Teach Me Dirty

by Jade West

  She was so in love with him, and it knocked the air from my lungs.

  Mr Roberts’ voice was still the same.

  “How is my beautiful wife?”

  “She’s tired.”

  “She should go to bed.”

  “She should go to bed with her beautiful husband.”

  I felt a flash of guilt, as though I’d been in her place, trespassing in someone else’s sheets.

  Who’s been sleeping in my bed?

  Bad little Helen Palmer.

  The screen showed the side of Anna’s face as she leaned forward, and I heard the press of lips, and then the camera moved, and pictured them both. Mr Roberts looked so much younger. His hair was longer, past his shoulders but just as curly and with no grey, and he was clean shaven. And happy.

  He looked so happy.

  He kissed his wife as the camera watched, and he brushed her cheek with his fingers and I knew how that felt and my skin tickled, too.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and breathed into his mouth and I knew how that felt, too.

  “I’ve been thinking about you…” she breathed. And her hand moved to her chest, pulled down the satin. “I painted a roomful of strangers today and every single one of them was you.”

  “And how many of those strangers made you wet?” There was something in his voice, something I hadn’t heard before. Something dark, and dangerous that made me shy, even though I was all alone.

  “All of them.” Her eyes widened as she stared at him.

  I heard a rustle off camera and she gasped.

  “You touched yourself…”

  She grinned and it was beautiful. “Many times…”

  “You know what this means?”

  She nodded, and her eyes twinkled. “Yes, sir.”

  “Have you forgotten your manners, Anna?”

  “I think I need reminding, sir.”

  The screen went dark and all I could hear was my own breath until the picture resumed. The camera was on a stand of some kind, and it looked like the art room, the same big workbench without all the clutter. And there was Anna, and her wrists were bound and secured somewhere out of view. She was naked, and her arse was positioned on the edge of the bench, her thighs lolling out of shot, and her hip bones pronounced as she tensed and arched her back. Mr Roberts was naked as he came into view and I burned up at the sight of his erection. He was more wiry in the video, leaner somehow, and his expression was dark and full of lust, and I felt that hurting jealousy again.

  He lit up a candle.

  “Such a beautiful canvas,” he said, and lit another, a red one. And then one in blue, and then green, and purple, and he lined them up in a row on the bench beside her and their flames looked so pretty dancing in the darkness at the edge of the screen. “Show me…”

  She moaned and wriggled.

  “Show me that naughty little cunt, Anna…”

  And she moaned again, and I did too and my stomach tickled. He said the C word.

  He pinched and groped her thighs and she squirmed.

  “Show me what’s mine…”

  She pulled her legs up, and spread them wide, and there was no hair between them, and she looked so swollen and soft. I was burning up, and my heel was tapping, my eyes flicking to the doorway even though I knew he was miles away.

  “Keep them spread…”

  She murmured, and turned her face to the side and her breath turned ragged as he picked up the green candle.

  “My beautiful, beautiful canvas… my beautiful wife…”

  She groaned as he tipped up the candle, and wax splashed her thighs. It dribbled as she squirmed, and her toes curled.

  “Ow…” she hissed. “Oh, Mark… ow…”

  “More.”

  It wasn’t a question, and she groaned again as he splashed her again. And he squeezed her, and pinched and smeared her, dribbling pretty rivers of wax all over her legs, over her stomach, and she wriggled and she gasped and sometimes she even flinched, and tensed up and dropped her legs until he’d order them back up again.

  I felt dizzy, and the flutter between my legs wouldn’t stop, I sat forward in my seat and rocked a little, imagined it was me.

  Different colours, bleeding together and snaking over her skin, and he directed it all like a man consumed, his canvas alive and breathing and hurting for him. She whimpered as he spiralled red wax around her breasts, closer and closer until big, hot drips splashed her nipples. And he pinched them, and scratched them, leaving jagged streaks in the pattern until he covered her up with more.

  Her skin was marbled and splotched and pretty with wax, and she was smiling, moving towards the heat, towards his hands, towards his touch.

  “So pretty…” he said, and kissed between her legs. “So pretty and soft… and vulnerable…”

  She gasped as he pushed his fingers inside, and so did I, because he pushed in three and he wasn’t gentle, and she made a little squeak as he pushed in another. I felt heady and my mouth was dry.

  “Oh yes, Mark, please… please… please fuck me… Oh, Mark, fuck me…”

  I slipped my fingers between my legs, and it felt so wrong but I couldn’t stop.

  She squealed and rocked her hips as he dripped wax onto her pussy, and it was so pretty, the pattern he was making, the beautiful marks on her skin.

  And I wanted that. I wanted him to look at me the way he was looking at her.

  I wanted him to push his fingers inside me, and cover me in wax until I squirmed… and use the C word… and make me feel so bad…

  I wanted him to tie me up, and make me spread my legs for him… and make me feel so dirty… teach me to be so dirty…

  “Fuck me, Mark… please…”

  And he did.

  Oh God, how he fucked her. Not softly like he’d taken me, but hard and brutal, slamming into her. He pressed her knees to her breasts and his tummy slapped against her skin and she struggled in her bonds but moved nowhere.

  I loved the noises he made, familiar yet alien, and the way he used her body and made her his.

  “I love you like this, Mark… I love you… I love you so much it hurts…”

  And so did I.

  I came before the video was over, and the guilt hit me as soon as I was done. I wriggled in my seat as I caught my breath and in panic I closed out of the video.

  No more.

  But there were so many pictures to look at, of them together, of them kissing, and naked, and making love. Of him taking her. Of him loving her. Of him sweaty and ragged and collapsed on top of her body.

  I closed out of the whole thing and I felt sick. I walked about the place and wondered if he’d be able to tell I’d looked. If he’d know I watched. Maybe even know I’d played with myself as I watched him fuck his dead wife.

  How could I ever explain that?

  Maybe he’d even ask? Maybe he already knew? Maybe it was a test?

  A test of what? Purity? A test to see whether I’m really as dirty as the pictures I showed him?

  A test of trust. Of privacy.

  And I’d failed. I’d snooped around his private memories and I’d soiled them and used them and felt jealous over them.

  And that was disgusting.

  I was disgusting.

  Maybe he wouldn’t know?

  But I’d know.

  And that would never do, because I’d always feel weird and icky and bad. I’d always feel like I’d betrayed him and let him down.

  I’d feel like a fraud.

  I dropped on the sofa and pulled my knees to my chest and my heart was thumping and my mouth was dry.

  And I waited for him.

  ***

  Mark

  “Helen?”

  It felt so weird calling a woman’s name as I crossed over the threshold, but it wasn’t unpleasant. It wasn’t unpleasant at all.

  I kicked the door closed behind me and made my way through the house, elbowing some jars aside to clear space on the countertop for my shopping
bags.

  “Helen?” I fired up the hob, took down a pan from the wall and set it on the heat.

  She appeared in the doorway and she looked pale and tired, just as I expected she might. I gestured to the bags and smiled.

  “I hope you like a full English. We’ve got bacon, and sausage and eggs and mushrooms, all from the butchers up by the Top Cross.” I held up a loaf. “From the bakery. Smell. It’s so fresh.”

  She took it from me and held it up to her nose, and I took the opportunity to pull her to me, and squeeze her tight and cover her neck in kisses as she giggled.

  But she didn’t giggle. She wrapped her arms around my neck and pressed her body to mine, but she didn’t giggle.

  I tipped her face up to mine. “Everything alright?”

  She nodded. “Just… I dunno.” She smiled but it was nervous. “You got all this for me?”

  “I suspected you wouldn’t have snooped hard enough in the kitchen to locate the muesli.” Her eyes widened and I laughed. “I was joking. How do you like your eggs?”

  “However they come.”

  “Much of a hangover?”

  She shook her head. “Not so bad.”

  I flicked on the kettle and grabbed some mugs. “Sorry, Helen, I don’t even know how you take your coffee, or tea, do you prefer tea?”

  She blushed a little. “I don’t… I don’t like either…”

  I pulled a face. “You don’t drink tea or coffee? Extraordinary girl.” I reached for a glass instead. “I’m assuming you like juice?”

  She nodded. “I like juice.”

  I handed her a drink and busied myself with breakfast, browning the sausages off before adding the bacon and eggs, and toasting the bread just enough to crunch.

  “We’ve got so much of this to cover, Helen. So many likes and dislikes, and food preferences and pointless trivia.” I flipped the bacon. “What’s your favourite food?”

  She propped herself against the wall. “Potato waffles.”

  “Potato waffles?”

  She nodded. “With baked beans.”

  I soaked her in like I’d never seen her before, seeing her youth through clear vision, and it was pure and intoxicating… and addictive. There was such beauty in her innocence, in the simplicity of her answers, without pretence or front or any kind of showmanship. No pompous detailing of quail’s eggs and truffles to sound like more of a grown-up, just potato waffles, because that’s the truth of it.

  “I’ll cook you potato waffles,” I said. “It can be our first dinner together.”

  It made her laugh, but just a little. “You’ll cook me waffles?”

  “I like waffles,” I lied. “It’s a good meal.”

  “You’re a rubbish liar.”

  I pointed my spatula at her. “That’s very true, so I rarely bother. And by rarely I mean, I don’t. Unless I’m trying to save someone’s feelings from unnecessary anguish.” I plated up the food. “So, if you have any questions of me, please always ask, and the answer you get will be the answer I mean. You don’t need to ponder my intentions or second guess me, Helen, they’ll be exactly as I express them. I find that’s by far the best way to a healthy relationship.” I handed her her plate, and she was pale as a ghost. “Are you feeling alright?” And then it dawned on me. “Are you regretting things? I should have given you more space, I know it’s a lot to take in, and reality can be so different to fantasy…”

  “No!” she said. “No! That’s not it! I’m not regretting anything. I love being here. I love you.” She bit her lip at her outburst, but I couldn’t help feel the warmth in my stomach.

  Love.

  Was this love?

  “What is it, Helen?”

  She cleared a space on the dining table and sat with her breakfast, and I handed her cutlery without any more prompting. I sat in silence, giving her time, and she’d only eaten a couple of mushrooms before she dropped her fork and her lip was trembling a little.

  “Last night, you said I could tell you anything, and I want to. I mean, I need to… because I’ve done something… and I didn’t mean to, but I couldn’t help it… and you’ll be angry, and I don’t want you to be angry, because I love being here, and I love being with you, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my whole life and I don’t want to ruin it all, but I probably already have, and I’m sad, and…”

  I looked right at her. “What have you done, Helen?”

  She took a breath. “You’re going to be so mad…”

  “I don’t anger all that easily, why don’t you just try me?”

  She covered her face with her hands. “I was going on Facebook, I promise, and I was about to log in, and then there was this directory, but I wasn’t even looking for it, I shouldn’t have even noticed, but I did…”

  And I knew. Her eyes were closed so she didn’t see me smile.

  “…I didn’t mean to be nosey. I’m not that kind of person. I’m really not, I promise… but it’s because… I don’t even know why… I don’t know why I looked… I shouldn’t have looked. I feel horrible…”

  “You saw my pictures? Of me and Anna?”

  She nodded, and dropped her hands. “And there was a video, too. I only watched one… I swear. I’m so sorry, Mr Roberts.”

  “Mark,” I said. “It’s Mark.”

  “Please don’t hate me…”

  “Which video?”

  Her face darkened to beetroot and I had to stifle a laugh. “The… the, um… there was wax…”

  “There often was.”

  Her eyes widened, and I loved that. I loved how expressive she was. “Often?”

  “Yes, often.” I pushed my plate aside. “Does that bother you?”

  “Bother me?”

  “Did the video disturb you, Helen?” I cleared my throat. “Because that was a long time ago, and people are all individuals. Just because someone enjoys sex a certain way with one person, doesn’t mean it has to be that way for all of their relationships.” I met her eyes. “You don’t need to be concerned by anything you saw on those videos, Helen. We’ll go at your pace, and you’ll never be asked to do anything you’re uncomfortable with, I promise.”

  “But I’m not… I’m not worried.”

  “You’re not? That’s good.”

  “I thought you’d be angry… I thought you’d hate me…”

  I smiled. “For clicking on a directory that almost anyone in your position would click on? I’ve been a teacher a long time, Helen. I’d have had a nervous breakdown by now if I was horrified by such innocent misdemeanours.”

  “You’re not mad?”

  “I knew it was there. I knew full well you might look.”

  “I shouldn’t have.” She was relaxing, I could see it, her shoulders easing and lowering, her breath calming.

  “The question is, did you like it?”

  “Sorry?” She fiddled with a sausage and wouldn’t look at me and it tickled me inside.

  And excited me.

  It made me hard.

  “Did you play with yourself when you watched that video, Helen?”

  The bloom of her cheeks was wonderful.

  “I, um…” she shifted in her chair. And I knew. I knew beyond all doubt.

  “Helen, did you play with your pussy as you watched?”

  She nodded. “Yes. Yes, I played with myself.”

  “And did you want it?” I palmed my cock under the table where she couldn’t see. “It doesn’t have to be, Helen, we can do whatever you want to do. You don’t need to please me that way.”

  “But I’m not,” she whispered. “I’m not pleasing you… I… I’m just…” I waited for her to gather her thoughts. “I’m not like other girls,” she said, and I remembered the last time she’d said it, and that rush of desire came back with such intensity I nearly came in my pants. “I’m… I’m dirty…”

  “And you’re young, Helen. Young and fresh with plenty of time to explore the things you want.”

  “I don’t want time
… I’ve had plenty of time… I know exactly what I want…”

  “And what’s that?” My voice was gravelly and strained. “What is it you want, Helen? What do you want from me?”

  Her eyes were wide, and glassy and her breaths was shallow. “I want you to teach me, Mr Roberts... I want you to teach me dirty.”

  ***

  Helen

  “I want to know everything… everything you know… I want to try everything you’ve tried… I want you to teach me the things you like, the things that you paint… the things that I paint…”

  His eyes were so fierce on mine but they weren’t angry. “Did you enjoy my art room, Helen?”

  I nodded. “I loved your art room.” The image of Anna on the workbench flashed behind my eyes.

  He looked at my plate. “Are you not hungry?”

  I wasn’t hungry. My heart was racing and my tummy was tickling, and I had that lovely fluttery pulse between my legs. All I wanted was him. “Not right now. Sorry, I will be…”

  “I’m not hungry right now, either.” He got to his feet and offered me his hand. “Come.”

  I put my hand in his and my fingers seemed so small. He led me through to his art room and I was too embarrassed to watch as he cleared the top of the workbench.

  “If it makes you uncomfortable being in the same space as Anna was, we can move, but the truth is, Helen, that Anna was my wife, and this was our home, and I had sex with her in pretty much every possible location throughout this place. But that was a long time ago now. And you are a different woman, and this is an entirely new relationship, one that Anna has no bearing on as far as I’m concerned.” He patted the workbench and my stomach flipped. “It’s your choice, Helen, but I’d be very happy if you would sit up here for me.”

  I pushed myself up onto the bench, and my legs dangled and the socks on my feet felt so silly. “I don’t mind… being here, I mean…”

  “Thank you.” He ran his fingers down my chest through the fabric of his shirt. “I love the way you look in this.” He pinched my nipples and I sucked in my breath. “I love the way I can see you through the shirt.” He kissed my jaw, and his lips were warm, and his hands slipped up my thighs. “You have such sweet breasts, Helen. I don’t think you know how beautiful they are. You’re more than I can resist.”