length in my hand and gently stroke it, feeling that it has become harder than ever before. I am so excited I can’t see tonight coming to an end, not while I have you before me like this. You approach the bed, climbing up from the foot and then begin crawling towards me, a predatory look on your face, your eyes burning with lust. ‘You’re a virgin aren’t you?’ you ask although you already know the answer is yes. Your knees come to rest at either side of me and you kneel just above me, taking my hands in yours and guiding them over your naked body from your neck and shoulders, touring the mountains and valleys of your heaving breasts and then sliding down to a standstill at the curving slopes where your waist meets your hips. You hold them there, removing one hand to take my hardness and guide yourself down onto me. I feel a wetness and heat that is not unlike when your lips parted so slightly to take me into your mouth but when your mouth opens and a sigh escapes and I feel myself becoming slowly enveloped by a silken smoothness that I otherwise cannot describe; hot, wet, pulsating and alive. ‘Not anymore,’ you conclude in shaky whispers, ‘you belong to me now, boy.’ In a matter of moments, although time suddenly feels so slowed down, I see beneath the strip of black pubic hair just above your pussy my hard young cock disappearing completely inside of you. Our pelvises touch and I feel myself stretch inside of you as you bear down, my hands squeezing at the flesh of your hips in pleasure, and I feel myself becoming wet, a slight tremor running through your body to where we have become joined. Your hands move to my chest and shoulders then and you begin to gyrate your hips, working your wet pussy up and down over me as I support your weight underneath. The room is filled with the sounds of your wetness as you try to suppress your excitement and I can feel myself sliding in and out of you with impossible ease. We’re both gasping, groaning and trying not to cry out with the immense pleasure happening between us as you pick up pace. You’re panting as you rise and fall, rise and fall and rise and fall and your breasts animatedly invite me to cradle them with my hands. I squeeze them, rub my palms against them and squash them together, watching the pleasurable expressions on your delighted face as you ride me. You laugh beneath your breath suddenly. ‘I didn’t mean to go this far,’ you pant. ‘How much further can we go?’ I ask, ‘I’m in heaven already.’ ‘You’re not the only one,’ you gasp, ‘I love this big hard cock so much, I’m so soaking wet already.’ You increase pace again, literally grinding yourself against me, the friction between our pubic mounds turning me on even more than I already am just letting you use me like this. I witness in amazement as what began as an act of sexual intercourse becomes an incredibly lustful dance. You slip and slide over my hips, your hips gyrating and your body snaking around, becoming slick with sweat in the dim light. By now you can’t control your urges and you’re expressing your pleasure vocally and so loudly. You bite your lip, looking into my eyes with an expression that tells me you want more of me than is inside of you already. ‘I don’t think I can take much more,’ I tell you, the well of excitement in my guts straining to what I’m sure is the point of no return and with that you’re up on your knees and lying down next to me, urging me to get on top and plunge my straining erection deep inside you. ‘This is the best bit,’ you tell me, ‘you’ll be wanting to do this to me every hour of very day after this.’ You raise your knees to either side of me, beckoning me into your arms and begging me to feed my cock into your soaking pussy. ‘When you feel like you can’t hold back anymore, I want you to push yourself as deep as you can and let go,’ you say. ‘But won’t I get you pregnant?’ I ask nervously, already having slid inside you. You call out to God, enraptured by the sensations I’m causing you now that it is your turn to lay back and enjoy the show. ‘No, trust me,’ you gasp. One hand cradles the back of your neck, the other feeds one giant breast into your own mouth and with long fingernails you tweak at those large dark nipples as your eyes concentrate on my length disappearing into the deep, wet pink of your sex. I immediately begin to plough you, watching in amazement of the sight that is my hard cock penetrating you almost effortlessly. You begin to cry in ecstasy, using your thighs to draw me in and hold me close as our flesh slides together, sweat soaked and burning. At first I was close to orgasm but now I steal glances at the nearby clock and watch the minutes turn to a full hour. I can’t believe I last so long and you’re marvelling me on my first performance, telling me I’ll be balls deep in this pussy so long as it’s mine. ‘I want your hot spunk deep inside me,’ you growl, your voice now worn and almost a****listic in your overheated and ravished state. ‘And then I’m going to suck that amazing cock of yours to fucking perfection so you can go home and wank over me all night at the thought of next time.’ That does it, I approach a sensation I’ve never imagined, never conceived. I burn for you and I strain and sweat pours from me in streams, your legs wrapped tight around me. ‘Fucking come on boy, fill me up with your spunk,’ you cry and... *** The Reality *** ‘That’s quite a fantasy,’ she purred, a look of amazement making her eyes wide and brilliantly white in the dimming evening light, ‘you have been thinking about it a lot.’ ‘I told you, you left a lasting impression on me,’ I explained coyly, not realising how hard I’d gotten just telling her my fantasy. The alcohol was making my head spin and I couldn’t believe the reality of the situation here tonight. I never thought I would end up telling her everything, or at least almost everything. ‘Well that’s it now,’ I concluded, ‘that’s all I’m telling. Now it’s time for you to tell me your fantasy.’ She shook her head after a moment’s pause for thought. ‘No!’ ‘No?’ I repeated in disbelief. ‘No,’ she repeated. ‘It’s getting late... and if I took the time to tell you, we wouldn’t have the time to make it a reality now, would we?’ I stared into her eyes, that old feeling of excitement coming back with a vengeance all of a sudden, hitting me in the gut hard. I stuttered, trying to speak without thinking, struck just as aimless as I felt dumb. ‘We’re both adults – experienced, mature adults – and we knew what we were doing the moment you turned up. I am going to teach you everything I know, but you’re going to do everything I want you to,’ she said. ‘Everything,’ I agreed. ‘If you can handle me...’ ‘Well then boy, aren’t we full of spunk tonight!?’ she teased and took my hand. ‘Empty your glass and follow me...’ ...TBC