I’m getting to the point of no return, where any control is lost, and my lust takes over. We continue kissing, and he relaxes his hold on my arms. I take the opportunity to reach down and undo the button and fly on his jeans. I slide my hand into the gap I’ve made, find his erect penis and feel myself getting wetter as I stroke it.
It’s incredibly hot and hard, and I tremble inside as I envisage it thrusting inside me, filling my wet hole. I close my eyes as I caress his cock. I increase the pace, and Karl moans, a deep guttural noise that makes my clitoris throb in response. I love that he’s horny, and I know exactly what will make him want me even more.
I remove my hand from his jeans and get off the table. I guide him so he’s in my place, his buttocks against the table, his erection straining against the pale blue denim covering his groin. Not for long though, as I grasp the loopholes at his waist and pull, revealing his tight white boxer shorts. Within seconds, they’re down too, revealing his proud prick, standing long and thick from his tangle of pubic hair.
Without hesitation, I drop to my knees. I reach out and grasp his twitching erection, holding it firm in one hand as my mouth draws closer to its smooth head, which is already gleaming with his juices. I stick out my tongue to taste his precum, then sliding my tongue along the length, my lips curve into a grin as he gasps at the contact.
I pull back and blow on the dampened skin, then suddenly lunge forward and slide my lips over the head once more, this time taking his cock fully into my mouth, as far as it will go. I suck and squeeze him with my lips and tongue – his moans of delight heightening my arousal.
I suck him with enthusiasm, loving the feeling of control I’m getting. Although it’s me on my knees, I know damn well he’s putty in my hands, or more literally, my mouth.
I use my free hand to stroke his balls and perineum, the combined techniques guaranteed to drive him wild. I can feel his dick becoming harder as though he’s ready to come, so I slow my pace. I’m not going to let him… yet. I give his erection a final lingering lick as I make my way back up his body, kissing, nibbling and sucking my way to his lips, which are curved up in a smile.
“That was…”
I cut him off with a kiss, sliding my tongue into his mouth, allowing him to taste himself on my tongue and lips. He deepens the kiss, sliding his arms around my waist and pulling me close. I relax into the embrace, feeling like I’m walking on air. I simply cannot wait any longer for him to touch me. I grab one of his wrists from behind my back and place it on my breast.
He gently cups and caresses the soft flesh through my clothes, then suddenly his hand heads south, under my layers and up again so he’s touching my bare skin. The temperature down below raises a few degrees, and I can feel the dampness in my pants increase. I don’t think I’m going to last much longer. There’s a feeling of desperation running throughout my entire body, desperation to have his cock inside me, screwing me long and hard … making me come until it hurts.
He fingers my nipple, quickly making it erect and then pinching the tender flesh, making me squeal a little. He pulls off my jumper, giving him full access to my naked flesh, tormenting my breasts and nipples, sucking, licking, biting. The feel of his teeth against my skin is driving me crazy, like a red hot fire blazing its trail south.
I push one of his hands down, leaving him to take the hint. He does, thank god. He lifts up the hem of my skirt, his hands roaming over my smooth thighs above my stocking tops. I open my legs a little to give him better access. His fingers creep under my pants to explore my vulva, stroking along the swollen folds of flesh, then dipping between them to see what an effect he’s had on me. The love juices flow so freely, he stops teasing my nipple and orders me back onto the table, but not before removing my underwear.
He parts my legs, presenting him with a full view of my engorged flesh. Suddenly his face disappears from view and I throw my head back in ecstasy as he tongues my clit. Karl licks my outer labia, his stubble grazing my smooth skin, giving a contrasting sensation from the warm tenderness of his tongue. He dips into the wetness in the middle, lapping up all the juices he’s caused me to secrete. He thrusts his tongue in and out of my pussy, reaching in as far as he can go, stimulating all the sensitive nerve endings and accelerating me towards a crashing climax.
I tangle my hands in his hair, unwilling to give him the chance to stop. I’m so close to coming now, I’m moaning and thrashing around, arching my back. Just as I can feel the familiar feeling start to emanate throughout my body, he stops. Just as I’m registering disappointment, he takes my clit between his lips and sucks. That’s it. The tingling feeling spreads, my vaginal walls contract, and the floodgates open. I moan loudly as the come soaks my inner thighs, all the while Karl is lapping away, tasting my love juices.
The pulsations have barely died away when Karl stands, his still erect penis looking fit to burst. He enters my wet warmth in one motion, triggering a new set of contractions to ripple through my groin. We both moan at the sensation and he doesn’t move for a moment. We relish the feeling, I of being filled, he of being surrounded. Then he moves inside me. The sensitivity is intense and I simply allow him to have his way. I lean back slightly and wrap my legs around his back, pulling him deeper into me.
He pounds into me deeply and violently, grasping my thighs hard for leverage, leaving marks on the pale skin. I know I’m going to have bruises in a couple of days, but I don’t care, I figure it’ll be a sexy reminder. He moves rhythmically in and out of me, coating his cock in my juices which are increasing rapidly.
I dig my nails into his arms as he fucks me, and bite his neck and chest to muffle the noises I’m making. I want to scream, but somehow having to keep the noise down is making the whole experience more exciting. It’s so dangerous and naughty. We’re fucking in a classroom. We’ve been taught in this room for almost three years. We’ve flirted and talked dirty in this room for almost three years. And now he’s sending me over the edge in this room, the atmosphere thick with lust.
My limbs clutch him desperately, hardly believing that this is finally happening. He’s driving his hard cock deep inside my soaking wet, red-hot cunt. He slows down momentarily, almost as though he’s running out of steam. Seconds later, I breathe a sigh of relief as he ups the pace once more.
Only this time, it’s different. He’s not just upping the speed, he’s upping the intensity. He’s thrusting into me now with an animal ferocity, his thighs audibly slapping against my ass. He leans down to me, his arms moving up my back to my shoulders, and as he pulls me on to him, he kisses me longingly and deeply. It’s obvious he’s getting close now – he seems to be lost in his passion. He slows once more, gyrating against me, creating delicious friction on the delicate nub of flesh nestling between my thighs. He applies slightly more pressure and I dig my nails into his biceps as I feel myself contracting around his cock once more. He begins to fuck me like a man possessed, fast, hard and wild. My orgasm intensifies and lengthens as he continues to torment me.
Finally, my spasms are matched by his. I feel his cock starting to throb and twitch inside me. Pounding into me one last time, he pulls out with a sexy groan and fires his load all over my hungry nether mouth. The sensation is fucking incredible. His come is so hot I feel like it could almost burn me.
As the last of his orgasm wanes, he collapses against me, spent. Months of agonising flirting and fantasising, and boy was it worth it. Karl raises his head from its position on my chest and looks at me, his face flushed, eyes bright. He leans up for another kiss, and I’m just thinking maybe we’re going to go again when there’s a noise outside.
Someone tries the door. It’s locked.
There’s a sharp irritated knocking… For Christ’s sake, FUCK OFF, I think. A little privacy here. Then I giggle. We’re in a classroom, how can we expect privacy?
The knocking comes again. Then someone calling my name.
Repeatedly. More knocking.
Suddenly I realise someone is intruding on my private territory. They’re trying to get inside my head and coax me out, and, DAMN IT, they’ve succeeded. I come back to earth with a bump.
Karl’s standing in front of me grinning, waving his hands in front of my face.
“Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to get your attention for five minutes, everyone else has gone! Must have been a good daydream.”
Crush
by Primula Bond
‘You’ve probably got something exciting going on tonight, Polly –’
Polly glances up from her perch in the corner of the show room. It’s a cinch, this job. First one she’s had since leaving school. This guy Giles pays her to sit there all day, looking pretty, typing out price lists, enticing passing trade to come in from the cold and view the latest exhibition. Sometimes even selling a picture.
All because she’d done a nude sitting for one of the gallery’s artists and shuffled in one day looking for payment. The artist wasn’t there, but the painting was. Hanging right up there on the wall, in fact, lit bright with a baby spot. In strong, brutal sweeps of flesh and chalky white oils he’d depicted her sprawled across a plain wooden floor, arms out, spine arched, legs open, knees collapsed, hair thrown across her face, looking as if she’d just been fucked.
Which she hadn’t, yet. Oh, got close, you know, with fingers and tongues. Even had a girlie session once or twice after clubbing with a very sexy, very persistent French exchange student which was pretty wild. But she’d never sat on a cock. She’d acted it for the artist, faked it, posed it.
But she’d never had a guy’s cock pushing into her and making her scream with pleasure.
Giles was in the gallery that day. He’d given her the money, glanced at the painting and back at her. Never said a word. She was swathed in black tights and boots and a big old scarf that day so maybe he didn’t put two and two together. But there was something in the way his solemn amber eyes studied her, seemed to look right through to her bones, that made her feel very young and totally naked.
And obviously something about her made him offer her the job. He might have ignored her ever since, and she should probably be out there looking for something better, but she never wants to leave.
Her body goes hot, like central heating, and she tries not to wriggle on the hard little chair like a naughty schoolgirl needing a wee.
‘No. Nothing exciting tonight. Why?’
Giles straightens a picture and stares out of the window. ‘Valentine’s Day?’
Polly blushes harder and bends her head over the computer to hide it. ‘ No boyfriend.’ She bites on a biro. ‘No Valentine.’
Giles strokes his chin. There’s always a rough dark shadow there, like he’s permanently holding a piratical beard at bay. He’s so sophisticated, so smooth and sorted on the surface, but those bristles mean there’s something about him needs taming. She wonders if he has a hairy chest. How warm his stomach is under those loose linen shirts. Today’s there’s a tantalising strip of brown skin where a button has come undone. What his legs are like under those cool loose jeans. What it would feel like to kiss an older guy.
‘Great,’ he says quietly. ‘So can you help out at the party this evening?’
His hand dives into his pocket. Polly stares where his hand has gone. Straight at his crotch, in fact. It’s rude, but no ruder than a man staring at a girl’s tits. It was the same with the music master at school. He was the only man in the convent, apart from the priest. All the girls thought about was what their cocks looked like under their clothes.
He’s pulling out a wad of notes. She tries to pick a stray hair from the corner of her mouth. She’s still trying to detect a bulge behind his fly, thinks she can see one. But hell, why on earth would he be getting hard from standing here talking to little old her?
‘I’ll make it worth your while!’ He leans over, hooks his finger against her cheek, draws the offending hair out of her mouth. A single tiny drop of saliva pings off it like a diamond. Then he lays some crisp tenners down neatly on her desk. ‘Just make sure you look stunning tonight. We’ve got lots of press coming.’
He winks at her. Her stomach flips. Then he’s gone.
Because to him she’s just a kid. And he has a girlfriend. Well, woman friend. She swaggers in to the gallery nearly every day. Checking up on him? She wears bizarre leather trousers, thinks she’s Chrissie Hynde. She’s elegant, though, black hair smooth like a helmet, and she’s called Lady Henrietta. She always pauses in front of Polly’s desk, barks out some question about Giles, never looks her in the eye.
She’s here right now, twitching in his chaotic office down in the basement, spiky heels kicking impatiently at the air while he dares to deal with his minions, sipping the strong black coffee Polly makes for her.
Polly’s the one who stands in the gallery doorway in her long dresses, bed hair piled up messily, black fingernails beckoning in the punters. But Henrietta’s the one who looks like a hooker.
The artist responsible for painting her in the nude comes down the spiral staircase from the upper landing where he’s been hanging the last paintings for tonight’s private view.
‘Can’t take your eyes off him, can you, duck? Giles is the most handsome hetero art dealer in London!’ he teases, waggling his hammer at her. ‘So. Got a crush?’
‘Nah. Far too old!’ Polly tosses her hair. She wanders across the highly polished floor to re-arrange the lilies in the window. ‘And he’s got Lady Henrietta, anyway.’
‘He’s my age I’ll have you know, young lady! And as for her, that’s no love affair. They look good together, that’s all. Kind of risqué and rackety. They use each other for publicity. And sex.’
Polly’s stomach tightens with jealousy. Sex, the word, everything to do with it, hangs in the cool air like heavy perfume.
‘Do you think they’re doing it right now?’ She fiddles with the catalogues just back from the printers, smelling headily of glossy paper.
‘Doing what?’
‘You know. It. In his office.’
‘Fucking, do you mean, Polly Pocket?’
Her armpits are prickling, and the backs of her hands. She presses her thighs together, increasing the throbbing deep in her pussy. ‘Yeah.’ Her voice is a croak.
A smart couple open the door, letting in the bitter wind. Polly paints on a greeting smile. Then, downstairs, Henrietta and Giles start shouting. The punters scuttle away.
‘What’s going on?’
‘Told you they weren’t all that.’ The artist shrugs in the direction of the argument. ‘Perhaps fighting fires them up.’
Henrietta’s voice grows louder, as if someone has turned up the volume. ‘She’s splayed naked all over the walls, and now you want her handing the drinks round to the critics tonight?’
‘It’s art, Henrietta, and she has a body to die for. They’ll lap it up! They’ll be queuing up to lap her up-’
‘Don’t be disgusting!’
‘You’re the one obsessing about her!’ Giles is slamming the drawers of his desk. ‘But what’s any of this got to do with you? This is my gallery, not yours. And she’s no tart. You can tell she’s still a virgin –’
‘So? That just makes her all the more tempting!’
Polly is hanging over the banisters as the voices descend into angry muttering.
‘How the fuck does he know –’
‘That you’re a virgin?’ The artist tucks her hair behind her ear and pads back up the spiral staircase. ‘It’s in the eyes, girl. We all know.’
‘How many times have I told you?’ Now Giles is chasing Henrietta up the stairs. ‘You haven’t been invited!’
‘I’m not bloody Cinderella, you know!’ Henrietta trips over her pointed toe as she gets to
the top step. ‘I’m just as entitled to go the Berkeley Square Ball as you!’
‘Yes, darling, of course you are. Pumpkin, glass slipper and all.’ Giles swipes his hand over the top of his head. ‘But what would your bloody husband think about that?’
Henrietta staggers against Polly’s desk, knocking over her vase of white carnations. Water seeps across a pile of typing. Henrietta just glares, an aristocratic flush streaking angrily across her cheek bones. The kind of hectic colour you might get after a good day’s fox hunting. It even stains the bridge of her hooked nose, as if someone has punched her.
‘Not in front of the staff, Giles!’
‘So now you know, Polly. Lady Henrietta’s married. But not to me. I’ve a double ticket but I can’t take her to the Berkeley Square bloody Ball, with royalty and Mick Jagger and God knows who else parading about. I’ve a reputation to keep up.’
‘Oh, right. The suave bachelor.’ The artist titters from up above.
‘Gigolo, more like!’ Henrietta is still glaring at Polly.
The onset of a terrible giggle fit crowds inside Polly’s chest. The kind that attacks you in church or on a crowded tube.
‘Royalty?’ She asks Giles, as if it’s just the two of them. ‘Mick Jagger?’
‘So let the suave bachelor take his unmarried little virgin to the ball.’
Henrietta stalks past Polly in a rage and hauls open the street door, expecting someone to scurry after her. But everyone just turns back to their work.
Into the reverberating awkward silence Polly hears herself say, ‘I’ll go with you, Giles.’
Giles is halfway back down to the basement. ‘You must be joking, Polly,’ he sighs. ‘You’re young enough to be my daughter.’
Polly is still young enough to be crushed by that remark. He barely notices her. Thinks she’s no better than jail bait – and not in a good way.
Sex, Love & Valentines Page 7