From ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au Thu Apr 03 19:00:46 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-pull.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!newsfeed.nacamar.de!nntp.uio.no!news.uoregon.edu!disco.iinet.net.au!news.per.connect.com.au!news.mel.connect.com.au!news.mel.aone.net.au!ghostgum.hunterlink.net.au!i11
From: ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au (**_MOUSE_**)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Story : Author Unknown - Safe Sex (3 Parts - TXT) - safesex1.doc [01/01]
Date: Fri, 04 Apr 97 00:00:46 GMT
Organization: HunterLink - An Australian Network Provider
Lines: 469
Message-ID: <5hvoj1$e5r@ghostgum.hunterlink.net.au>
NNTP-Posting-Host: i11.hunterlink.net.au
X-Newsreader: News Xpress Version 1.0 Beta #4
BEGIN -- Cut Here -- cut here
From: IN%"laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu" 31-JUL-1993 00:39:10.36
To: IN%"C8835943@cc.newcastle.edu.au"
CC:
Subj: Story/Safesex-1.Z
Return-path: <laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu>
Received: from sal.cs.uiuc.edu by cc.newcastle.edu.au (PMDF V4.2-13 #4117) id
<01H168TZ9GHS95OLM5@cc.newcastle.edu.au>; Sat, 31 Jul 1993 00:38:47 +1000
Received: by sal.cs.uiuc.edu id AA05853 (5.67a/IDA-1.5 for
C8835943@cc.newcastle.edu.au); Fri, 30 Jul 1993 09:38:23 -0500
Date: Fri, 30 Jul 1993 09:38:23 -0500
From: Joshua A Laff <laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu>
Subject: Story/Safesex-1.Z
To: C8835943@cc.newcastle.edu.au
Reply-to: laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu
Message-id: <199307301438.AA05853@sal.cs.uiuc.edu>
Content-transfer-encoding: 7BIT
X-References: laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu
Lines: 440
Archive-name: Safesex-1
Most married people have a story about how they met their spouses. About my
ex-wife, the story isn't so interesting. But the story of how I met
my fiancee is a little different.
I had better start by explaining about Amy. I had noticed her on the first
day of class. Sitting in the front row of the classroom, looking very serious
as she took notes, she had a certain attraction that was greater than the sum
of any parts I could analyze.
What was it about her? I generally prefer tall women, but she was the
sort of young woman who I tended to think of in her absence as taller
than her 5'5" frame. Her face was fresh and pretty, rather than beautiful,
but without a single flaw in her complexion. Her figure was not the kind
that made you do a double-take, yet when you analyzed it you could only
conclude that it was perfectly proportioned: curvy but slim hips, and
breasts that were medium sized or maybe just a bit smaller. Her hands
were graceful; her eyes were bright and inquisitive; her shoulder length
hair was straight and tidy; her teeth were white and straight. Kind of
the girl-next-door look, not a flashy kind of beauty, but one that would
wear well over a long period of time, I thought.
In one way, I have misled you in my description of Amy. While her eyes may
give the impression of intelligence, in point of fact she was not a very
successful student. I didn't feel she was actually stupid, but it didn't
take long for it to become clear that she was not going to do well in this
class. Maybe she didn't work as hard as she needed to. Maybe she was missing
some of the background material the other students already had. Maybe it was
a full-blown case of math anxiety. Who knows, maybe it was simpler than
that and she just wasn't very smart. None of this made her any worse in my
eyes, since there's more to a woman than just book learning. She had plenty
going for her even if she wasn't another Cantor.
Amy was not a flirt, during class or afterward, and on that first day there
was nothing to make me think that anything unusual would happen during the
quarter. My thoughts that day were directed toward giving a good introductory
lecture. Although I appreciate the decorative value of the female students in
my classroom, I had never harbored any illusions that they were there for my
entertainment. First, because sexual harrassment is wrong; second, because
math is just not the greatest turn-on for most gals ("wanta come up to my
place, have something to drink, and memorize some dynamite multiplication
tables?"); and third because I'm too afraid of getting caught and losing my
job. I don't think I'm a prude on the subject, but I know I've gotten some
kidding from a couple of my friends about my somewhat oldfashioned attitude.
Maybe I've missed out on some good times along the way as a result, but I
have to believe I've missed out on a good deal of needless trouble as well.
Better to take the safe course, I've always thought.
A few weeks into the course I administered the quarter's first quiz. I
graded it strictly, since that first quiz of the autumn is for some students
the shock to their system necessary to get started working on the course
material. I emphasized to everyone that a poor grade on the quiz did not
mean that they couldn't get a good grade for the course, but as expected
the looks on some of the students' faces indicated that a serious
re-evaluation of their chances had taken place.
It's at this point that usually ten percent of the class decides to drop the
course, and a larger number decides that they had better schedule some office
time with the instructor. That's the whole point, of course, to shake the
sleepy ones out of their doldrums. This class was no exception, and I found
myself overbooked with students wanting help.
Amy was one of the students who signed up for office hours. She had never
come up to talk with me after class, as many of the other students often
did, so this was the first time we had spoken with each other. Based just
on her looks and manner, I had her pegged as a Political Science major, or
American Lit. Maybe even Art. I was mildly surprised when she told me
that she was in the pre-med program. The College Algebra course she
was taking from me was required in her program; more than that, she told me
she had to earn at least a B. Although I didn't say so, I was dubious about
her chances. I gave her my usual pep talk, tried to explain some topics she
found confusing, and gave her references for further study. But as she left,
I didn't get the feeling that I had done her much good. Maybe it was because
she kept calling herself dumb the whole time she was there.
Although some of the students came back for second or even third visits
during my office hours the next two weeks, Amy did not. I didn't think
anything about that fact, since many of the students in a given class
aren't really that motivated, and with upwards of 80 students in the
class I didn't have the luxury of looking after each one if they didn't
seek out attention. Amy attended each lecture, but never asked questions,
and her notetaking appeared to be an exercise in trying to take down each
syllable I uttered and each symbol I wrote on the board. With some
students, this would indicate a lack of real interest in the material,
and a desire just to know the probable contents of the final exam, but
looking back I now interpret Amy's methodology as sheer desperation. I
can guess that Amy's reluctance to visit me again was more a reflection
of her fear of failure than of a lack of motivation.
Not surprisingly, when I gave the midterm exam, Amy's score was the
lowest in the class. Sometimes a foreign student will do poorly in a
class for a while, solely because of the language barrier, and will
eventually catch on to the concepts and move up in the rankings. But
when an American student like Amy finds herself near the bottom, it's
much rarer for progress to be made as the quarter goes along. What's
more, she was a sophomore, whereas most of the students in this class
were freshmen. I have seen many freshmen start out slowly, because of
the new environment college represents, and then catch fire as the
quarter goes along, but this is much less likely with a second-year
student. Again, with perfect hindsight, I can speculate that Amy knew
this would be a tough course for her, and she put it off until her
advisor insisted she take it.
I don't know a teacher who doesn't feel awful when a student tries and
still fails. The worst part is returning the graded exam paper to the
student, seeing her take it with low expectations in her eyes, and
watching her face fall when she sees that she has failed to come up to
even those low expectations. Amy didn't cry, but you could see she wanted
to.
I rather expected that she would visit during my office hours that day, and
wasn't sure what I should or could say to help her. Honesty may be the best
policy, but I also don't like to discourage a student who is willing to
try-try-again. But once again I was busy enough with the students who did
show up that I didn't have time to dwell upon the matter when she didn't.
The next class session two days later marked a change in Amy's manner. It was
difficult to describe exactly, and someone watching her for the first time
might not have thought anything of it. She was dressed the same, in her blouse
and jeans. One odd thing was that she was taking hardly any notes, and another
was that she had a very strange smile at times. Not a self-confident smile,
certainly not a happy smile, one that was forced and seemed to be directed at
me. But it was also hesitant, and anytime I really looked in her direction she
dropped her gaze after a second. I couldn't have put the reason into words at
the time, but I felt somewhat flustered, and found myself stumbling in my
delivery to the class.
After class, she walked down the hallway toward my office. For more than
an hour she lurked in the hallway, wandering away for a few minutes, then
returning to check if I was alone. I had seen this sort of behavior before,
when a student is too embarrassed to let classmates see how badly she is
doing. I was sure it was killing her to have her friends know her troubles.
Pride goething before a fall, you know. It was late in the afternoon before
the last student left and she finally entered my cramped office. Quietly
she said, "I need some help." I told her that I had a few minutes, and
motioned for her to sit down with me at my desk.
She listened as I went over her exam with her, nodding her head and murmuring
"uh huh" when I would pause to see if she was following my explanations. But
even more than the first time she visited, I got the feeling that I wasn't
getting through to her. Unlike earlier in the classroom, her face was almost
expressionless when I looked at her, and she rarely looked up from the exam
paper. A couple of lightly humorous remarks I made evidently did not register.
She seemed distracted by something. Finally, it was almost five o'clock,
and I told her, "I have to leave soon. Perhaps you can come again during
my office hours next Tuesday."
She touched me lightly on the arm for a moment, and said "please, I need a
lot of help. Could we schedule some make-up time before that?" It was a
hesitant yet determined touch, not quite seductive and yet something more
than just an instinctive touch on the arm. I crossed my legs, my own
instinctive reaction to hide the possibility of her seeing the beginnings
of the erection that was stimulated by her touch. Was I imagining things?
Was she coming on to me? With some girls I would have been sure, yet Amy
seemed so innocent. She had not looked me in the eye when she spoke, which
would have given me a better way to gauge her intentions. I certainly did
not want to embarrass her, or myself, by making an inappropriate comment
based on what was quite possibly my own imagination. I managed to utter,
"what do you mean, make-up? You haven't missed any lectures or exams."
She seemed embarrassed at her miswording, and mumbled, "I dunno, I mean
some extra help. I really need to learn this material."
I exhaled. Yeah, I guess I had read into her question something she hadn't
meant. I hoped she hadn't noticed my reaction, or at least would forgive me
if she had. It was an understandable mistake, after all.
Except, she continued, "it's pretty hard for me. Or maybe I'm just making it
harder than it needs to be. Sometimes I like to, y'know, make things hard.
That's what my boyfriend says." Was it just me, or did she also realize the
double entendre she was making? She wasn't looking at me, and there was
nothing else in her manner to suggest anything like that. I decided to try
to back away from that line of conversation, just in case she was trying to
lead me on. I replied, "well, I suppose I could come in for a while tomorrow.
How about 10?" She continued to look at the papers in front of her, and said,
"I've got classes most of the day tomorrow. Would you have time sometime this
evening?"
I again wondered if I should read something between the lines in her
request? Yet her delivery was so flat, and she seemed so introverted,
that I had to doubt the conclusion I was drawing. "No, I have to get
to a meeting in a few minutes on the other side of town," I lied.
"Anyway, maybe you should be trying to find a tutor, who could
give you what you need." I mentally winced at the choice of phrase.
Did she understand the double meaning that could be inferred? I was
ashamed of myself for even worrying about the way to phrase an innocent
question. My conscience was clean, after all. "There's a list of tutors
on the wall opposite the department office," I went on.
"I've never had much luck with those guys. They always seem to be as
confused as I am. I'd really, really appreciate it if you could find
some time for me. What about after your meeting tonight?" She seemed
sincere, yet how could she not know how personal her suggestion sounded?
On the other hand, was I getting worked up over something entirely in my
imagination? On the third hand, if she was trying to come on to me, couldn't
she be more original than talking about 'appreciation'? On the fourth hand,
how many hands do I have, anyway?
I pointed out that they keep the building locked after hours. "Maybe you
have a friend who could help?" I suggested. "My boyfriend took Calculus,
but he just makes fun of me when I ask him questions about math. Could I
come over to your house? What time will you get home?" she persisted.
My hormones were working like they hadn't in a long time, not since I met the
gal that had precipitated my divorce. I looked at Amy's face. She had for just
a moment turned slightly toward me, but now quickly looked back at her papers,
avoiding my eyes. I made the mistake of letting my eyes wander below her
shoulders. Her words sounded so suggestive as to be laughable, yet her manner
indicated that she was thinking about nothing but studying to raise her
failing grade. How simple it would be if I would just ask her, "are you
proposing a lay-for-an-A, or what?", and tell her to forget it, but what if
I was wrong? Embarrassment, at the least, possibly real trouble with the dean,
if she complained to someone. No, best to play it cool. I should just tell
her, "no, I don't think that would be a good idea." But she was so
attractive to me, the horny part of my brain wanted to find out what she
intended. And so innocent, that the logical part of my brain wanted to
believe that she was completely unaware of the impact that her suggestions
were having on me. With the two halves of my brain pre-occupied like that,
I had no extra brainpower for talking, so I blurted, "you don't know where
I live." Dumb. Or, maybe the horny part of a guy's mind will always win.
She responded to my non-sequitur with one of her own, saying, "I've got
a bike." If there was a hint of seductiveness in her eyes, or even humor,
I was missing it. Just a simple, factual statement, like "I've got a
pencil", or "I've got a million bucks", or "I've got a wet pussy just
waiting for you." There went my brain again. Gotta stop thinking like
that.
"It's a long ride. I don't know if it'll be worth your time." The horny
part of my mind was keeping this line of conversation going, yet doing so
betrayed the fact that I was wavering in my resolve. If, indeed, she was
even thinking what I was thinking. She replied, "you're the best teacher
I know, I'm sure you'll be able to help me." Not even a hint of a suggestion
of a trace of an improper proposal there, was there? Especially considering
the alternative replies she could have made. ("Oh Teacher, I'm sure it'll
be worth it for you too. Pant pant.") The conflicting sides of my brain
came to an agreement that I was getting worked up over nothing. Of course,
if I was such a great teacher (to take her remark at face value), how come
she was flunking my class?
I looked at my watch. "Well, I don't think you should come over alone. Can
you bring someone along, maybe your boyfriend?" She thought for a moment, then
said yes. "OK, I should be home by about nine. Bring your books," (duh, like
she was going to bring a dildo and some Crisco), "and I'll help you for
an hour or so." I gave her directions to my apartment, glad to have
figured out a way to defuse a touchy situation.
I found myself driving home very carefully. My mind was so woozy from the
extra adrenalin I had been pumping, and then the letdown, that I had to
concentrate on the road or I'd run off it. Now that she had agreed to, I
wondered if it was really necessary to have insisted she bring someone.
I thought, so what if she came alone, a few cheap thrills for me, all in
my mind, and she'd never be the wiser. I can think what I want, and as
long as I don't act on it, no harm done. She doesn't even know for sure
that I live alone. For all she knows, I'm happily married to my gay
lover. And anyway, I don't think she means any harm.
Soon after I walked into my apartment, the phone rang. It was Amy. "Hi,
I'm glad I found you at home. I thought you were going to a meeting," she
said in her customary toneless voice. "Uh, actually, I, uh, found out my
meeting has been cancelled at the last minute," I said, embarrassed to be
caught in a lie, and glad that I had thought up a second falsehood that
would cancel the first. "Would you and your boyfriend rather come over a
little earlier?" "That's what I wanted to call about. My boyfriend, like,
can't come. But I still, you know, want to come see you anyway."
Hoo boy. And here I thought I had it all worked out. My erection started
to form again, and since I was alone I fingered it idly through my pants
pocket, before deciding that that was an especially foolish thing to be doing.
"Well, I don't know..." "Please, sir, I really need your help. It would
mean a lot to me." There was something about the way she called me sir that
weakened my resolve. Damn, I wished I could see her face, to help me tell if
there was anything to my suspicions as to what she meant. I had to go by
my assessment when I saw her earlier, which was that she was merely naive.
"Well, OK, for a little while." "Um, can I come now? Would that make it
hard for you?" "Uh, give me a little time to eat and clean up, OK? How about
8?" "Um, OK. See you." Click. I wondered what I was letting myself in for.
My attention wandered as I prepared myself dinner, and I had a near-mishap
with a paring knife. After my sumptuous repast of spaghetti and meatballs
(no garlic, just in case - who am I kidding?), I decided to straighten up
the place. Chuckling to (at?) myself, I took a few minutes to clean up the
bedroom as well. If I'm going to kid myself, I might as well be thorough.
Cleaning up took less time than I expected, mostly because I did such a
poor job of it, and I sat down to read a magazine. But I couldn't
concentrate on it. I decided, however, that I was really enjoying the
adrenalin rush I was feeling. I began to mull over the possibilities.
Maybe she would arrive wearing a bikini, come through the front door and lead
me to the bedroom, and .... Nah. I didn't know her well, but that didn't seem
to be her style. Maybe she would play it straight for a while and pretend
to study with me, then at some point slip her hand onto my leg and
rub it, moving closer to my crotch until she was giving me a handjob,
then ask if I'd like to do something more. Yeah, that would be nice.
But again, she's coming over just to study, and anything else is just
my hormones talking.
It was a little less than an hour and a half before she was to be there. I
decided to do a better job of cleaning the bathroom. After all, a gal might
need to go pee even if she's just there to study. While in the bathroom, I
considered that maybe the wisest course would be to jerk off now, so that
I wouldn't be tempted to actually do anything when she was here. Funny how
those childhood associations with the bathroom continue into adulthood. It's
just a good thing my friend Dan isn't coming over here this evening, I
thought. He had been with me at that bar when I met Deborah, and although
I had been definitely attracted to her, there was no doubt in my mind that
it would never have gone beyond just playful touching and dirty talk with
her if he hadn't been egging me on. Not that I blamed Dan for my divorce.
Maybe I should call Dan anyway and invite him to come over while Amy was
here. Wouldn't that put a charge in her circuits!
Maybe Mike; that might be fun for her. Or better still, my three fishing
buddies from up north. Boy, they could be crude; I'd like to see Amy's
reaction when one of them pinched her nipple in front of everyone. There
I go again, I thought. Even if she is desperate for a good grade, I don't
want to see her humiliated, do I? She is so sweet and innocent, and here I
am thinking such thoughts. Of course, if she is coming over to seduce her
professor, then maybe she isn't so sweet, and definitely not so innocent.
It's not that she has anything bad coming to her, but she might deserve to
be taught a lesson.
I sat back down in the living room and resumed reading. Still an hour to go.
I decided to take a walk around the neighborhood to clear my head. It was an
unseasonably warm autumn evening, and the fresh air felt good. But the dark
thoughts continued to loom in my head. I thought of the double entendres
she had been dropping. "My boyfriend can't come." "Would that make it
hard for you." "I like to make things hard." Well, if she really is
interested in trading a little hanky-panky for a grade, then she can't
insist on being too particular about every detail of the transaction.
In fact, if she needs this grade as badly as she says she does, she is
in no position to dictate any of the conditions of the deal.
I caught myself again at this point. Isn't that the fantasy of a dorky
teacher, that he can get free sex in exchange for a good grade? I felt
ashamed, but not so much so that my erection subsided any. There's a
first time for everything, even screwing a student. But the situation
would have to be just right.
OK, so what could I expect from this young woman? Slam bam, thank you ma'm?
She could no doubt be convinced to give a bit more. Probably a blowjob first
if I played my cards right. Caryn had never been too keen on that particular
activity when we were married, which had made it more of an issue to me than
it rightfully should have. So, yeah, Amy should be made to sample the sausage.
What about after that? I'm not really into anal sex, but maybe just once it
might be fun, with a girl who's not in any position (ha ha) to argue. Would
she permit herself to be tied up? I considered that, and realized that I
didn't have the necessary equipment on hand. The ladies I date aren't very
kinky, and anyway I don't know anything about the subject. That kind of
activity is very tricky or someone can actually get hurt.
I realized I was getting too far from my apartment, getting near a bad section.
I turned back. My realization that I was near our small red-light district
caused another wave of guilt to come over me. I have never, never, come even
close to screwing one of my students. Not that I get that many opportunities,
but I have always been careful to not emphasize the power a teacher has
in giving grades, and to not make comments that could be misinterpreted.
Hell, I always make it a point to say "arrive" instead of "come", and
"difficult" instead of "hard" when talking to a female student. It's
a form of sexism, I'm sure, but a benign sort that makes certain that no
one gets any wrong ideas. Now here I am, thinking about the possible sex
acts I might perform with a student who will be, er, arriving in half
an hour. Well, I decided, if she didn't try anything I'd just play it
cool, and if she did come on to me then maybe I'd lead her on a bit before
telling her to forget it. Cheap thrills, I repeated.
Besides, there's lots of times professors have students over to their
place. Usually it's a group of students, and the professor is someone
in the Sociology department hosting a rap session (like, wow, maaaan),
but the point is, having a student over does not automatically mean
something is going on. It might not look good to every single old prude
out there, but that didn't make it wrong. Then again, that analysis was
bullshit, since the ideas going around in my mind definitely WERE wrong.
I walked back up the steps to my apartment, went to the bathroom, then came
back to the living room and sat down on the couch. The kidneys sure were
working overtime tonight. Again I tried to read my magazine. The article I
turned to was about why the U.S. educational system wasn't teaching its
students well enough. Just what I needed. I went to the fridge and got a
can of pop. No beer tonight. I didn't want to do something I later would
regret and blame it on the alcohol.
I went to the bathroom again. Though I felt like I needed to pee, just
a little bit came out. I caught myself checking whether my underwear was
clean. Old boy, I thought, you are setting yourself up for a big letdown.
I went back to the living room, and turned up the thermostat a couple of
degrees. It was a nice night, but you wouldn't want her to get too cold
in her birthday suit, I chuckled to myself.
Why was I even contemplating such a risk to my career, for just an
evening of fun? Stupid, stupid, stupid. I asked myself what it would
take to be worth the risk. Maybe more than just one night of fun. What
if she could be talked into repeat performances? I felt a major wave of
horniness come over me with that thought. Now, that would be something
closer to being worth it. The thought of reducing this apparently classy
girl to the level of common slut was unexpectedly stimulating. But I would
still have to protect myself somehow, from there being the slightest
chance of word getting out. What kind of leverage could I have, once she
had her grade?
How many of her other teachers had gone through this charade? I should
make a righteous stand tonight, and explain to her that trying to get
by in school by sleeping with her professors is wrong. Corny, but the
right thing to do. Yet, when I thought of her, I couldn't bring myself
to believe that she had done this before. If I sensed her leading me
on, and I wasn't sure that I did, I also sensed humiliation and pain,
certainly not what you'd expect from a girl to whom this was old hat.
I was going to have to find out, for my own peace of mind, just
what Amy wanted. Probably she was just naive, and had no clue what
her visit was doing to my imagination. If on the other hand she is
already just another slut, then so be it, I don't have to get involved.
My thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door. I looked at the clock.
Ten minutes before eight. Heart pounding, I opened the door, and was greeted
by a young girl who asked if I'd like to buy some candy for her school's
fundraiser. Sure, kid, just don't come inside the apartment or you'll get
molested by the pervert with the dirty thoughts. I gave her the two dollars,
shut the door and returned to the couch.
I realized that I was disappointed that it hadn't been Amy yet.
I was really looking forward to seeing her, prepared to find out
that she was really and truly coming over just to study, hoping for
it to be something more, dreading that the "something more" was her
usual M.O. for passing a course.
About the time I found my place in the magazine again, there was another
knock at my door. It was Amy.
(continued)
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
To find out more about the anon service, send mail to help@anon.penet.fi.
Due to the double-blind system, any replies to this message will be anonymized,
and an anonymous id will be allocated automatically. You have been warned.
Please report any problems, inappropriate use etc. to admin@anon.penet.fi.
*IMPORTANT server security update*, mail to update@anon.penet.fi for details.
--
Moderator, rec.arts.erotica. Submissions to erotica@unix.amherst.edu.
Anonymous posts to an13450@anon.penet.fi. Please, no reposts, first
drafts, or requests for "subscriptions," stories, GIFs, or archive sites.
END -- Cut Here -- cut here
**_MOUSE_**
"Remember the Lion"
ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au
From ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au Thu Apr 03 19:00:58 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-pull.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!newsfeed.nacamar.de!nntp.uio.no!news.uoregon.edu!disco.iinet.net.au!news.per.connect.com.au!news.mel.connect.com.au!news.mel.aone.net.au!ghostgum.hunterlink.net.au!i11
From: ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au (**_MOUSE_**)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Story : Author Unknown - Safe Sex (3 Parts - TXT) - safesex2.doc [01/01]
Date: Fri, 04 Apr 97 00:00:58 GMT
Organization: HunterLink - An Australian Network Provider
Lines: 477
Message-ID: <5hvojd$e5r@ghostgum.hunterlink.net.au>
NNTP-Posting-Host: i11.hunterlink.net.au
X-Newsreader: News Xpress Version 1.0 Beta #4
BEGIN -- Cut Here -- cut here
From: IN%"laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu" 31-JUL-1993 00:39:17.02
To: IN%"C8835943@cc.newcastle.edu.au"
CC:
Subj: Story/Safesex-2.Z
Return-path: <laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu>
Received: from sal.cs.uiuc.edu by cc.newcastle.edu.au (PMDF V4.2-13 #4117) id
<01H168UG6Y1C95OORZ@cc.newcastle.edu.au>; Sat, 31 Jul 1993 00:38:52 +1000
Received: by sal.cs.uiuc.edu id AA05871 (5.67a/IDA-1.5 for
C8835943@cc.newcastle.edu.au); Fri, 30 Jul 1993 09:38:28 -0500
Date: Fri, 30 Jul 1993 09:38:28 -0500
From: Joshua A Laff <laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu>
Subject: Story/Safesex-2.Z
To: C8835943@cc.newcastle.edu.au
Reply-to: laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu
Message-id: <199307301438.AA05871@sal.cs.uiuc.edu>
Content-transfer-encoding: 7BIT
X-References: laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu
Archive-name: Safesex-2
[I forgot to mention in the first chapter, that I would be happy
to hear any comments, positive or negative; should I bother to
keep posting? - the author]
She looked much the same as she did in class, wearing nice jeans and a
conservative print blouse. She was wearing sandals instead of her usual
loafers, and no more makeup than usual, which is to say, none that I would
notice, although some girls really know how to use makeup so that you
don't even know it's there. Her long medium-brown hair was held in the
back as usual by a clip. She wore no jewelry except for a small right-hand
ring. The only thing I noticed out of the ordinary, almost obscured by
the books that she held to her chest like a schoolgirl, was that
the top two buttons of her blouse were undone. I couldn't remember
if that was Amy's usual style. I decided I was going to have to
sneak a peek down there sometime during the evening.
"Hi", she said, and I thought her voice cracked a little. She cleared her
throat and said, "I hope I'm not, you know, too early. I made better, um,
time than I expected." Her face was expressionless. So was her voice, even
moreso than usual. "No problem", I replied, "come on in and put your books on
the table over there. Would you like something to drink, pop or some juice?"
"Sure, a Cokersumthin." I went to the kitchen and retrieved a can from the
fridge.
When I came into the dining room, she was standing by one of chairs at
the table. "Nice place," she offered. I moved next to her, preparing to
move around her, and said, "go ahead and sit down, let's get started."
As I motioned toward the chair my hand grazed her back. Gee whiz, here
I was trying to maintain my cool, and right away I did something that
could be misconstrued. I pulled my hand back but did not comment. This
small faux pas, and the fact that she hadn't flinched, perversely gave
me a brief bit of courage, and I considered what kind of leading remarks
I could make, ones that would seem innocent unless she already had ideas,
but would still require her to make the first real move. Something like
"what hard things would you like to work on first?" No, too obvious. "I'm
glad you're here." "What do you need?" "What can I do for you?" No, I was
afraid those would seem too personal or suggestive if she was here with
pure intentions. I was unable to realize that if her intentions were indeed
pure, that she would think nothing of such innocuous remarks. Paralyzed with
paranoia, my courage evaporated and I wound up saying nothing as I sat down
at her right.
I thought I detected a scent, some sort of light cologne. Nice, and not
too much. Maybe she wore it for me, or maybe she wears some all the time,
though I couldn't recall smelling it in my office. Can't throw a woman in
jail for wearing perfume when she studies.
I opened her book to the chapter we had been covering in class, and
began going over the material with her. As usual, she seemed to be
only going through the motions of studying. After a bit, I gave her a
problem to work, and I turned my gaze toward her neck, peering as far
down the front of her blouse as I could and still be undiscovered. The
light wasn't really coming in at the proper angle for me to see very
far, and I was able to glimpse only just above the top of her cleavage.
No sign of a bra, although it was possible that I just couldn't see far
enough. I was intrigued.
I quickly looked back at her face; she was asking me if she was doing the
sample problem correctly. Good thing she wasn't much for eye contact, or I'd
be caught looking down her shirt. I gave her a little redirection in her
work, and she resumed scribbling. I noticed that as she worked, the fingers
of her left hand were idly playing with one of the lower buttons on her
blouse. It was going to be a real challenge keeping my hands to myself.
"Here, would you like some M&M's? I just bought them from a girl for
her school's fundraiser." She smiled, for the first time that day I think,
said "thanks", and took the package from my hand. "You shouldn't take candy
from strangers, you know, but in this case I think it's OK," I ventured.
This was a little more provocative than I had planned to say, but it seemed
sort of all right. "I can trust you?" she said, and I wasn't sure whether it
was a statement or a question. She looked at me for a moment, then turned
back to her problem, as I said "I'm safe."
I feigned moving something on the floor with my shoe, to get a chance to look
again at her feet. I was not surprised that they were as nice looking as her
hands, with no nail polish, just clean and natural. I worried that she'd think
I was a weirdo if I spent too long looking down there, so I returned my
attention to the pages of the book. I wasn't sure if she consciously realized
what I had been looking at, but she chose that moment to slip her left foot
out of its sandal, and tucked that ankle under her right thigh, in a
semi-Indian fashion, the sole of her foot facing me. I guess I am a weirdo,
because I found that it stimulated me a surprising amount.
I got up, and brought a floor lamp over next to the dining table, trying
to guess what the proper angle was to get a maximum view down her blouse
next chance I got. "There, that's better, isn't it?" I said.
She was still getting the exercise answers wrong, and sighed, "I don't think
I'll ever get this." "Sure you will", I fibbed as I sat back down, "you're
getting better." "I don't know what I'll do if I can't stay in the pre-med
program. My parents will kill me," she went on, looking at me steadily for
once. I asked her how she picked pre-med, and she said that both her parents
were in the medical profession and that it was just expected. You have to
feel sorry for anyone in that situation. If she fails, the weight of the
world is on her shoulders, and even if she succeeds it's only what everyone
expected her to do. "Come on, you can do it, let's try these problems here",
I encouraged her, and I fought the urge to pat her on the thigh for emphasis.
Amy looked at me, then down again at her papers, and asked, "I really
need a B. Isn't, um, there something I could do for extra credit?"
Her voice cracked ever so slightly again as she spoke. I sneaked a
quick look down her blouse, but really didn't see much more than
before. Well, here we go again. Was she, or wasn't she trying to start
something? Surely she was. My curiosity was getting the better of me,
yet I had to be sure before committing myself to saying something overt. I
considered a thousand different things to say, without finding the magic
combination of words that would be safe and still tell me what I wanted to
know. I finally told her, "well, the course covers the fundamentals of basic
algebra, so there really isn't anything you can skip and make up for with
other material." Not very sexy, I know, but I couldn't afford to make a
mistake. "Oh. I see." Her voice had a flat tone of dejection in it. After a
moment, she tried again. "What about if I came over and graded some papers
for you?" I struggled with my emotions. I wanted to hear her to offer a
somewhat more personal favor than grading some boring papers. But if the
offer was not to be freely given, the ramifications would be serious. "Uh,
no, outside work like grading papers can't have any bearing on the grade a
student gets. It wouldn't be fair". As though what was going through my mind
was fair. "What can I do?" she asked, more to herself than to me. A tear
worked its way out of the corner of her eye, and began a journey down her
cheek. "Keep trying, you'll get it," was all I could muster. I hoped this
was not some sort of scam she was pulling; could that tear be genuine? It
was awfully well timed.
She wiped the tear from her cheek, and said, "I'm sorry. Um, could I use
your bathroom?" "Sure, down that hall, first door on the right," I said,
glad I had taken the trouble to give it a second cleaning. She slipped her
sandal back on and got up, and I watched as she walked out of the dining
room. Her blouse was not the clingy kind, so it was hard to be sure, but it
seemed that maybe her breasts were moving more freely than they would if she
were wearing a bra. Or was that my imagination seeing what it wanted to see?
I hadn't been able to tell for sure when I'd seen her walk before, because
of the way she'd been holding her books. Well, I'd be sure to get a better
look now, when she came back.
When the bathroom door closed, I got up and moved the floor lamp a few
inches and turned it a few degrees, trying to have it be in just the right
spot to shine down on her chest when she sat down again. I heard the toilet
flush and the sink being used, and the sound of her blowing her nose. It
occurred to me that maybe she was having her period, but I looked and saw
that she had left her purse on the table, so that probably wasn't the case.
I'm not too hung up about menstrual blood, but it is one of those things
you don't usually think about when you size up a girl as a bed partner,
even though it's part of every girl's life. After another minute, I heard
the bathroom door open and she returned.
I noticed immediately that the third button of her blouse was now undone.
Yes, as she walked you could see from the way her blouse moved that there
was nothing constraining her small breasts underneath. So. It was certain
now that she wanted to earn her grade in exactly the way I had suspected.
Why couldn't she be more straightforward about it? Maybe nothing more
complicated than nerves. I just said "everything all right?" but knew that
I no longer had to be ultra careful with what I chose to say. I could say
something now, or wait and she'd say something soon that would confirm her
intentions, and I'd figure out how to tell her no. I'd give her that wise
yet caring advice, you know, something like out of Father Knows Best.
Amy sat down, looked at me and nodded. Her face was a little paler than
before. Nerves, I assumed. I wondered if I looked pale too, since I was
feeling a touch of nervousness myself. I wanted to prolong the suspense,
so I decided to ignore her signals a little longer, and said to her, "ok,
let's try again," and gave her another problem to work. She looked like
she was unsure what she wanted to do, and started to say something, but
picked up her pencil and began to work. As she leaned forward I once more
gazed down her blouse. The view was much clearer now. Her breasts were
indeed smallish, perhaps a B-cup, but she made up in quality whatever might
be lacking in quantity. I could see practically down to her nipples.
As she wrote, she rested her left arm on the table, and after a few moments
she did a most extraordinary thing. She casually hooked her free thumb
loosely over the fourth button of her blouse, the topmost one that was still
buttoned. After a few more seconds, and with the same studied casualness, she
then leaned back just slightly, so that her thumb stretched the blouse fairly
tight. I watched avidly. She was giving me a clear view of her breasts. With
the lamp repositioned now, in fact, I couldn't have seen more if she had
chosen to take her top entirely off. Her breasts were completely free from
the fabric of the blouse, supported only by their own adequate muscle
structure. I kept silent, afraid to say anything that might break the spell
and cause her to cover up again. I studied her nipples. They were generally
in proportion to her breasts, although possibly a little smaller than average,
and they were a nice medium brown, with a clear definition of where they
started and where they stopped. She would turn heads in a crowd if she were
to wear a see-through blouse. I looked at her face. She was trying hard to
look like she was focused on her work.
I wondered if she could possibly think I wasn't sizing her up. No way. Her
purpose was clear. I could make whatever move I wanted.
My breathing was noticeable now, at least to me. I hoped she didn't notice,
because I wanted to appear in complete control of myself. The view
of her breasts was even more exciting to me than I had expected, and I was
no longer sure I wanted to tell her no. I decided to correct a mistake she
was making in her math, and to get her attention I lightly touched her right
hand. "I can show you the right technique," I said, and as I took the pencil
from her I made sure to touch her hand just an instant too long. It felt
good to touch her soft skin, and I wanted more. She looked up at me, and I
smiled at her to try to make her feel at ease. She dropped her gaze back
down. I saw her sneak a quick glance down her blouse, and she took her thumb
out and straightened slightly to let the blouse resume its normal shape.
She tried to do it casually, but her cheeks flushed just a bit to give her
away. I guessed that she had miscalculated just how exposed she had been.
She wanted to have me see her attributes, yes, but not really flaunt them.
Well, she had flaunted them. I wondered what she would do next if I didn't
make some sort of move.
I showed her the way to get the right answer to the problem, and
gave her another to work on. She picked up her pencil, looked like she
was going to try again, then put it down and looked at me. "What can
I do to get a B in your class?" she asked. "We've been through this
already. What do you have in mind?" I responded. I thought we were
finally getting to the heart of the matter.
She looked back down, and said quietly, "whatever it takes." She put her
palms on the chair beside her upper legs, forcing her knees together, and
held her arms stiff. Her blouse, its sides being pushed together by her
upper arms, billowed a bit and exposed her upper chest, although I couldn't
see as far down as before. "Do you have something in mind?" I repeated.
"I dunno," she mumbled. I waited, probably for only 15 seconds, but it
seemed like longer. She said nothing more. Undoubtedly she felt that she
had laid her cards on the table, and it was up to me to accept or reject
her offer. But there was no actual offer to discuss yet, and even though
her intentions were very clear, her implied offer was not nearly acceptable.
It would still require some care to get her to admit what she was here
for. Apparently the next move was mine. I swallowed, and began.
"Listen, let me, uh, ask you something. I hope I'm not jumping to any
conclusions here, and I apologize in advance if I am. But your actions
tonight have been very, uh, unclear. Someone watching you tonight might,
you know, get the idea you are trying to interest me in a deal, where I
give you a B in the course, in exchange for some, uh, personal favors tonight.
Sex, that is." No answer. "Is that what you are trying to propose?" Even
though I was sure I had made all the correct inferences, I still felt a
thrill as I asked her, for this was the moment of truth. No other moment
would be as risky, after this.
After an interminable wait of maybe five seconds, her lips parted and she
said, "I guess so." I could barely make out her words, she spoke them so
softly and indistinctly.
She could not look at me, at odds with herself, obviously pulled in too many
directions for her to take any decisive action. She was clearly not happy that
this moment had arrived, yet it was also clear that she had decided for herself
that this was the only way open to her. I wanted to prolong this.
This was not how I had envisioned it going. The few times I've had girls
come on to me, it was always with this big ego thing on their part, like
they knew they could make me do what they wanted just by tempting me.
Like with Caryn; she had been pretty cool toward me the first semester
I met her, until suddenly she warmed up and got me to ask her out.
I figured Amy would be that way too. Instead, it was almost like she
figured I'd turn her down. Like, for once I really and truly had the
upper hand in this.
"Well." I reached my arm behind her, putting my hand on her far shoulder,
lightly rubbing the area near her spine with my thumb. I paused a few
more seconds. "This comes as a surprise." Not exactly a truthful statement,
but what the hell. "Are you a virgin?" I had to know. She gave half a
shake of her head to mean no. "You certainly are a nice woman, and very
attractive. But there are a couple of things the matter with what you
propose." Technically, what I had proposed. All she had done was show me
her tits, but let's not quibble. I watched as she looked up at me. As
expected, she had a slightly perplexed look on her face, which was quickly
replaced by a more numb look as she concluded that she was being turned down.
"I think I'd better leave," she said, starting to get up. I didn't want her
to leave; the constant erection I'd had for the last forty-five minutes felt
good, and I didn't want it to stop. "No, uh, wait, listen to what I have to
say." She sat back down and looked again at her knees.
I continued to lightly stroke her back. Even through her blouse, it felt very
good to me. "First, it wouldn't be, uh, fair to the other students in the
class. They are all working to earn their grade, and it isn't fair to let
someone get the same grade without, you know, working for it." She replied,
"but I have been working, so hard." This was the first sign of any inclination
to assert herself, but I cut her off with a gesture of my hand. "Second,
you seem to have somewhat overestimated the value of your services. If
I were selling a passing grade for cash, which by the way I am not, how
much do you think I would charge?" "I dunno", she said dully. A real
Shakespeare, this girl.
I labored to keep my tone even; I tried to avoid the "ums" and "you knows"
that would give away my own nervousness. A definite plan was forming in my
mind. "A minimum of $2000. There are a lot of risks involved in such an deal,
and anyone would be foolish to take that risk unless there was a lot to
be gained. On the other hand, I could go downtown tonight and find a girl
to sleep with me for $50." For that price, I'd probably get myself a good
case of the clap, but now was not the time for a lesson in either
microeconomics or medicine. "Now, tell me, what do you think you could
do for me in bed tonight that would be worth $2000?" Amy was silent,
humiliated. "Right," I said, taunting her slightly. "I want to go now,"
she repeated.
I realized we had reached a crisis point. An unstable equilibrium. I wanted
to keep the level of excitement exactly where it was right there, but that
wasn't going to be possible. She was ready to walk out. I could either let
things simmer down and let her go, or go through with what she and I had
both been hinting at. I reached my decision. For once, I said to myself, I
wasn't going to be wishy-washy.
"Now," I pressed on, turning my chair slightly to face her, and removing
my hand from her back and placing it on her knee instead, "if you were
serious about all this, here is what you would be proposing. You would
offer to come to my apartment every week; today's Thursday, let's say
every Thursday night." She looked up, startled by my sudden nuance, though
she continued to look straight ahead and not at me. In a way, I was as
startled as she was by what I was saying. I didn't know what her reaction
would be to this, but I told myself that I could pass it off as just
hypothetical if she objected. Another adrenalin surge in my system made
it difficult, but I continued to maintain a slow, gentle and rather formal
tone to my voice.
"While you were here, you would submit to anything I asked of you. Do you
know what I mean by submit?" She nodded. I decided to be specific anyway.
"It means that you would do whatever I say, without question, without
dissent, and without hesitation. I would not cause actual physical injury,
but aside from that you would have no right to refuse whatever I asked. If
you did refuse a single demand, the deal would be cancelled. Understood?"
Amy nodded again. This was going better than I had imagined. I had to be
careful not to spoil things by going too fast, but it looked like Amy had
real potential as a slave. I wished I knew what exactly to do with one. I
waited for Amy's reaction. She still didn't look up, but said "OK", and
again started to get up.
"Wait a minute," I interrupted, my hand touching her on the thigh to
indicate she should sit back down. "I'm just saying what kind of a deal
you should be proposing. I didn't say that I would accept." The oldest
negotiating trick in the book: make them think they've agreed to a deal,
then hold up. "Now, there's not many weeks left in the quarter. I'm not
sure that you could do enough to earn your grade. So part of the deal
would have to be that I might invite one or two friends over to visit
on Thursday nights. You would be required to submit to them just the
same as you submit to me. I can't tell you in advance what those demands
would be, because I frankly don't know what they might want. If you
refuse their demands, the deal would be over. Do you follow me?" Amy
looked down and swallowed hard but said nothing. After all my hours
of indecision, I was amazed at how smoothly I was coming up with these
details, and in fact how smooth my voice was. It was like I was
delivering a lecture to a class. Most of the ideas I described
were ones I had briefly thought about during the day, but they had
not been fleshed out until the moment I spoke. I decided I was
comfortable with what I was saying, and greatly hoped that Amy would
be too. Of course, if she bridled at this point, I could still say I was
just speaking hypothetically, trying to explain to her why all this
was wrong.
"There are six weeks remaining in the quarter, counting tonight, plus one
week to turn in grades. If you were to perform your end of this deal, then
my part of the deal would be to give you the grade you need in this class."
Amy still said nothing, her hands wedged under her thighs, her eyes
focused on her knees. "Now, you may think this is a good deal, since
you know what you'd be getting out of it, a good grade. But I have no
idea of the quality of what I'd be getting in return." That was a lie.
I'd seen her titties. I paused a few moments to let her think about what
I'd said, as well as to decide whether I really wanted to say what I was
about to say. "I want to see what you've got to offer." I reached over and
swiveled her chair to face mine directly. Again, I paused to see what she
might say in response to all this. She continued to study her knees, bracing
herself with her arms against the sides of the chair, and said nothing.
My heart pounding, I said, "if this is what you want, take off your
blouse now, please." I thought saying please was a nice touch, though
it sounded odd in the context of everything else I had said. I realized
that this was a big step: if she complied, I could no longer maintain the
fiction that I was speaking hypothetically. After a second's hesitation, she
unbuttoned the fourth button, then the fifth, finally the sixth, and opened
the blouse to let me view. My peek down her blouse had not misled me, and
the view I was now witnessing was truly inspiring. Her breasts, though
somewhat small, were perfectly symmetrical and perfectly supported. Her
smooth nipples were an even, deep, bronze all over, with no variation
in color, and no moles or veins or hairs or other imperfections. Simply
perfect. I spread my legs slightly, reached forward and did the same
to hers, and moved so our chairs were touching. I slid the blouse down
her arms, took it from her waist and placed it on the table, then reached
forward and placed my fingers on her back, my palms on her ribs and my
thumbs on her nipples.
As I rubbed the tips of her breasts, I resumed my monologue. Her nipples
stiffened slightly, though maybe not as much as other women I've known.
"There are a few more details to be worked out before we agree to a deal.
You will continue to attend classes and take the exams. This is partly to
keep from arousing suspicion, but also is for your own protection. That way,
you are free to cancel the deal at any time, and I will grade you fairly if
you do. So you should try to keep up with the classwork, and if you feel you
can get your grade legitimately, you can still do that. You can view your
deal with me as insurance." She sat quietly as I rolled her nipples.
"Naturally, you will not tell anyone of our arrangement, and you will
act natural when around me in class or afterwards." I had already
figured out how to further insure her discretion. "You will come here
every week without fail. If your bike breaks down, you will have to
figure out a way to get here. If it is raining, you will have to figure out
a way to get here. If you are having your period, you must come anyway and
I will decide what to do. If you are sick, you must come anyway and I will
decide what to do. If your grandmother dies, you must come anyway and I will
decide whether you can go to the funeral. If you fail to show up one time,
the deal is over. I want to be sure you understand this." Amy nodded.
I asked, "are you on the Pill?" She shook her head no. "That's OK," I said.
What I had in mind for her wouldn't require very much birth control. I
continued rubbing her breasts. "Your breasts are very beautiful." After a few
seconds, Amy mumbled "thank you." I then added, "most women would be moaning
with pleasure from having their nipples tickled." I paused, gauging her
reaction, and she said nothing, but quietly murmurred "mmmm". I was pleased.
If she would put up with personal criticism in an intimate situation like
this, she might well be open to most anything I might suggest. Her reaction
also indicated that she would allow me to arbitrate the standards of feminine
response. I made a mental note of that for later, and decided to let her know
that her response so far had been insufficient.
"Perhaps you are the kind of woman who needs to have her nipples sucked
in order to get turned on." When she still said nothing, I asked her to
stand up. I craned my neck and she bent toward me slightly as I brought
her right breast to my mouth. I took her nipple in, at first lightly swirling
it with my tongue, then sucking it gently, and finally sucking it rather hard.
She began moaning right away, just as I figured she might, and when I
first sucked hard she made an odd little sound, sort of a cross between a
grunt and a chirp, and I eased up for a moment in case I was hurting her, but
she didn't flinch when I resumed sucking hard. She began stroking the back
of my head, and I repeated the process with her other breast. Her nipples
were still only partially erect, but she was moaning so I didn't worry
about it. Either she was getting good and turned on, which was good, or else
she was faking for my benefit, which was better, at least for my purposes.
I stopped sucking, and told her to sit down. "I think you'll be very
satisfactory. I've been doing all the talking for a while. Is there anything
you think I should know?" She shook her head and quietly said no. "Then I'd
like you to tell me in your own words your interpretation of our arrangement,
and if we understand each other then I think we can proceed." I waited for
her to speak.
She hesitated, then said, "I will come here every Thursday night...".
I stopped her, and told her to look at me when she spoke. She restarted,
"I will come every Thursday, and do what you want. If you want, um, to
have friends, I will, um, do what they want too. If I don't, the deal is off.
If I do, you will give me an A." I think a little of my eloquence got lost
in the translation, but she had the gist of it. I had to keep from chuckling
at her change of the grade from a B to an A, but I couldn't let it pass
without some comment. "I think the grade we had discussed was a B, but
under the circumstances I suppose I can go along with what you want. This
arrangement will continue until I turn in the final grades for the class.
If that's agreeable to you then we have a deal."
Amy looked down, then evidently decided that she still was required to look
at me. She brought her eyes back up but had trouble maintaining eye contact.
I waited, wondering if she would volunteer anything. As usual, she said
nothing, so I said, "OK, I'd like you to go to my bedroom, the first door on
the left, take off your clothes and get on the bed. I will join you in a
minute."
(continued)
END -- Cut Here -- cut here
**_MOUSE_**
"Remember the Lion"
ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au
From ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au Thu Apr 03 19:01:09 1997
Path: news1.infoave.net!news-dc-10.sprintlink.net!news-pull.sprintlink.net!news.sprintlink.net!news-peer.sprintlink.net!cpk-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!su-news-hub1.bbnplanet.com!news.bbnplanet.com!newsfeed.direct.ca!news.uoregon.edu!disco.iinet.net.au!news.per.connect.com.au!news.mel.connect.com.au!news.mel.aone.net.au!ghostgum.hunterlink.net.au!i11
From: ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au (**_MOUSE_**)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories
Subject: Story : Author Unknown - Safe Sex (3 Parts - TXT) - safesex3.doc [01/01]
Date: Fri, 04 Apr 97 00:01:09 GMT
Organization: HunterLink - An Australian Network Provider
Lines: 713
Message-ID: <5hvojt$e5r@ghostgum.hunterlink.net.au>
NNTP-Posting-Host: i11.hunterlink.net.au
X-Newsreader: News Xpress Version 1.0 Beta #4
BEGIN -- Cut Here -- cut here
From: IN%"laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu" 31-JUL-1993 00:39:26.65
To: IN%"C8835943@cc.newcastle.edu.au"
CC:
Subj: Story/Safesex-3.Z
Return-path: <laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu>
Received: from sal.cs.uiuc.edu by cc.newcastle.edu.au (PMDF V4.2-13 #4117) id
<01H168UBVA9C95OMEM@cc.newcastle.edu.au>; Sat, 31 Jul 1993 00:39:13 +1000
Received: by sal.cs.uiuc.edu id AA05888 (5.67a/IDA-1.5 for
C8835943@cc.newcastle.edu.au); Fri, 30 Jul 1993 09:38:33 -0500
Date: Fri, 30 Jul 1993 09:38:33 -0500
From: Joshua A Laff <laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu>
Subject: Story/Safesex-3.Z
To: C8835943@cc.newcastle.edu.au
Reply-to: laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu
Message-id: <199307301438.AA05888@sal.cs.uiuc.edu>
Content-transfer-encoding: 7BIT
X-References: laff@sal.cs.uiuc.edu
Lines: 708
Archive-name: Safesex-3
I went to the bathroom to get the K-Y and a couple of condoms, and just
like in a poorly written movie I found myself looking in the mirror. I
thought, "proud of yourself?" No backing out now. I felt guilt, but reasoned
that we were both going to get what we wanted. Beside, she needed major
help with her self-esteem, and right now maybe just totally giving herself
to a man was what she needed. That's the kind of logic a horny man sometimes
resorts to. While in the bathroom I decided to try to pee, but couldn't.
The erection I was sporting probably had something to do with that. No pee,
just a couple of drops of seminal fluid oozed out. No matter, I didn't really
need to, and in a few minutes it wouldn't be much of a priority. I heard the
bedsprings briefly squeak in the other room. Obedient girl. I wondered if,
in spite of all my caution, I was letting myself get set up in some sort of
con game. But I didn't see how, since I was so sure I had her pegged
correctly. If this was a con, it was an all-time great one.
I went to the closet to get my Polaroid (the 35mm would be better,
but I wanted the discretion that instant photography offers), and
checked that the safety lock on the front door was set. It wasn't,
and I set it. Why hadn't I thought of that earlier? Mighty funny photos
someone waiting outside the door could have come in and taken three minutes
ago. This thought made me chuckle at myself, and reinforced my conviction
that no nasty surprises were in store for me.
It's a good thing there's no history of cardiac trouble in my family,
because once again my heart started pounding hard as I walked toward the
bedroom. I strode in, and as I expected Amy was lying naked,
on her back, on top of my bed. She had turned on the nightstand light, at
its lowest setting, so my view was only dim. I hadn't even speculated on how
she would look from the waist down, I had been so preoccupied with her top,
but she was no disappointment. Her legs were together, so I couldn't have
seen everything even if the light had been brighter, but her pubic hair was
soft looking. The hair only reached a couple of inches above her pubic bone,
maybe less, and I imagined that she could wear the most revealing bathing
suits with confidence. Or maybe she just kept it trimmed. I was looking forward
to studying this matter.
I put my paraphernalia on the dresser at the foot of the bed, guessing that
she would not see what I had brought in. She raised herself slightly onto
her elbows, spread her legs maybe an inch, and looked at me, apparently waiting
for me to start the ceremonies. Ever passive. I walked over to the nightstand
next to the bed, turned up the light to its brightest level, and went back to
the wall switch and turned on the ceiling light. The light was harsh, but
I wanted a good look. I could see that her pubic hair was about the same
medium brown as the hair on her head, or maybe even lighter. They say pubic
hair is always darker, but I'm not sure that's such a hard and fast rule. At
least it wasn't with Amy. Maybe it only seemed lighter because it was so
sparse and fine.
I spoke. "Um, I think you are getting a little ahead of the game, Amy. Sit
up, and get into a kneeling position." She complied, and folded her hands
in her lap. I told her to spread her legs, and she did a little bit. Then
I told her to take her finger and rub her cunt until she had permission
to stop. She hesitated, and I asked her if I needed to show her how. She
shook her head and began doing as she was told. I wondered if her hesitation
was due to the nature of the request, or due to the fact I had said cunt.
I didn't care, as long as she went along. This was my chance to have things
my way.
I quickly undressed in front of her, taking off my underpants last. See,
it had been worth checking that they were clean. She watched me as I undressed,
and kept her eyes on my penis as it bobbed when it came free, but her face
was expressionless and I assumed she was watching only because
she thought I expected her to. I asked, "are you getting turned on?" and
she said "yes". I probed, "are you turned on by your finger,
or from watching me?" She replied, "both". I felt like I was playing a
game of twenty questions, but decided that now was not the moment to ask her
to elaborate. As near as I could see, or hear, her pussy was still pretty dry,
so I didn't put much stock in her answer anyway. "Of course, you were already
pretty hot, from having me play with your boobs, huh?" "Um hmm." I wanted
her to remember her dining room lesson. I'm no student of psychology, but it
seemed like the right approach, to keep hammering away at her insecurities.
I joined her on the bed, also kneeling, and shifted around until we were
facing knee to knee. I put my hand on her hand as it moved around her
cunt, and after half a minute told her that she could stop. "I like to
be with a woman when she's good and hot," I lied. Well, I mean, I like a
hot woman, but I lied in implying that I thought this one was hot yet. "You'll
have to keep it in control, though, and not let your lust get in the way
of what I want." I took her face in my hands, leaned forward, and pressed
my lips to hers. Her lips parted, and I tasted her tongue. She reached up
and put her hands behind my head, and rocked her head gently back and forth
to add passion to her kiss. Simulated passion, of course.
After a little of this, I pulled back and said, "here, I want you to put your
hand here," and put her right hand on my left thigh, "and this hand here," and
put her other hand on my right thigh. I resumed kissing her, and she began
massaging my legs. I broke away again and said, "no, just rest your hands
there," and went back to kissing her. I didn't have any handcuffs, and didn't
know anything about bondage anyway, but this might be the next best thing, to
see if she would keep herself immobilized on my command. Keeping one hand
behind her head while I kissed her, I used my other hand to begin
playing with her nipples again, first one, then the other, back and forth.
I heard her go "mmm" as we kissed. She had learned her lesson well.
I put my hands on her cheeks and pulled her face away from mine, tilting her
head downward, and began lightly pushing her head, prepared to add more
pressure if needed. She allowed me to push her down until the top of her
head was around my chest, then resisted, as if she only then realized what
I was intending. "I have something else I'd like you to kiss," I said. I let
her shift her weight slightly, then resume pressing, this time a little harder.
She let herself be folded down until her mouth was near my penis. I then put
my hands on her hands, so as to remind her not to move them from my thighs.
She started kissing the tip of my cock without further instruction, not too
accurately since neither she nor I was doing anything to hold it steady.
After a half minute of love pecks, I told her, "kiss it all over." She
shifted her weight again and kissed it up and down the shaft. I let her
do this for another minute, then told her, "now go back and just kiss the
top of it." I used my right hand to steady my penis, and she seemed to
understand, and passively resist, what was about to happen. In spite of
the fact that moments earlier she had had her mouth next to the tip, she
now kissed all around under the head of my cock but not squarely on top.
I put my other hand under her chin to lift her head slightly so that she
was kissing the tip in spite of herself. Then I slipped a finger between
her lips and separated them. She pretended not to catch on to what I had
in mind, which was fine since I was perfectly willing to be explicit.
Slowly I worked my finger between her teeth, and thereupon pushed down on
her lower jaw to indicate she should open her mouth. She didn't comply
quickly, but she didn't actively resist either.
When I had half of the head of my cock in her open mouth, I stated, "this
is getting you more and more turned on, isn't it?" She nodded slightly and
said "um hmm". "Go ahead then," I said, and pushed downward on the back of
her head. She allowed the head of my cock to slide in, and I let her stop
there.
She didn't seem to have any clear idea of what to do at this juncture.
Despite all my fantasizing about her during the evening, I hadn't stopped
to consider whether she'd be any good at this. From what I could tell,
this might be her first time doing it. I reminded myself to take it
real slowly, since the last thing I needed was to make her gag. On the
other hand, she probably didn't know where to draw the line, so if I
was patient enough I could probably get her to perform some amount of
deep throat if she was capable of it.
I tried to figure out a way to let her know what to do, without accusing her
of not knowing. Besides, she surely knew, at least in theory, and just needed
to be encouraged to start. "Does it turn you on to suck it?" was the best
I could come up with. Her reply of "um hmm" was equally unimaginative,
although you could make allowances for the fact that it's difficult to be
eloquent when there's someone's cock in her mouth. She began giving a
little more action. "Watch out for your teeth," I cautioned as she began
to scrape rather than tease. I'd let her do it her own way for a while
before trying to instruct her. Not that I was such an expert. My only
expertise was as a recipient, and even that was awfully limited.
In my highly aroused state, she didn't have to be a trained expert to quickly
bring me to a pre-orgasmic peak anyway, and I wanted to make this last. So I
periodically took my cock out of her mouth, touching her nose and cheek
with it, then putting it back in. "You're very good," I told her. What the
hey, give her a little encouragement. "Your tongue is so good," I added,
hoping she would take the hint and ease up on the teeth a little. I repeated
this process of putting it in, taking it out. Each time, I put it in a little
deeper than before, although still not even halfway. There was plenty of time,
and hurrying it could only spoil things.
After a few minutes of this, I pulled out again and sat there watching
her. She waited for a bit to see what I was going to do next, and when
I didn't do anything immediately she looked up at me. I placed my hands
on hers, which were still rooted to their spot on my thighs, and asked
her, "what do you call this?", and she paused before replying thickly,
"oral sex." "No," I corrected, pointing to my penis, "what do you call
this thing you are sucking?" "Your thing, uh, your penis." She said the
word like it was a foreign term. "That's just the medical term. You
surely call it something when you are talking with your girlfriends?
A dick, a cock, a prick, a pecker?"
She thought for a moment, straightened her back somewhat to face me,
then shyly returned my smile and said, "some of the girls in the dorm
call it a cock." "If you didn't call it that, what would you call it,
a dick, or a prick, or a pecker?" "A dick, I guess." There was just a
hint of flirtatiousness in her voice. "You don't like to call it a
prick or a pecker?" "No." I waited to see if she would elaborate. She
said, "that's what gross guys call it." "Or gross girls?" "Yeah." "OK
then," I said, "from now on you are NOT to call it a penis or a dick
or a cock. When you want to suck it, you say 'may I please suck your
pecker', or 'may I please suck your prick'. Go ahead, try it now for
me."
The smile disappeared from her face. "May I please suck your pe-pecker?" she
asked in a wooden voice, the word seeming to stick in her throat. "Yes you
may," I replied cheerfully. As she bent back down and fit it into her
mouth again, I added, "and by the way, I've changed my mind. You are
not to refer to it as a pecker anymore either. Only the word 'prick'
will be acceptable." She made no sound, other than the soft slurping
and smacking associated with the act she was performing on me, but my
guess was that she would remember to use the right vocabulary. She
would remember who was boss. I pushed her head as far down on my cock
as she could comfortably take it, which was still only about halfway.
A man has a chance to be introspective when he is being given head.
I pondered the change in my personality that night. Or rather, the
side of my personality I was allowing to come forward. Never during
my time with Caryn had I tried to dominate her the way I was beginning
to dominate Amy. Caryn was not the type of woman to be dominated. And
the few women I had dated since the divorce, well, I was always trying
to be gentlemanly with them, so I never approached them in this way.
It never even occurred to me to do so. It was different with Amy. Her
needs were straightforward: a good grade. If somehow I insulted her
and she walked out, so what? She wasn't going to cause any trouble,
I judged. I could allow myself to be more free with her than I ever
had been with a woman before. Whether or not it was a "good" side of
me, it was a side I enjoyed. For once, I was getting things my own way.
I suddenly realized I had better pull out or I would come right then.
Because, I had other plans for where my load of sperm was going to go.
"That's enough of that for now. You are very good, and later I'd like to
teach you a few tricks you may not know. But now, how would you like a nice
backrub?" Amy straightened up partway, looked at me, and said, "sure."
I wouldn't say she exactly lit up at the notion, but her relief was evident.
Probably because she was getting tired, and also because she figured that
receiving a backrub was safe. She had gotten away cheap and hadn't had to
let me come in her mouth.
She turned around and lay on her stomach, with her head on the pillow,
and I straddled her thighs, poking my penis at the crevice between her
legs just under her buns. I began massaging her shoulders, and as I
leaned forward I allowed my penis to probe the spot it was at. Amy
kept her legs together, not tightly, but enough so my penis didn't get
very far. That was OK; I just wanted her to know it was there, and wonder
what I had in mind.
I give pretty good backrubs, you know, and I didn't spare the effort
with her. After a while I said, "I don't know if you deserve such special
treatment, Amy. Our deal was that I'd give you an A if you took care of
me, and here I am taking care of you." "Do you want me to rub your back
now?" "No, that won't be necessary. Lie still." I got off of the bed and went
to the dresser, and as I put on a condom I continued, "pull your knees up
under your tummy." She did as she was told, her head on the pillow at the
head of the bed, facing away from me. She was lying on the bed all folded
up like an accordion. I picked up the tube of K-Y. I asked her, "are you
ready for me to fuck your cunt?" She said, "yes," and I told her, "Lift
your bottom in the air, so I can see it. Higher." She complied; she was
ready for me to penetrate her.
I walked back over to the bed. "Now spread your knees apart a little. No,
a little more, so your cunt is wide open for me." I climbed onto the bed
behind her, opened the tube, and applied some jelly to the condom. I asked
her again, "do you want me to fuck you now?" "Yes." "When you speak to me
you must show your respect and call me sir." I waited, but she didn't say
anything, so I repeated, "do you want me to fuck you now?" "Yes, sir." My
heart again was pounding. She was letting me dominate her. "Tell me what
you want me to do." "F-Fuck me, sir." "When you ask me to do something for
you, you must say please. Ask me again." "Please fuck me, sir." "Is your
cunt wide open for me?" "Yes, sir". "Tell me." "My cunt is wide open for
you, sir." "Tell me how I should do it." Silence. "Tell me what you want
me to put, and where." "Your pri-i-ick in my cunt." "Say it with respect."
"Please put your prick in my cunt, sir." I rubbed some jelly on her asshole.
Before she could react, I had pulled her bottom down a little bit and
forced the head of my cock into her ass.
"I don't know if you've ever had this done to you before. If not, my best
advice is to remain as still as possible." I adjusted my stance, and pushed
in, pulled out a little, pushed in again. "It may hurt a little, but it'll
only hurt worse if you try to move. I'll try to be careful." I continued to
work my way in, two millimeters forward and one millimeter back. This was
only my second time for this, and doubtless her first, but for a couple of
neophytes we weren't doing too bad. Besides, even her incompetent attempt at
a blowjob had gotten me to the point that this didn't have to take too long.
I was in nearly halfway. "Try to relax and let me do the work. You've got
a real nice asshole; we'll have to do this, uh, more, uh, uh...".
If there's anything more ridiculous looking or sounding than a person having
an orgasm, I'd like to know of it. Or maybe I wouldn't. Anyway, there's
no point in describing the next few seconds, except to say that I was overly
ready for it and it was a major relief. I hadn't even worked up a sweat in
the process. I withdrew and, grabbing a wad of kleenex, gingerly removed the
condom and wiped her butt clean. I had finally found something imperfect about
Amy: her butthole was poopy inside like anybody else's!
I checked her bottom for any traces of blood, but she was fine. I didn't
figure I could have hurt her, since I hadn't had to get at all rambunctious.
I rolled her over onto her side, and lay down beside her, facing her.
There were tears on her cheeks again, but I pretended I didn't notice. "How
was that?" I asked with mock politeness. "I don't really like that," she said.
"Well, you did just fine. We won't have to do that all the time when you
are here." I had been very hard on her mentally, and it seemed that now was
a time to loosen up a little and acknowledge her feelings. But only a little,
at least yet. I had something I needed to do first. I got out of bed and stood
up.
"I'm going to take your picture." Amy rolled slightly so that her face was
buried in the bedspread. "I know you intend to keep your part of our
bargain, and not cause any trouble. But I need some protection in case
you were to change your mind after you got your A. You know what I mean?"
I went to the dresser, and picked up the camera. Amy didn't move.
"Come on, I'm not going to show them to anybody. They'll just be for
me." I stepped by the side of the bed, and rolled Amy onto her back.
"Why do you want to be so mean to me?" she asked through her tears. "I'm not
being mean, I'm just making you live up to your end of the bargain. Do you
want to just forget the whole thing?" She didn't say anything, just sniffled a
little; her nose was running. She was crying a lot more than I expected.
I handed her a kleenex, and she blew her nose. I had been harder on her than I
had realized, and there was some risk in offering her an easy way out. But if
she stayed through this and came back for more next week, I knew I would have
an obedient partner for the rest of the quarter. She was silent. "OK then,
prop yourself up on your elbows." She did and I went back to the end
of the bed and pointed the camera at her. She turned her head away
just before I snapped the shutter. The photo came out, and I set it on the
dresser to develop. "Pull your knees up and spread your legs." More
tears, but she obeyed. This was my first clear look at all of her pussy, but
I was preoccupied with taking a good photo before she changed her mind.
"Look over here." The camera clicked and whirred again. "OK, that's all."
I stood by the dresser and watched the photos develop, and Amy lay
back down on her back, her knees still up.
"I'm going to keep them in a safe place, so don't bother having someone
break in and try to steal them. No one has to see them as long as you
keep quiet about this." The pictures were ready. The focus wasn't sharp,
Amy's eyes were red and her hair I now noticed was a mess. Not
what I'd send to Playboy, but I now had my insurance policy.
I sat down at the foot of the bed and looked at her. "I need to go pee," she
said. I nodded, and she got up and waddled out the door. Geez, maybe I had
hurt her butt after all.
I heard her blow her nose again, and then it was several minutes before I
heard the toilet flush. I sat on the bed and waited. I'd offer her something
to drink when she got back, but no reason to get something now. So I just sat
and monitored the state of my penis. Its erection was disappearing, but it
was not going completely back to its unaroused state either. It could be
coaxed. I wasn't eighteen anymore, and twice in one night was probably going
to be about all I could comfortably muster. Anything more than that would have
to be for her sake, and I was pretty sure that twice would be more than she
wanted anyway.
She still hadn't come back, and I was worried that maybe something was
the matter. I debated whether to let her have her privacy or to check
that she was all right. Finally I heard the sink faucet.
She let it run for almost a minute. Another round of nose blowing,
the sound of the bathroom door opening, the faint sound of her bare feet
on the hallway carpet. She came back into the bedroom and sat on the side of
the bed, rather than at the foot of the bed by me. She was walking much more
easily now, and I felt reassured that I hadn't injured her. You could still
tell she had been crying, but she was much more composed. She had carefully
rearranged her hair into something resembling its customary perfect order,
tied back with the clip. She picked up her underpants and started to put them
back on, but I told her not to.
"Would you like something to drink?" I offered. She mumbled, "no." "Come on,
some pop, or I've got some beer, or would you like something stronger?" I
figured that giving liquor to a minor would be rather inconsequential, at this
point. ("I realize, your honor, that sodomizing an unwilling woman is not
worthy of the court's attention, but I intend to prove to the court that the
defendant gave my client a BEER!") She said nothing, so I got up and went
to the kitchen. I decided to just give her soda pop, rather than anything
alcoholic. She'd been through a lot, and might resent it if she
thought I was trying to lower her inhibitions further with drink. Maybe
I was being overly cautious again, but I didn't know her well, and some
people are hung up about alcohol. I chuckled at the thought of trying
to guess what she might be capable of with lowered inhibitions. Would
my heretofore untested sexual creativity be up to the challenge?
I returned to the bedroom with two glasses of pop, and sat on the middle
of the bed, next to Amy, who had moved there during my brief absence.
She cautiously sniffed her drink, took a sip, then took a longer swallow.
Her demeanor became a little less gloomy. Did she interpret the non-alcoholic
drink as a little peace offering? We both sat
naked, legs folded Indian style, in the middle of my bed, drinking Seven
Ups. "I'm sorry if you thought I was being mean." "Well, I was expecting
one thing, and then you did that, and it hurt and you didn't care." "I
didn't hear you say anything. Does it still hurt?" "A little." "Well,
if it still hurts tomorrow you should go see the doctor at the campus
clinic. You don't have to tell him about us. Just tell him that you
and your boyfriend were experimenting." "I think I'll be all right."
The shame of telling anything to the doctor would give her plenty of
motivation to recover quickly on her own.
I wanted to continue in that vein. "I wasn't trying to be mean, you know.
I just let you know what I wanted. Our agreement is that you
do what I want when you are here. Well, I wanted you to suck my prick, then
I wanted to fuck you in the ass, then I wanted to take your picture.
You did everything just the way I wanted. You were just doing what you
agreed to, and you did just fine." I put my right arm around her back,
and I was delighted, and maybe just slightly amazed, that she snuggled
a little bit next to me.
I asked her about her boyfriend. "Yeah, his name is Mark. He's really
nice. He's in the marching band." And I suppose she's a cheerleader.
How Norman Rockwell. She told me more about him. It was the first
topic we'd hit upon that she seemed to open up about. I made all
the amateur pop-psych inferences you might expect, especially in
light of her activities with me tonight. I wondered if Mark knew
how far he could take her if he wanted. I was pretty sure she was new
to this tonight. Do you love him, I asked. "Yes, our parents want us
to wait until after school to get married, but I want to do it now."
I told her I thought her parents were probably right.
Is he a good lover, I asked after a while. She was opening up to me nicely.
"We've only done it twice. One time we were alone in his parents'
cabin all afternoon, and he got kind of, you know, insistent. I should have
stopped him. But he was lying on top of me, and kind of slipped my panties
off and did it. That was when he told me he loved me." Oh, puhleeze, gimme
a break. "One other time we were taking a walk in the woods, and we sat down
in this place away from the path, and we were kissing, and I was, you
know...". She placed her hand on my thigh and brought it up toward my cock
briefly. "Playing with his prick?" "Yeah, and he said he couldn't wait. I
didn't want to do it out in the open like that, but he said I shouldn't do
that to him and then not, you know, help him out. I wanted to wait until
we got back and then I'd, you know. I shouldn't have started rubbing him
there, in the woods, I guess. He started lying on top of me like the other
time, and...". Her voice faded. Real nice move, "Mark". Sounds like rape
to me, Stud.
I asked, "so you don't usually have a physical relationship with
him?" "Oh, you mean like do I make him wait forever? I know a guy can't go
forever without, you know, um. I do that for him when he needs it, um, when we
are alone, you know?" I was not totally clear what she meant, although I had
sort of the idea, and felt an erection coming on. No way to cross my legs to
hide it this time, like back in my office earlier that day. (Had it only
been that afternoon?) Besides, why should I want to? "What do you mean?", I
said flirtatiously. She smiled and cast her eyes downward and almost giggled,
"you know." "What?", I teased back, and held her closer. She looked at my
face. "I use my hand on him." "What? I thought just guys knew about that."
She giggled charmingly. "You see what's happening to my prick?" "It's
getting bigger. Didn't you already, um...?" Could a pretty nineteen year
old be so ignorant of male anatomy and habits? "Sure. Doesn't mean I
wouldn't like to go again. How about if you show me how you do it to Mark."
I'd let her be in charge for a while; she was starting to have a
little fun. She took hold of my cock at the base and gave it a squeeze.
My semi-erection fleshed out almost immediately. I tilted my head and
her mouth met mine. We kissed wetly for a while, and we slowly reclined
ourselves until we were lying down. She continued to knead my cock very
satisfactorily. I slipped my arm out from under her back, and got on
top, straddling her waist. She tugged and squeezed at my cock as I bent
down and resumed kissing her. This went on for a total of about five
minutes, when I disconnected from her mouth and straightened my back.
"You do that very well," I said, truthfully for once. "Aren't I doing it
right?" she asked, looking inquisitively into my eyes. "Couldn't be better.
Why?" "You still didn't, um..." Quite a picture I was getting of old
Markie. Rapist, premature ejaculator, sousaphone player.
"Come? Well, this is my second time tonight, after all. How about if I show
you something Mark would like?" Amy smiled and said suspiciously,
"Whaaat?" I slid up her body until my knees were under her armpits.
"Most men like a good blowjob. Let me show you how I like it, so you
can finish what you started when you were sucking me before." I put
my thumb on her chin, and she opened immediately. I put my cock in her
mouth about as far as I had previously, and let her close around it.
She rubbed her tongue as best she could, given the limitations of space inside.
I slowly drew my cock out, slid it back in, then back out entirely, and let
it dangle above her waiting mouth. "You know what's the secret of a great
blowjob?" She closed her mouth and shook her head. "Sucking. Nothing
complicated. Just suck it as I pull it out, then open up and let me put
it in again, over and over. The deeper you can take it in, the better."
"But it's alre..." she started, as I pushed back in.
She tried, and while I can't say the results were perfect, she showed a
definite improvement. I pushed to the back of her throat each time, and
each time pulled out slightly less far. I was pushing, trying to see if
she could take it all the way. The thought of Needledick the Bugfucker
suddenly came to mind, and I envied him. But my tool was no bigger than
the guys in those movies, less than some, so I knew it could be done.
"Urghh" came the sound below me, and I realized I'd hit her gag reflex.
I pulled out.
"Whoops! Sorry. You all right?" "Yeah. But it's back all the way. It made
me gag." I was going to have to give her some hints, which I didn't have. I
took a guess, based on something I'd heard. "It's not that hard. The key is to
use a swallowing motion. Here, let me put it back in, and don't exactly suck,
just try and pretend you are drinking a glass of water." A glass of water
while flat on her back, right. I pushed, and got another gag reflex in reply.
"It's OK, just relax and try again." I put it back in, a smidgen less far, and
let her take a couple of practice swallows. "Swallow hard. Pretend it's a
really big glass of water." Linda Lovelace would have cringed, or probably
just laughed, at my feeble advice. She swallowed once, and on the second
swallow I glided my cock inward. It went a little further than before, then
she gagged. Again I pulled out. I didn't need her vomiting on me.
I ran to the kitchen and got another bottle of pop, pondering whether some
liquor would be better. No, probably not. I brought the pop to her, said
"take a sip", and lay on the bed on my back, my cock standing up like a statue.
"Here, maybe it'll be easier if you are on top. Get on top of me, and rest
on your elbows on the bed." Without a lot of enthusiasm, she complied. "If you
can get the hang of this, Mark will love you forever. Hold my prick with your
hand, and put it in your mouth." She slid my cock into her mouth again, as far
as it would go. "Now start swallowing, and see if you can get it deeper." I
lightly put my hand on the back of her head, not to push but just to offer
encouragement. She tried again. She bobbed her head down as she made a
swallowing noise, then tried to raise back up. My hand stopped her. "No, don't
take it out. Just keep trying." She bobbed down again as she swallowed, backed
off, bobbed again, backed off, again. After half a minute of this I raised my
head slightly to have a look. She was not really getting any more of it in.
"That's pretty good," I falsely complimented her, "can you just keep it in
now?" As she bobbed downward, I increased the pressure on her head, and she
did not try to back off. Suddenly she started struggling, and I let her pull
out. "I can't breathe," she panted. "Oh, yeah, sorry. That was great. Do
that again." She took a few breaths and began again. It was not actually
deep throat, but it wasn't bad. I let her up when she needed to.
After a couple of deep breaths, she went at it again, this time more quickly.
"Now see if you can suck it," I suggested. She moved her
throat muscles slightly but after a few seconds had to come up for air.
"You are great. That's just fine." She cycled through three more times,
going down, coming back up for air. I decided to switch positions again.
"Now, how about if you lie back down and see if you can keep doing it
that way." She got down, and I remounted her face. I don't know that it
was so much the dominance of the position, as it was a matter of plumbing.
It just felt nicer pointing down into her than up.
I placed her hands on my butt, poked my penis part way into her mouth, and
let her set the pace. "Let go of my butt when you need to breathe." I humped
gently, and she made what sucking motion she could. When she let go of my
butt, I pulled out and let her catch her breath. She really was not making
much progress in taking me deep, but by this time I didn't really
care. "I think one more of those and I'll come. Are you ready?" She
took me back into her mouth, I felt myself go past the point of no
return (orgasmically speaking), and began to ejaculate. As the first
spurt came, I began pulling out, to let her taste what she was getting.
I stayed in her mouth until the spasms stopped, then told her "swallow
what you've got so far, and suck hard to get the last few drops." She
did that, and I slowly withdrew.
I collapsed beside her. She was making a funny little swallowing sound,
evidently unfamiliar with and unprepared for the aftertaste. I turned
her head toward me, and kissed her soundly.
"I hope you'll remember how you did that. That was great." The word great
was getting trite, but I didn't care. I slipped my arm under her neck
and cuddled her. "That was your first time, wasn't it?" "Um hmm", she
cooed. "Well, remember to always swallow all the come you get. It's good
for you. Lots of protein. You sure are a good learner," I added. "If you
applied your learning talents to math, you'd be getting an A+ and I would
never have found out about this particular talent you have." She didn't
reply, and I mentally chided myself for being insensitive about her
difficulties in my class.
We lay there for a while, I stroking her hair, and then she said, "Can
I ask you, um, a question?" "What?" "Are you gay?" Huh? Here I was
lying in bed naked with a beautiful woman, basking in the afterglow of
my second orgasm, and she wonders if I like boys? "Whaddaya mean, gay?"
"Well," she said, "you've been with me all night and haven't wanted to make
love to me." My oh my, what a narrow view of sex she had. Either that, or
I was a real Hugh Hefner, mister sexual sophisticate. Of course, she had
a bit of a point; the things she and I had done so far I could have done
with a guy. Still, I rationalized that it's not what you do so much as
whom you do it with; I didn't care to explore that line of thought much
further. I was surprised at the familiar tone she was taking with me. I
wondered if I needed to nip that in the bud.
I removed my arm from under her and sat up. "Look", I lectured, "I'm
not your boyfriend. I'm not gonna be your boyfriend. Get that straight.
Don't go trying to fall in love with me. It doesn't matter to you whether
I am gay, straight, or do it with poodles. When you are here, you have
only one goal, and that is to be the biggest slut you can be. Our deal is,
each week, you will do what I ask of you, no more and no less.
Understand me?" She smiled and said yes. I asked, "so, you want me to
fuck you?" and she said casually, "if you want to." "Then ask me." "Make
love to me." "I don't make love, I fuck. Ask again." She hesitated, the foul
word sticking in her throat. "Fuck me." "What do you call me?" "Sir." "Ask
me again, with respect." "Would you please fuck me, sir." But there was
a sarcastic edge to her voice, which I had not heard from her before.
She was testing me.
I got up and walked to the bedroom door. "All right, if you are going to
take that tone, our agreement is over. You think this is all some sort of
damn joke? 'Would you please fuck me, sir'." I mimicked her vocal inflection.
"If you are going to have that attitude, put your damn clothes on right
now and go the hell home. I'm going to the other room, and if you still want
your grade you had better come out and beg me to fuck you. With respect."
And I went to the dining room and sat at the table where we had been studying.
I didn't expect to have to wait long, and she didn't disappoint. She followed
me out of the bedroom with a worried look on her face. "Would you
please..." "Hold it. Come here." I stood up. She came over and I pulled her
close to me and put my hand on her shoulders. "If you are going to beg,
get down on your knees." She sank to her knees, and I pushed firmly as she
went. "All right. Go ahead." "Would you please fuck me, sir?" She had the
desired tone of humility. I decided to press the advantage. "Is that how you
beg? That's asking. I don't believe you want it. Look at me when you speak."
She looked up, and darned if she didn't fold her hands like she was praying.
"Sir, um, I humbly beg you to please fuck me. Um, I am sorry if I, um,
displeased you." She left out the part about her being a miserable
servant and all that, but I think my point had been made. "Now, as you
can see, my prick is not hard. Think about what you'd like to do to
remedy that, to get me ready, and be sure to ask me with respect."
Without hesitation, she said "sir, I humbly beg you to please
let me rub your prick." "No, you have to suck it." "OK." "You
have to ask." "May I please suck your prick?" "Go ahead."
It took longer than I expected for it to get good and hard. Why should I
have been surprised? When was the last time I had tried for the hat trick?
Probably on my honeymoon. Amy now knew more what she was doing, and
after a few minutes effort she had managed to elicit a passable erection.
"Now, lie down on the floor and offer yourself to me. Make me want you."
She sat down, propped herself on her elbows, brought her knees up,
spread her legs, and said "please fuck me, sir." She placed her feet flat
on the floor, lifted her bottom slightly and rocked her pelvis,
trying to look seductive. She mostly looked ridiculous. All the right
moves, but she just didn't know how to put it all together.
"Get yourself hot for me first," I ordered. She hesitated, unsure what I
meant, then set her bottom back on the floor, took her right hand and put
it between her legs. She spread her
pussy lips with her finger and began to rub. "Stick your finger in. Get
yourself good and hot. Keep doing it." I went to the bedroom to retrieve
my camera, condom, and K-Y, and returned to watch her for a moment, then
pointed the camera and snapped a picture of her. This wasn't for insurance,
this was just for fun. I tried to remember if Caryn's dildo was around.
I hadn't seen it since the divorce, so that meant she probably took it.
Probably threw it away, since she had never really enjoyed it.
Then I remembered the bananas in the kitchen. I went and got one. "Here,
practice with this." She took it, none too enthusiastically, and kind of poked
it around the outside of her hole. I snapped another photo. Then I knelt
down, opened the tube of K-Y, liberally daubed the jelly around her hole
and in it, then applied some to the banana, and started to force it in.
Once the first inch of it was in, I took her hand and put it on it, and
without being told, she began to push the sex fruit a little further into her
pussy, although not very far. I got up and took one more picture. Then I
installed the condom on myself, applied some more jelly, knelt down between
her legs, and removed the banana.
"I think you are ready now," I said, and penetrated her. I sucked her nipples
for a while as I humped. Then I kissed her deeply, continuing to plunge into
her warm wetness. I nibbled at her ear, and whispered her name over and over.
This felt good, but nothing much was happening. I was good and hard, but my
prostate was about worn out. Still, I knew that if I stopped now, I would
be uncomfortable for the rest of the night. Continuing was not going to bring
pleasure, just the removal of that vague discomfort. After many minutes
of this, I stopped for a breather. I shouldn't have turned up the thermostat
earlier. "Whew, this one's going to take a while."
I fanned myself to cool off, and Amy shifted, trying to relax her
overstretched leg muscles. I reentered her and resumed my work. I kissed and
kissed her, and with my eyes shut I thought of how she had gone down on me
earlier. I felt a stirring, and knew that if I kept at it I could come, so I
pretended my tongue was my cock, and ran it in and out of her mouth as I
pumped into her. She seemed to catch on, and sucked my tongue as I went.
Finally, with the sweat dripping into my eyes, I felt the orgasm
start to come on. Even so, it took a few seconds before I began to
ejaculate, and there was more of a burning sensation to it than of the
usual unalloyed pleasure. Still, I was satisfied. I wouldn't have to sleep
with a hardon all night.
I withdrew and took off the rubber. Nope, not much fluid in there.
"Was that what you wanted?" I asked. "Oh yes," she pretended. I lay
beside her, nuzzling her cheek, but my lips were a little chapped from
all the activity, and I tired of that quickly. I realized I still hadn't
seen all I wanted to of her pussy, so I scooted down to have a look.
She reopened her legs part way, and I pulled them wide apart and began idly
fingering her cunt. "Do you want to screw some more?" I asked, and she replied
dutifully, "yes please, sir." "Just kidding," I said, "you've gotten
everything out of me I've got to give. That's the right attitude, though.
Keep a submissive tone when you speak to me."
She smelled quite strongly, my nose so close to her wet spot. I briefly
thought of gliding my tongue in there, then reconsidered, for several reasons.
One overriding reason was that I was pretty tired, including my mouth and
tongue. Another was that I wasn't interested in getting K-Y in my mouth.
Besides that, I wasn't much convinced that she had ever learned to appreciate
such efforts anyway. But mostly, I didn't want to reverse the role of
master and slave. She was resigned to administering to my needs, and
I needed to keep things that way, being new to this myself and all that.
So I just continued to trace my finger along the outlines of her cunt,
admiring the way that her pubic hair only came down to about the top
of it. I hate a hairy asshole (except of course mine's OK with me).
Her hair was very short, and I pulled a tuft of it up straight to
measure its length. Only an inch at most. It was soft, and curly,
and short, and fine, so that you could see her skin fairly well through
it. Not a dense patch, not at all. I looked and felt above the hairline,
but there was no trace of stubble, so I concluded that this was completely
natural, not shaved for effect. "You'll have to model a swimsuit for
me sometime." Juice was dripping from her hole. Too much K-Y, I thought.
But judging by the odor, some of it was her own. Nice, though I looked
in vain for a kleenex nearby, and made a mental note that I'd have to clean
the spot from the carpet, or take a chance on losing part of my damage deposit.
I looked at the clock on the wall. It was a little past ten thirty. Time
flies when you are having fun. I moved back up to her neck and nuzzled her
some more. She snuggled. "You act so innocent all the time, but when you
are here with me you are a perfect little slut." It was a description, and an
order, all in one. I snuggled in closer, and she responded in kind. Amazing;
totally in my control. "It's getting late, and you've done a good job,
so I think you can go home now. Next time let's get an earlier start. Let's
make it 7:30." I got up, picked up her blouse from the table, and handed
it to her. I wondered how high up she would button it. She put it on and
left only the collar button open. What I figured. She turned to go to the
bedroom to retrieve the rest of her clothes, and I got an idea. "Wait a
second." She turned back toward me, and I picked up the camera. "Smile,"
I said, and she did as I took the last photo of the evening.
She finished dressing in the bedroom as I put away the camera and K-Y.
END -- Cut Here -- cut here
**_MOUSE_**
"Remember the Lion"
ddtjb@hunterlink.net.au