by West, K. D.
“I…” Exquisitely conscious of his fingers, his voice, I didn’t notice my own hands sliding up to the insides of his thighs. They are warm and substantial, even through the jeans, and they ground me, even as they lead me upward toward the object of my quest. “I want… to eat you. Ken. Please.” It has been a month and a half since I have had his cock — thick, heavy, and just long enough — inside of me. In my mouth. In my hand. In my cunt. In…
“You want to suck my cock, Allison?”
“Yes. Ken. Please.”
“And?”
“And…” Why am I embarrassed? Why do I feel once more like the virgin I was before Ken first took me into his bed? He knows what I want, and I know he knows how he makes me feel. How many times has he told me, There is no shame in love, Allison? “I… want to fuck you, Ken.”
He waits, the other hand sliding up my arm and finding my other breast, which had been feeling deprived, but now, oh…
“I want… I want you…” I want you. I want you so bad. I want you so bad, it’s driving me mad…. “I want to fuck you, for you to fuck me.”
I can hear the smile grow, and feel his caresses intensify.
But that’s not all I want.
Name it, I hear him saying in acting class. If you don’t know where to go next, name what’s happening — what’s really happening. Name what you want. “I want you to f-fuck me, Ken. Please. And… And fuck my ass. I want you to fuck my ass, Ken.” My voice finds its strength as this confession of the desire.
His breath catches. “Really?”
“Please.” The desire, the need has been building in me over the last month, since he sent me the story of his affair with Rachel, the actress he met in New Orleans, of how, when they were both nearly totally spent, he slid into her ass and fucked her there, the one place he has never fucked me, and that it never occurred to want him to fuck me, and the air flows between my open cunt lips. “I want… I want to give you everything. Everything.”
He slides down off of his desk chair and onto the floor with me, and his hands slide over my ribs, down my sides, over the fat ass I’ve never really thought of except as a place to sit or shit — until I read about what he had done with Rachel. His mahogany eyes fill my world, and once more I cannot breathe. “You gave me everything, Allison. Even before you gave me your virginity.” He leans forward, his body pressing against my naked one, and whispers huskily into my ear. “I told you — “
“I gave you back your life.”
“Yes.” His hands, like his cock, are large, and wide, and each slides over one of my ass cheeks, one up, one down, so that one thumb finds its way to circle the opening between them, and the long fingers of the other hand trace the moist, trembling lips of my cunt from the back. “Shit, Allison….”
It fills me with pride and desire to hear that I’ve had that effect on him. “Please, Ken. I want you to come in my mouth, in my cunt, in my ass. I want…”
His fingers find my clit, and he pinches it just as he pinched my nipples, leaving me gasping for air. “And what are you going to get out of this, sweetheart?”
“Hnh?” I’m struggling to focus on his words when the pressure of his fingers around my lips, around my clit, against my anus are forcing out all other awareness.
“I want all of those things. Shit, Allison, I want to fuck your mouth and your cunt, and fuck, yes, I want to fuck your sweet ass.” His thumb presses against my asshole, and I gasp as he pushes it just far enough to force the muscles to open. “But — ”
“But?” I whimper.
“What are you getting out of this, besides giving this old man a heart attack?”
“Not… old,” I groan, as I always do when he gets stupid like that.
“Old enough,” he moans back.
Most girls get a crush on a teacher at some point. Most boys too, I suppose. Only a few ever actually get to turn the fantasies to reality.
I did. With Ken.
He did, with his teacher, Dana.
Dana did, with her teacher, John.
I know this because of the inscriptions in the book of John Keats’s poetry that’s sitting on the floor beside my knees. John inscribed the book to his student Dana on her eighteenth birthday. Dana inscribed it to Ken on his.
And last spring, Ken gave the book to me for my eighteenth birthday, and changed my life.
“I…” I grunt, pushing myself back, onto his thumb. The feeling of his finger, of his flesh pressing in, pushing into someplace where nothing, no one has ever gone fills me with heat; my nipples buzz with need and my cunt lips flutter against his searching fingers. “I get… you.” I look up into his dark eyes, whose lids are drooping with lust. “I get to know that I am blowing your fucking mind, you old fucker. I want to feel you come all of the way up my ass and know that I’ve taken your mind to infinity and beyond.”
He kisses me, and a tremor of passion passes between us. “Buzz fucking Lightyear,” he murmurs against my lips, pulling me against him, pushing his thumb deeper into me. “God, Allison. What’s gotten into you?”
“You!” I pant.
COMING SOON!
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