Healthy Addictions

by Landon Dixon

  I took a deep breath, then with the bandana in one hand, I reached around and covered The Professor’s eyes. Before he could offer more than a surprised gasp, my other hand moved to take over the stroking of his erection, and I breathed in the hot bread scent of male arousal.

  The Professor froze. I held my breath, prepared to make a quick escape if he objected to my presence. He didn’t. Finally he shifted his hips and began to rock in slow hypnotic thrusts against my stroking. When I was certain he was a captive audience, I took my hand away.

  He protested with a guttural curse, but I only needed to secure my bandana around his eyes, making sure he couldn’t see. He groaned and squirmed, impatient as any man with full balls and a cock he could hang a ship anchor from.

  When the blindfold was in place I moved to stand in front of him, shoving his T-shirt up higher, running my tongue around his little pebble nipples, making his cock surge with each nip and lick. Then I kissed him, feeling his breath released in a sigh as I pressed my breasts against him. While our tongues got acquainted, he worked my shorts down over my hips and cupped my arse cheeks, pulling me closer to his anxious penis.

  Now I was sure I must be dreaming. I was about to fuck the unassailable Professor with Mike watching, and no doubt having a good wank. I dropped to my knees, tugging down The Professor’s shorts and underpants as I knelt, then I took his cock in my mouth. He uttered a cry of surprise then a groan of pleasure as he curled his fingers in my hair and held me to him. After just enough deepthroating to torture him, I kissed down the delicious length of him, then insinuated my tongue in tight circular motions over the double swell of his balls nestled in soft dark curls.

  ‘Oh God,’ he grunted.

  I pulled away and stood up in front of him, just out of his reach. He anxiously looked around with sightless eyes, slightly fearful I might leave him unsatisfied.

  But there was no chance of that. I dipped two fingers deep in my pussy then lifted them, slippery with my juices, to his nose. He took in my scent with all the enthusiasm of a dog sniffing a bitch on heat. Then he pulled them to his mouth. His tongue lapped the pad of each finger. His hips thrust forward anxiously.

  Growing impatient for his cock, I stepped out of my shorts and backed up to him until I could feel him bobbing against my bottom.

  ‘What the hell?’ He jumped forward, nearly knocking me off balance. But when I regained my footing I saw the cause of his surprise.

  There, kneeling behind him, with shorts down around his thighs was Mike pumping his hefty erection and nipping The Professor’s clenching arse cheeks with bared teeth. He paused to place a silencing finger to his lips and offer me a wink, then went back to work on The Professor’s undulating arse.

  With a startled grunt, The Professor’s hand came to rest on Mike’s penis. For a second the world stopped. Mike and I both held our breath. Surely the jig was up.

  But The Professor’s grunt turned to a low chuckle. He gave Mike’s cock an appreciative stroke then turned his attention back to me, grabbing my hips in such a grip that I fought back a yelp of surprise. He spun me around to face him, shoving me down onto the soft moss, forcing my legs apart with his knees. His mouth devoured mine while his large hands slowly groped their way down to my pussy. He ran a calloused thumb over my clit and fingered my lips apart, positioning his cock, all the while trailing kisses down my neck onto my breasts, nibbling hard enough to almost hurt.

  I was so hot that I had nearly forgotten Mike, as I arched and writhed. But The Professor always paid attention to details. He snapped his fingers. Mike, in full self gropage, let out a gasp as The Professor lifted his arse toward Mike and gave it a stroke.

  Mike was definitely in over his head. I figured he’d make a break for the hawthorn thicket. But then The Professor stuck his finger in my mouth, and when it was wet with my saliva, he reached back and wriggled it into his own anus! Blindfolded or not, the man knew his way around the situation, and Mike was a very quick study.

  When he stuck his middle finger into The Professor’s mouth, my cunt erupted into hard, grasping spasms. My God, I’d never even seen two blokes kissing. I would have never expected Mike to be up for a little guy-on-guy fun, and certainly not with The Professor!

  When his finger glistened with The Professor’s saliva, Mike sucked his bottom lip, as though he were deep in concentration. Still tugging hard at his cock with one hand, he shoved and wriggled his finger into The Professor’s tight grip, resulting in a little gasp that turned into a deep-throated sigh, as The Professor leant back, impaling himself completely on Mike’s finger.

  Once The Professor was satisfied with Mike’s efforts, he gave one hard shove and a grunt, and he was inside me, buried to the hilt. I bit my lip to keep from crying out as my slick pussy yielded to the size of him.

  Instead of thrusting, he held me there, speared through on his cock. His hand snaked down my tummy and in between us to thumb my clit and tease me until I strained upward, trying to thrust. But he held me still.

  ‘You there.’ His voice startled both Mike and me, sounding loud in the silence. ‘You with the cock, are you going to fuck me or just have a wank?’

  Mike suddenly stopped mid grope. His face reddened, and this time I was sure he’d turn and run.

  The Professor chuckled softly, with the patience one would expect from an educator. He was a man used to being in control. And I was beginning to realise he was still in control. ‘Look, I’m going to fuck this woman’s lovely cunt, and we’re going to come, and I promise you it’ll be good for both of us. Now do you want to masturbate, or do you want to fuck?’

  His last word ended in a grunt and he sucked breath – physical evidence of Mike’s answer. ‘That’s more like it. That’s the spirit. More saliva. Now another finger. Spit.’

  Mike obeyed his every command like a schoolboy.

  ‘Good job, and another finger.’ The Professor’s voice sounded almost as stretched as his arsehole. And at last he was, blessedly, thrusting. First forward into my pussy, then back onto Mike’s fingers. The muscles in Mike’s forearm bulged from his efforts and his eyelids fluttered from the growing urgency I knew he was feeling.

  The Professor lifted my legs until they were wrapped around his waist, then he cupped and kneaded my buttocks greedily with each thrust, all the while grunting like a thoroughbred out to stud. Each time he shoved into me, he shifted and undulated and raked me until my clit felt raw and ripe rising up to meet him. Everything in me grasped for him, pulling him deeper, gripping him tighter.

  I was on the edge, so close a feather’s touch would have sent me again when he stopped mid-thrust, arse in the air. ‘Your cock,’ he gasped. ‘Bring it here.’

  Suddenly I was looking up at Mike’s bum humping and shoving his penis into The Professor’s mouth. Saliva dribbled onto my breasts and belly with each thrust, and I rubbed the slickness of it against my nipples. Then The Professor pulled back, and ordered. ‘I want it in my arse.’

  He cursed under his breath when Mike faltered, then he spoke in his professor voice again. ‘Stick it in now,’ he said between gritted teeth. ‘Trust me. It’ll be so good.’ His eyes moved wildly beneath the blindfold. He lifted his arse so high he would have pulled his cock from my pussy if I’d not had my legs wrapped around him in a stranglehold.

  With a growl that sounded like an angry bear, Mike shoved his cock into The Professor’s backside, and The Professor growled back with equal ferocity. There was an awkward moment when we felt like dominos about to topple, then both men found their rhythm, each pump of their buttocks accompanied by tight little grunts. I was almost completely off the ground, wrapped as I was in The Professor’s arms, and he in my legs as I gripped his cock tighter and tighter in my hungry cunt.

  Mike had The Professor by the hips, and I could hear the slap of his balls against the man’s arse each time he humped and shoved. It couldn’t last long. God, I wanted it to, but it couldn’t. I was sure we’d all shatter into pieces entangled and
stretched as tightly into each other’s passion as we were.

  With every thrust we drew closer and closer. Our breath sounded like a hurricane, our pulse hammered, I heard someone’s joint crack, and yet we thrust harder. Then we stopped breathing. I wasn’t entirely sure we weren’t all going to die from the impact, all thrusting, all pushing, all riding the edge. But at last we came together and collapsed into an oxygen-depleted heap.

  I would have loved to stay for a cuddle. I even thought about revealing our identity, but it was just too hot being Professor Ed Thompson’s mystery fuckbuddy – make that fuckbuddies. I pushed him off me and motioned Mike to pull out. The Professor rolled onto his back, chest still heaving. I couldn’t resist. For a second, I laid my head against his shoulder, resting a hand on his chest. Then I kissed his ear and whispered very softly. ‘Eyes closed. Five minutes.’

  He nodded understanding. I stood, quickly bundling my panties and shorts under one arm. Mike was already darting for the thicket we’d come from. I kissed my delicious professor hard on the mouth and whispered again, ‘Eyes closed.’ Then I snatched off my bandana and scurried away. I dropped into the seclusion of a dense hedge next to Mike, wiping my pussy with my bandana as we both caught our breath and watched.

  Sure enough, five minutes passed, then The Professor walked by, dressed no more carelessly than usual, though I was pretty sure he would give some of the female volunteers a pheromonal banquet if they got close enough for a good sniff. He hurried back to the dig and back to work.

  Mike and I exchanged unbelieving smiles, both knowing we’d have a lot to talk about tonight at the pub. And afterwards, whosever room we inevitably ended up in, the sex would be the best ever. I was pretty sure we were both already wondering if The Professor would be back tomorrow – same time, same place. This could be the start of something good. Something really good.

  7.13

  by Sommer Marsden

  My train ticket was for 7.13 a.m. I rolled to the clock and read 4.47 in demonic red numbers.

  Last night in town. Last night in this bed. Last night being the girl in the red house on School Road. I sat up, blew out a breath, got up and found my keys.

  Faded jeans, brown boots, that shirt with the feathers embroidered on it. My middle of the night – or early morning, depending on how you looked at it – uniform screamed vulnerable, frantic ... needy.

  He answered the door in a pair of grey sweats. That was all.

  ‘I leave tomorrow. Hours, actually.’ I traced the line of his threshold with the toe of my boot. I pushed myself into the doorway to feel the heat of him.

  ‘I know.’ Jason touched my lower lip and then his mouth touched the place his finger had. ‘You don’t have to go, you know.’

  ‘I do. But I don’t have to go without having had you,’ I said. ‘I can at least deal with that before I go.’

  A new life waited for me. A new life away from small towns and small-town boys, who for various reasons had always wanted me but never done anything about it. So I would do something about it – before it was too late.

  Jason didn’t speak, just tugged me in and kissed me hard, the electric jolt of contact a searing reminder of one lone kiss a million years ago. Maybe it was only seven years ago, but it sure as shit felt like a million. We’d had one kiss and never another since. But now, he pressed me up against the old white door with the number 11 tacked to the front. And this kiss crushed that kiss a million years ago.

  ‘Why did you never try?’ I blurted. I had to know. It might be stupid, misguided or just plain asinine – but I had to know before my life rolled on and away from him.

  ‘You were too big for me.’

  ‘Is that a fat joke?’

  His body smashed flat to me, the heat overwhelming and welcome. His breath sweet on my face. Jason’s hands found my beautiful fragile top and raked it up over the ladder of my ribs to expose my belly. A multitude of goosebumps rose to the occasion.

  ‘No, Elsie, too big like too much – too precious. Too wanted. You were the girl to me. So much so that I was pole-axed. I kept you at arms’ length. And I blew it.’

  He was the antithesis of what I was off to become. Busting my way out of our little town, off to be an artist. Off to work for a firm in the city. Me running away from the farm boys with dirty boots and faded jeans and sunburn on their noses from the first warm sunny day in the fields. Boys like Jason with his work-firmed forearms and big booming laugh and corn-fed prettiness.

  ‘That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,’ I said. When he pressed his hands to my breasts, I pushed myself into the cups of his palms. Let my eyes fall shut and my heart speed up. I had wanted this since we were old enough to want. How in the fuck had it taken so long?

  ‘I know. What can I say, stupid.’

  ‘You’re a dumbass,’ I said, amiably.

  ‘I know.’

  He peeled the top down and under it I was warm and bare and braless. His mouth, a hot reminder of all the masturbatory fantasies that had starred one Jason Prescott, blazed a wet trail over my skin. My nipples peaked and pebbled for him and I touched the front of his sweatpants – half afraid there would be no erection there for me, half terrified there would.

  His cock was hard and seemed to jump at my touch. I squeezed him lightly and kissed him when his mouth found mine. ‘Be good to me,’ I said.

  ‘Be good–’ His eyes flew wide for just a moment.

  I laughed. I couldn’t help it.

  ‘Elsie, you’re not ...’

  ‘As pure as the driven snow?’

  Jason nodded, that look of his that always indicated his urge – thanks to his good-good heart – to hide or simply drop dead.

  ‘Jesus.’

  ‘Is my homeboy,’ I joked. ‘But yes. And no. I’m experienced in all things that are not actual fucking,’ I said. ‘The world’s biggest joke, right? In this day and age, a 20-year-old virgin.’

  ‘Jesus,’ he said again, but his gaze tracked my mouth as I talked. It made me shiver the way he looked at me.

  As excited as I was in my gut to get out of this fucking town, I was heartbroken to be leaving that gaze – that face, that big-big heart. We had substituted friendship for love in our own personal equation. I would miss him on many levels.

  ‘If you keep calling him, he just might show up. And that might ruin the mood.’ I touched his face and he sucked my finger into the heat of his mouth.

  ‘Virgin,’ he said against my throat, working at my jeans with his fingers.

  ‘Only in the most traditional sense of the word.’

  ‘Virgin,’ he said again.

  It was the only thing I could do to shut him up: I dropped to my knees. Those beleaguered sweatpants gave up the ghost pretty easy. How many times had I imagined pantsing him just to have something dirty happen? How many times had that been one of my waking dreams, spaced out at my stupid job, thinking dirty thoughts of pretty boys. And here I was at half-past five in the morning, bags in the car, on my knees in front of him.

  ‘Elsie.’

  ‘Shut up, Prescott,’ I said and took him in hand. Just for a moment, though, because then I took him in my mouth. Relishing the silken warmth of his cock against my lower lip, my tongue. I sucked him to the tip and somewhere in it all we had turned and he was now pressed to that door. Why were we still in the foyer? And why did I care where we were?

  Still, the door seemed apropos, I thought. I was leaving. And for the moment, the only thing stopping me was Jason.

  My tongue travelled every salty inch of him, my fingers stroking skin I had imagined pressed to mine for damn near half a decade. I felt emotion clog my throat and prick my eyes but I swallowed hard – working him with the motion – so he groaned. I continued on, cherishing the moment I was in, right here, right now. With him.

  His fingers wound in my hair and I saw in my peripheral vision, twin chunks of dirty blonde grasped in his grip like leashes. My pussy flickered at the thought of the hold he had on me �
�� physically, emotionally.

  I got him right there – right there where he was tugging my hair – and he ground out the words, ‘Stand up.’

  I stood. ‘But I was enjoy–’ and that’s as far as I got when he slammed into me, walking me back, kissing me fiercely. He yanked at my jeans so they tangled in my boots and we were a twisted mass of two people wrestling leather and fabric into submission.

  He spread me out on that sofa – that ugly ass sofa that used to be his mother’s. It had been in the rec room – the scene of the crime – that infamous one single kiss a million years ago. He kissed my throat and muttered words I could not hear as I clutched the hideous plaid fabric. Words like: perfect, beautiful, love, insane and miss ...

  I didn’t let those words land in my heart. I willed them to drift away.

  All of it – the finality of it – made my throat work with emotion again. He stroked his tongue along my chest and over my belly. When he reached my pussy, parted me with his lips, touched the tip of his hot tongue to my clit, I let that emotion go and touched his soft blond hair. So close to the colour of mine that folks had confused us for siblings for years.

  He sucked me hard, then soft, then hard, his fingers stretching my cunt with intense ease. He thrust gently and then hard and finally I said, ‘Now, now, now. A million years is too long to wait.’

  He chuckled but the sweats were kicked off. His body, long and hard from hours of working sun-kissed fields, settled over mine and I swore I could smell sunshine and grass coming out of his pores.

  Why was I leaving, again? Oh. For a life I’d always wanted. That was why. But for a splinter of a second I was sad, so I kissed him. Held his shoulders tight like he could save me.

  Jason pushed himself between my legs, lean hips level with mine, cock hard and true. He locked eyes with me, then. Those amazing salt-water eyes that were blue sometimes, green other and even storm-cloud grey when he was angry.

  ‘Are you sure?’