“Would you like an orgasm, dear?”
When Cherise nodded, I eased her legs apart. She slid farther down, spreading wider for me, and sucking hard. She winced as her full weight rested on her well-spanked bottom. My hand slid into her slick folds.
“Don’t fight the pain, sweetheart.” I stroked my fingers up and down her slit. She whimpered, her legs stiffening as she inadvertently leaned more heavily on her tender behind. “The soreness will remind you to listen to me, dear one.”
Cherise wiggled uncomfortably a few more times, then looked at me and smiled tearfully. She kissed my nipple slowly. Carefully I slipped my middle finger into her quivering pussy and caressed her clit with the pad of my thumb.
“You are truly beautiful, Cherise, from the inside out.” Her eyes filled again as I pressed my finger deep, curving up toward her belly. She trembled against me as I found the sensitive spot deep inside her vagina. “Only a healthy body can feel this intensely.”
With my finger still inside her, I started massaging her juice-slicked clit with a slow, rolling motion. She cried out, sucking ferociously.
“Take care of your body, sweetie, so it can enjoy the pleasure of a healthy, happy climax.” I kept up a steady rhythm, pressing deeply. Cherise’s skin started to flush. “That’s it, beautiful. Let your wonderful, young body come like the strong, lusty animal you are.”
Cherise sucked so hard that my whole body quivered. Then with a loud cry, she arched into my hand, bucking and thrashing as her body convulsed with an orgasm that shook her from her toes to where her lips latched tightly onto me. She clutched me fiercely to her, sucking her way through a long, rolling climax.
She left me shaking with need.
Cherise slowly caught her breath, her lips falling free of my swollen breast. My nipple was a deep, bruised burgundy against her pale cheek as she lifted a shaking hand to my face. Her fingers traced the outline of my chin.
“Thank you, Ms Amanda.” Her face glowed with an almost luminescent blush. “I feel so good all over, even where my bottom’s so sore.” She stared at me, slowly brushing her hand over my cheek while another flush burned suddenly deeper and darker over her face. “Um, ma’am, I was just curious, but . . .” she took a deep breath, but this time she didn’t look away as she blurted out, “do you get turned on by my, um . . .”
Even the skin beneath her ponytail seemed to be blushing. I laughed and hugged her tightly.
“Yes, love,” I kissed her hand. “Pleasuring you is intensely arousing to me.”
“But you didn’t . . .?” Her eyes stayed intently on me as she stammered out her question.
“No, dear,” I smiled. “I’ll take care of it later.”
Cherise nodded and snuggled back into my arms. Her breath was cool over my wet nipple as she sighed contentedly and whispered, “In two weeks, I get my report card from my Greek and Latin tutor. Do you want to see that, too, ma’am?”
The possibilities for those costumes were mind-boggling.
I kissed the top of her head and settled in for one final bit of cuddling. Andre was going to be very busy.
The Lessons
Nola Summers
I’m sitting here alone on the dock, waiting for Jacob, the heat from Lesson Two still warming me against the early morning chill. I’ve been good. I want Lesson Three; I want all the lessons.
The Canadian Shield whizzed past the car, changing from farmland to rocky outcrop with every passing mile. We were headed to Ranger Lake – two weeks in the great outdoors. I’d complained bitterly before we left. I’d known it was coming for months but I still sulked. Ranger Lake Lodge: mosquitoes, fish guts, boredom, misery. My husband could do what he wanted. I’d play along, but I was never coming again.
Go straight, I chanted silently at a highway junction, but we turned north, taking the Sault Ste Marie bypass. Straight on would have taken us out of Ontario and into Michigan, the long way home to Detroit, but at least I would be in the right country.
I waved my husband off to fishing heaven the next morning, then canceled the canoeing lessons he’d booked for me. No one told Jacob, the instructor, though, and he came to collect me for Lesson One. I followed him to the water, my disinterest displayed like a shield. I was unnerved by his dark eyes and somber manner, but when he told me to get in the boat, I did.
Jacob sat behind me as we paddled up the shore. It was hot. I could feel him watching me, sure he could see the sweat running down my back and into my shorts. Other than a few paddling instructions there was no conversation.
The lake darkened to black just off the shore, a contrast to the smooth, steep granite that fronted the lake: pink and gray with an occasional white stripe. The rocks were dotted with wind-carved trees, overgrown bonsai, their roots anchored in the tiniest of cracks. The solitude, broken only by an occasional eagle’s cry, was hypnotic. Hidden here and there were small sandy beaches.
I was taken by surprise when Jacob spoke: there was a place we could stop for lunch, he said. He steered the canoe into a secluded cove, beached us, and helped me out.
I moved up onto the rocks, then turned to look at him. Jacob was Native, tall and bronzed, with dark eyes, chiseled features, and long black steel-cut hair that he wore loose. He had taken off his T-shirt and shoes, leaving just a faded pair of shorts. He was well-muscled, but his chest was baby smooth, his nipples like hard brown buttons. Just a trace of hair peeked out above the button of his fly.
He turned toward me and slid his shorts off. This unexpected nakedness neither frightened nor intimidated me; in fact, it amused me more than anything else.
“Come here,” he said, extending his arm. I felt like I was in The Last of the Mohicans, when Magua reaches out to his young captive as she stands on the edge of the cliff. The edge that I stood on was different, though I don’t think I realized it then; I could say no, and just continue with my ordinary life.
There was no real hesitation. Something in his voice, his eyes, his outstretched hand, drew me toward him. Jacob turned me, knelt and undid my shorts, hooking his fingers in the elastic of my underpants and pulling everything off at once. His long hair brushed me as he slid his tongue up the cleft of my ass. I turned to face him again and his tongue made a wet trail around my hip then down between my legs. He held my arms at my sides and teased me with the tip of his tongue, gently pushing apart the soft folds and burrowing between them. When I pushed back, Jacob stopped. He stood, pulled my top off, and left us both naked under the noon sun.
There was a ledge in the rock like a seat and he lifted me onto it, the granite sun-warm and smooth against my skin. Jacob looked in my eyes as he spread my lips with his long bronze fingers. He was silent as he probed me, and I was unable to speak.
His tongue covered me with long wet strokes, like a mother cat cleaning its kitten. My face, neck and breasts were left cool with his licking. Jacob worked his way down to my core. When he began there it was as if there were two tongues instead of one. I felt his hands on my hips, easing me forward. The lap of water against the shore matched his tongue, stroke for stroke. Steady, strong, relentless. I came with a fistful of Jacob’s hair in each hand.
I had barely caught my breath, still wondering why I was doing what I was doing, when he lifted me down and turned me to face the rocks. I braced myself. He slid all the way in on his first thrust.
“How do I want you?”
I wasn’t sure what he wanted for an answer.
“How?” His grip tightened on my hips, pushing me away, pulling me back sharply.
“Hard,” I said.
He withdrew.
“How do you want me?” he asked.
“I want you hard. I want you to fuck me hard, Jacob.”
“Good,” he said. “Because that’s what I’m going to do.”
I could barely stand as he pounded into me. I acknowledged the surrender of power. I was going to give it, and Jacob was going to take it.
When I started coming he stopped and pulled me
firmly against him. He played me with his long lean fingers, controlling my orgasm to match his own. My insides contracted, milking him as he spurted. His come ran down both our legs into the sand.
He carried me to the lake, washed me, then took me out to deeper water, lifting me and wrapping my legs around his waist. My breasts bobbed in the lake, the cold making my nipples harder and more sensitive.
“You shouldn’t cover these,” he said. “They should be seen. Touched. Sucked.” Jacob drew a nipple into his mouth. He bent me back with one hand, cupping one breast, then the other, rolling the nipples between finger and thumb, increasing the pressure until I gasped.
He moved toward the beach and let me slip down his body till my feet touched solid ground. He walked to the stone shelf, sat down and spread his legs.
“Come here.”
I did. I sucked the tip of him first, running my tongue around the head and probing the eye. I held his smooth shaft with one hand and cupped his balls with the other, licking him from base to head.
“Take it,” he said.
I opened wide, sucked him in. He was big for me: by the time my nose was buried in the black hair at his crotch he was hitting the back of my throat. He tasted of the lake and our come. His hands held my head, controlling me.
He made me look at him as he came. When I didn’t manage to swallow all of him and it ran from the corners of my mouth, he wiped it off with his hand and I licked each of his fingers clean.
Jacob got me dressed then and took me back to the lodge.
“Lesson Two. Tomorrow, same time.”
I was sunburned in places that had never seen the sun before. I was in the bathroom when my husband came back to the cabin, wondering what I had learned.
“There’s a lot more to it than I thought,” I said, catching my breath. “It’s kind of interesting, but the canoe guy doesn’t say much. I’ll probably try again tomorrow; there’s not much else for me to do.” I spoke from the safety of the shower, washing sand out of all the little folds where sand wasn’t meant to be.
Next day, Jacob was as silent as before. We had only gone about half the distance to the cove when he pulled to the shore and told me to get out.
“Lesson Two. Get undressed, face away.”
He pulled my arms behind my back, tied my wrists with leather, and helped me back in the canoe. I tried to get him to untie me. No, he said. We were going to the cove. If I didn’t sit still and be quiet he would gag me.
He told me that he knew I had tried to cancel the first lesson.
“That was wrong,” he said. “Very disobedient.”
I tried to explain, but Jacob wouldn’t listen.
“You need to think about your mistake. And be thankful that I will consider forgiving you.”
We went the rest of the way in silence. When we reached the cove he carried me up the shore. He laid out a blanket and told me to kneel. His eyes never left me as he took off his clothes.
“You must learn to obey.”
He smoothed the hair from my face and slowly pushed his thumb between my lips. “Your mouth is mine,” he said.
His cock was touching my cheek, moving in slow strokes, leaving a wet trail on my face. It came to rest on my lips.
“Open.”
I did and he slid in. He held the back of my head and slowly worked himself in and out of my mouth.
“Your body is mine.” Jacob said. He knelt, massaging my breasts – pinching and rolling my nipples before bending to suck them into his mouth. I watched as he pulled at one tip with his teeth. It was still tender and swollen from the day before, but I couldn’t stop my back from arching to accommodate his punishing mouth; I couldn’t stop myself from offering the other nipple.
Jacob reached between my legs. “This is mine,” he whispered, as his fingers wormed inside me.
His hand twisted and pushed, then slowly withdrew. My knees spread in response to his careful movement, and when they did, he took away his hand.
He eased my head down to rest on the blanket, my knees spread and my backside completely exposed. He tongued me from behind. “Your ass is mine too.” Jacob said.
He plunged into my own wetness to slick himself before easing his cock into my rear. I had never been stretched this way before.
Jacob waited for me. Not moving.
“Do it,” he whispered.
I knew nothing except my need. Not the lake, not the sky, not my husband. I begged him to move.
“No,” he said. “You take it.”
With my face buried in the blanket and my hands tied, I fucked myself on him. Jacob pulled out as I was coming and untied me, pulled me to my hands and knees, and told me not to move.
I rocked back and forth, anticipating his re-entry.
The noise and sting of the first slap shocked me upright.
“Learn to obey, or be punished,” he told me, as he walked round to face me and knelt to slip his tongue between my lips, kissing me tenderly. “And maybe sometimes, you’ll just be punished,” he whispered, lips still touching mine.
He eased me back down and spanked me. When he stopped I though it was over until I felt him tongue fucking me from behind, but each time my legs began to quiver the licking stopped and the slaps returned.
If he was spanking me then he would be licking me soon. If he was licking, I would be close to coming. I was beyond sniveling and begging, my pleasepleaseplease muffled in the blanket.
At last I felt a hand snake between my thighs, manipulating me as the slaps continued, steady and controlled. He wanted me to come. He wanted me to feel the pleasure with the pain, and I did, unable to distinguish them any longer.
As he dressed, I lay sprawled on the blanket, my insides still contracting. He knelt and rubbed my tender backside. Today’s lesson, he said, was about control. It was about giving and taking. He had taken, I had given.
“It is a good day to give,” he said. He laughed. “My ancestors said something like that.”
He stood and eased the canoe toward the water. “Tomorrow,” he said, “is Lesson Three.”
Nude in Magenta
Debra Gray De Noux & O’Neil De Noux
Through the viewfinder of his Nikon, James Steele watches his wife sit in her red miniskirt on the finely-trimmed lawn of Jackson Square. Her skirt is so short her white panties are plainly visible. James focuses on her semi-sheer underwear and takes a picture. He feels an immediate rush, his wife sitting this way in public.
With her short brown hair, striking blue eyes and model’s face, Helen looks stunning on this bright, Saturday morning. She’s never looked prettier, especially with only a hint of make-up and that brown lipstick, which draws out her creamy complexion. She still looks much younger than thirty-two, although that’s what her Louisiana driver’s license says.
James takes another picture, then sits next to Helen to reload his Nikon. He catches a whiff of her light perfume again, which increases his turn-on.
The calliope of a steamboat starts up, its shrill notes bouncing off the roofs of the French Quarter. James looks toward the seawall protecting New Orleans from the Mississippi and sees the steamboat’s funnels over the top of the concrete wall, recalling the view before the wall was built, back when it was all wharves along here.
“Someone’s out on the balcony,” Helen says, turning James’s attention to the Pontalba House Apartments across narrow St Peter Street from the square. A man stands leaning against the railing of the intricate, wrought-iron balcony running the length of the block-long, redbrick Pontalba House.
“I think it’s him,” Helen says quickly, “and he has binoculars.”
Helen raises her right knee, revealing even more of her panties, as James moves in front of her to take another picture. Beneath the brilliant sunlight, James can see his wife’s dark pubic hair through her panties. He feels his heartbeat rising.
Helen leans back on her hands and raises her face to the sun, eyes closed. James moves to her side to give the man with t
he binoculars an unobstructed view up her skirt.
Three minutes later, as James snaps yet another photo, he spots their quarry hurrying through the iron gates of the square. Carrying his own camera, the Honorable Frederick Newman, associate justice of the Louisiana Supreme Court, heads straight for them. Helen raises both knees high, revealing the panty-covered lobes of her ass for James to photograph. Moving to his wife’s side, James spots Newman pull up his camera to take a hurried picture up Helen’s skirt.
In his mid-sixties, Judge Newman is a thin man, a good five inches shorter than James Steel’s six-foot linebacker frame. Newman has intense green eyes, a hawkish nose, and sandy hair showing only a hint of gray around the temples. Like James, Newman wears a sport shirt and jeans.
James’s sport shirt, worn out, covers his 9mm Beretta, tucked into his beltline at the small of his back.
“Hope you don’t mind if I take your picture.” Newman flashes a warm smile at Helen. Turning to James, he adds, “I’m a professional photographer and she looks so pretty. Hope you don’t mind.”
“No problem,” James says as Helen sits cross-legged, like an Indian, the entire front of her panties exposed. Strands of her silky pubic hair stick out the sides of her skimpy underwear. James focuses and snaps a photo as Newman does the same. Helen leans back on her hands again.
Two men pass behind James and he sees them ogling his wife. A mischievous glint comes to Helen’s eyes as she smiles at her husband, her face flushed. She’s getting turned on.
Helen stands and pushes down her skirt. “Let’s go to the Moonwalk,” she says, taking James’s hand.
“Mind if I tag along?” Newman smiles again.
Helen smiles back and Newman sticks out his hand, introducing himself as Fred Newman. Helen takes his hand as James introduces them.
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