Forbidden: A Student Teacher Romance

by Amanda Heartley

  I smelled his fragrance, meaty, manly, and musky, a heady blend that found me lying flat on my belly to lick and lap at his thick balls, hearing his groans of appreciation as they danced along my tongue. The taste was divine, the heat—insatiable…and I was just getting started!

  Chapter 10

  Kellan

  I gasped as she took her time between my legs. I’d never thought much about my balls during sex, other than how quickly I could empty them and how often, but suddenly they seemed an erogenous zone so big they threatened to swallow me whole.

  “Even your balls are beautiful,” she said, licking them clean for the second time as I writhed, so hard and excited even I could feel the pre-cum drizzling into my belly button. “I could stay here all night.”

  “Be my guest,” I murmured, gasping as she nibbled at the tender flesh of my testicles. “I mean, since we don’t have to work tomorrow…”

  “Don’t kid yourself,” she sighed, moving up from my sack to the base of my cock, the tip of her fiery tongue following the long, thick ridge on the underside of my cock. “You’re going to be putting in plenty of hours tonight.”

  “This is hardly work,” I murmured as I wriggled my hips in response to her tempting, teasing tongue, still only halfway up my shaft.

  “Don’t worry,” she murmured, her breath spilling across my glistening cock. “You’ll have your turn to tie me up and do your worst.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  She nibbled, gently the rosy tip. “You’re gonna have to, pretty boy, because I intend to take as long as I can and make you beg for release.”

  “Big talk,” I said before she took me in hand, using my shaft like a gearshift to lick the top, tip to base, kissing my manscaped pubes while stroking me gently.

  The sensation was divine, so slow and tender, just as she’d done everything since I’d shown up that evening. From the light appetizers to the rich, red wine, the flickering candlelight, and the funky, Bohemian back deck, Carla had been a startling and sexy revelation.

  Now, tied to the bed blindfolded, tantric sex music oozing from some unseen speaker, the humid South Beach breeze whispering along my naked body, I wilted beneath her touch.

  I’d been so eager to dominate her, to show her who was boss, to strut into her office, fix her life, and make her pay with hot, wet, domineering sex. Instead she had taken me by surprise, beaten me at my own game and bound me, heart and soul, and not just to her bed.

  I was a model again, wowing them on the catwalk and earning a big, fat, much-needed check from a very generous designer in return. And now, Carla’s lips nuzzling the tip of my cock, teasing me with delightful anticipation, I couldn’t ask for more.

  And yet, she gave it—and then some. Her mouth, a supple plaything, enrobed my cock with an infernal heat, generous moisture drizzling down and along every vein and ridge only to be scooped up and gathered by her expert hands.

  Gripping the bottom half of my rod, she sucked the top half, meeting lips to fingers and letting me marinate in her juices before fingers and lips drifted apart again, only to meet a few succulents, slick sounding seconds later.

  She was tireless in her eagerness to please and, at her mercy I did her the honor of savoring every moment of her rapt attention. She spoke not a word, for the time for quips and puns had passed. Now there was only the music of our bodies, hot and writhing, my hips begging to move, my ass lifting gently off the bed, pressing my cock deeper inside that precious heat. She wanted more, and so did I.

  From her endless blow job, she dragged her lips from my shaft, lingering near the tip to suck and lick it before rising in a flutter of sheets and the rasp of skin against cotton. I could smell her, ripe and robust and fragrant, moving closer as she crept toward me. I stood at attention, my wrists bound, my fingers wound around her metal headboard as I felt the heat of her bush rasp against the underside of my prick.

  I exhaled so loudly I surprised myself, turning my head from side to side as I felt her wet bud, stiff and tender, rise along my throbbing cock. Her heat was off the charts, blistering as she rose above my hips and wriggled the damp folds of her pussy until they gathered, like petals, around my stem. And then, they parted, both of us gasping at the sensation as she moved on top of me, sliding down until I could feel every glistening inch of her, and her me, until she sank, and sank, knees on either side of my hips, our pelvises meeting as her breath washed across me, eager and desperate.

  I lay, my legs spread, and my arms above my head, plunged deep inside of her as she rested against me. She wasn’t riding me, just grinding me, seeking her own pleasure from the joint where our bliss met, dragging across it again and again until I could feel her pleasure coming, faster, faster, throbbing all around me, grinding against me, throbbing and moaning until…until…she came, sighing, murmuring, muttering, “Oh shit!”

  “What?” I moaned, so enraptured by her pleasure I’d completely forgotten my own.

  “I wanted this to be all about you,” she panted, giving the lie to her words as she grabbed my waist and, quickly, ground out another orgasm on the slick joint of my pelvis.

  “Like I’m not enjoying myself?” I chuckled.

  “Oh, you will,” she purred, bending forward to pepper my lips with a kiss and using the new angle to rise, gently, off my slick, creamy cock. I gasped and said, “I already am, Carla.”

  I could feel her nod, against my face, and thought maybe I felt a tear or two drift down her cheeks and onto mine. It had been a long time since I’d made a girl cry, and never in a good way. As she nestled herself back on top of me, settling in for a long, good ride, I thought about how lucky I’d been to walk into Carla’s office that day.

  And how much I was looking forward to seeing what the future held. …

  Chapter 11

  Kellan

  I ignored the text from Deacon Manchester, founder and CEO of Florida Faces—his third text of the day. Damn, I thought as I puttered around the patio of Carla’s spacious loft, trying to get everything just right before she got home from work. The little fucker’s persistent!

  Ever since my star turn on the catwalk for Sidelines Sports Apparel made the front page of Male Model Magazine last week, Deacon had been texting me. Non–fucking-stop! The dude was obsessed, and I couldn’t say I wasn’t flattered.

  Still, I couldn’t complain about life with Carla at Miami Models, either. Since rocking a day-glow life vest and a snorkel for Sidelines Sports, she’d been keeping me busy—in and out of the office.

  For now, admiring the rooftop view, I muted my text messages and called up the sexy, chill, Tantric playlist I’d been compiling all day. Setting the volume to background noise, I set the phone amidst a smattering of funky votive candles, adding to the romantic scene on top of Carla’s cloistered patio. The tropical night was sultry and I had long abandoned the silk shirt I’d worn to Carla’s after work that day.

  Now, I strolled around in drawstring pants—and not much else—sliding a fresh bottle of wine into the ice bucket next to the long, padded table I’d put up an hour earlier. I was just starting to line up the fragrant body oils I’d picked up at a specialty store earlier that day, when I heard her key in the door.

  Quickly pouring a glass of wine, I had it ready and waiting as she strolled curiously onto the rooftop deck. Her beautiful face was less than amused, despite my obvious efforts.

  “Kellan,” she whined, accepting the glass graciously. “This is all very romantic, but it’s been a long day and…”

  “All the more reason why you need this,” I insisted, taking her free hand and leading her to the temporary massage table. An old friend had left it behind months ago, and it had been sitting unused in a back room since. Nearly stumbling over it while looking for something earlier that morning, I’d been inspired to put it to good use.

  Sipping her wine, Carla sighed dramatically. “Is that what I think it is?”

  I laughed, reaching for my own glass. “If you think it’s a long
, padded gateway into the type of erotic ecstasy you’ve never felt before, then yes, it’s exactly what you think it is.”

  She smirked, finally letting her ever-present messenger bag slide off her shoulder. “I think it’s a fold up massage table one of your ex-girlfriends probably left behind when you dumped her and now you figured you could put it to good use on your latest squeeze,” she said knowingly, with a smile. “But I have to admit—the idea sounds pretty amazing, too.”

  I grunted, topping off both our glasses of wine. “I know you’ve had a long day, Carla. I know you’re probably tired of having me around, ‘pawing’ at you night and day…”

  She held up a hand. “I wouldn’t say I’m tired of the ‘pawing’ part,” she teased, sipping her wine.

  “I just can’t help myself,” I admitted.

  She rolled her eyes. “I already said your idea sounded good, Kellan, you don’t have to keep piling on the lines.”

  “Good,” I said, putting my wine glass down on the patio table. “Because I’ve never been very good at lines.”

  She waved her hand at the results of my efforts over the last hour or more, openly admiring the hanging bulbs, the twinkling lights in the bushes, the flickering candles and chilled bottle of wine.

  “Who needs lines,” she purred, “when you’ve clearly gone to so much trouble? I’m flattered.”

  I reached for her glass, taking it from her hand and putting it on the table next to mine. “Don’t be flattered, just be naked.” Her impromptu snort of laughter made all the effort more than worth it.

  She stood in front of me defiantly, hands on her hips. “I don’t know which spa you go to, pal, but all the masseurs I’ve been to provide undressing as part of their service.”

  I made a grand flourish, bowing slightly at the waist and rolling my arm in the air in her general direction. “Forgive my oversight, Madame, allow me…” She’d dressed simply for the day, in a black skirt and sleeveless silver blouse. Her auburn up-do looked to be held in place with a pair of simple chopsticks, offering me an unbroken view of her delicate shoulders as I gently slid down the straps of her blouse.

  I could feel the tension of the day already easing along with her first item of clothing. I left her black bra on for now, and slowly unzipped the back of her skirt. Her panties were black and sheer, clinging firmly to the pale skin of her curvy backside. I slid the skirt down and off her legs, folding it carefully and laying it on top of a nearby chair.

  Smiling, I gently eased off each high heel, before standing and unclasping her lacy black bra. It gave way with a practiced ease, offering me a front row view of her full, womanly breasts.

  I resisted temptation, patting the top of the table, rather than devouring her right then and there. She seemed surprised by my restraint, and dutifully slid, face first, on top of the massage table. I heard a soft sigh of contentment ease from her lips, and that was before I reached for the imported bottle of tropical warming oil.

  It was silky and smooth on my palm before I rubbed it on the soft patch of skin between her delicate shoulder blades. Unlike most of the women I’d been with, Carla’s skin was smooth and ink-free, making it almost more exotic than the miles of tattooed skin I’d savored over the years. It quickly grew slick and glossy beneath my oiled fingers, the candle light flickering in the reflection of her skin.

  She was a supple and pliant client, lying flat on top of the table and both verbally and physically responsive to my every touch. By the time I’d made it down to the waistband of her panties, gently dragging them over and off her glorious round ass, I saw her wetness had darkened a spot on her panties. I ignored the more obvious erogenous zones below her waist, and gave my attention instead to her long, willowy legs.

  By the time I was through with them, the backs of her thighs glistened with an oily sheen, her calves glowed beneath the pale moonlight and even her feet had been carefully and reverently worshipped, heel to toe and back again. I paused in my work to admire the view, almost regretting that it was now time to turn my attention toward the equally erotic tableau that awaited me once she turned over.

  When at last I patted her shimmering ass, the universal masseuse sign for “Roll over and let’s get down to business,” she steadfastly refused. Instead, she turned her head to face me, and issued a counter offer.

  “Why don’t we see if those expert hands can make me come without rolling over, huh, pretty boy?”

  Cocking one eyebrow, I smacked her ass playfully, gladly accepting the personal challenge and eager to surprise my skeptical boss with the joys of a dick-free orgasm.

  Chapter 12

  Carla

  I only made the ridiculous offer because, by the time Kellan was ready for me to rollover, I was already halfway there. Tired and grumpy after another long day at the office, I’d wanted nothing more than a glass of wine, some microwave popcorn and to binge-watch my favorite scandalous series on Netflix.

  While I adored Kellan, and his near constant attention, I wasn’t used to having a man around the house every night, let alone one who made it his personal mission to send me off to sleep with multiple, verbal orgasms. I’d heard his favorite brand of Asian inspired, Middle Eastern-fused, hip-hop jazz, swing, chill mix oozing from his cell phone somewhere on the patio the minute I’d walked through the door.

  Inching closer toward it, I’d seen how he’d added to my already impressive display of hanging bulbs and twinkling lights to truly make my rooftop deck a hidden wonderland. Despite my earlier reluctance, I could hardly resist the poured glass of wine and handsome face waiting for me after another long day at Miami Models.

  Thirty seconds of admiring his bare, sweaty torso was all the convincing I’d needed to offer myself up to him, and his considerable talents, for one more night. By the time he put his first handful of tropical warming lotion between my shoulders, I just sighed with bliss.

  Nearly an hour later and my entire back, arms, ass and legs were saturated and soothed, and I was nearer still to complete and utter ecstasy. Given his unique talents then, I had no doubt Kellan would rise to my challenge.

  Naturally, he didn’t disappoint. With a hand on each of my oiled cheeks, he began to gently knead my tender, eager ass. Like dough in an expert pastry chef’s hands, I warmed to his touch, subtly rising to greet the touch of his flat palms and writhe against his probing fingertips.

  Gently, subtly, I noticed he was doing more than just kneading my ass, but also pressing me down and forward onto the soft padded table beneath my swollen clit. Already slick and wet with desire, I began to grind in earnest against the padded table top. It was a blissful and surprisingly erotic sensation.

  Kellan’s strong and capable hands gently slid my body up and down the tabletop. I moved less than an inch the entire time, and yet the results were shocking and sudden. Not only did my clit rasp across the soft white padding, but so did my erect nipples. With my hands above my head, I gripped the top of the table to pull, push and help him along on this sensuous journey.

  In college, I’d taken to humping my pillow in the middle of the night. While my roommate slept, unaware, in the next bed over, I gently but eagerly rubbed my juicy clit against my poor dorm room pillow. While I would eventually climax—biting down on my twisted sheets to silence my ecstatic squeal—it was in pale comparison to what Kellan was doing at the moment.

  Not only did he apply just the right amount of pressure to press me down against the table surface, he now gently rocked and rolled my body in a circular motion, as if knowing how it would affect my throbbing, tender bud.

  The result was almost instantaneous. I shuddered and shook, trembling with the prequel to the ecstasy that was to come. Spreading my thighs shamelessly, he took the hint and applied a fraction more pressure. I came and cried out his name, this despite a week full of more sex than I’d had in the past year—maybe even longer.

  The tremors seemed to never subside but, instead, to build upon themselves one after the other. Though high abo
ve South Beach and secluded from view by carefully tended bushes and shrubs, I nonetheless bit into the table top to muffle my shuddering scream. Perhaps it was an old habit, born in that far away dorm room, or perhaps the lack of oxygen as I struggled to breathe, but the act of biting down on the table’s edge only added to the ecstasy and I came once more.

  Okay, fine—twice more, but after nearly half a dozen already… who was counting? His hands never moved from my ass, never slid between my legs or ‘cheated’ by teasing or toying with my slick, wet pussy—and yet I was completely sated as I eventually wriggled free from his long, expert fingers.

  Somehow, I dragged myself to a sitting position and summoned the last of my strength to shuffle to the edge of the table next to him. Leaning gently back and gripping the sides of the table on either side of me, the message was clear. “I want to come on your dick. Hard, long and loud.” I said with a slightly breathy air.

  Kellan, already hard, only had to tug on the drawstring of his linen pants for them to drop down and away from his glorious body. Wearing nothing beneath, he approached with the practiced ease of a languid lover, put his hands on the table on either side of my thighs and promptly thrust his cock inside my wet, hungry cunt.

  I gasped with delight, a wanton sound I’d been making more and more often lately. My thighs wrapped eagerly, almost greedily, around his narrow hips, guiding him deeper still inside my wet, willing cave. Kellan was a machine, a piston-pumping, hip-thrusting, depth-mining machine. This night, however, was destined to be a sprint—not our usual marathon.

  As if enticed by the hour-long massage, now my beautiful, young lover raced to find his own release. He found it quickly, but not so quickly that the gliding thrust of his elegant cock and the hard, toned flesh of his sweaty pelvis didn’t pound me into another gushing orgasm.