In the interval, as I handed her a G&T, she stared down into it, jingling the ice cubes. The entrance hall was so crowded with other drinkers that she couldn’t help but stand close. I received a text from Ray. How much touch? But I didn’t even reply. ‘So, Tabby,’ I said, with a gulp of my wine. ‘You’re not into women?’
She rolled her eyes behind her glasses. ‘I don’t do sex, full stop.’
‘But the way you dress and your body language ...’
Her expression grew sour. ‘You can rely on it too much, dear,’ she snipped, before knocking back her drink. When she lowered her glass, she told me she didn’t do intimacy, and pursing the gin from her lips, added, ‘Sharing’s overrated.’ I saw then that she’d been hurt by a lover – perhaps this accounted for the sadness I’d sensed when she taught me.
‘But you want sex,’ I tried. ‘And you want sex with me. It’d change us both. I’m not your student any more.’
She gave a hard laugh that softened to a smile, then stroked the hair from my face. ‘You’re right, dear,’ she said, ‘but I can’t, OK?’ And then a buzzer signalled the start of Act 2.
After the play was finished, Tabby went to the loo, so I gave Ray a call. ‘Beautiful signing,’ I said.
He laughed. ‘Like you noticed! You were too busy stroking your teacher’s pussy.’
I told him about Tabby, how she wouldn’t let me touch her. ‘All the way through the second half, I didn’t even look at the play. I was too stunned that she’d brushed me off.’ It was true, I’d hardly seen the actors in their Shakespearian corsets – I’d been too busy gazing at Tabby’s freckled breasts, so delicately cupped by the halterneck fabric, and imagining kissing those full glossed lips that would slide so perfectly over mine.
‘Shall I crash the party?’ said Ray.
I asked him to join us for dinner.
‘That poor woman needs seducing,’ he said. ‘Let’s give her the time of her life.’
I chose the restaurant: a tapas bar nearby. When I explained my friend was joining us, Tabby gave the tiniest pout as if I’d somehow abused her. By the time Ray arrived, we’d ordered champagne along with a medley of tiny bowls and platters. Roasted red peppers drizzled in oil, almond-stuffed dates wrapped in crispy bacon, chilli-fried shrimp, griddled halloumi cheese and hasselback potatoes all brown and sweet. We ate from a glass-topped table with a candle at its centre, using our fingers to pick at the fare. Ray and I sat either side of Tabby on a curved bench that followed the line of the table. Her body language was prim at first, arms tight at her sides, but as the evening wore on she let us snuggle so close that our knees touched, and she even allowed Ray to feed her bacon-wrapped morsels. The first of these made her moan with pleasure, dropping back her head as she chewed.
I pressed my thigh against hers and said, ‘My turn. Feed me something.’
She watched me for a while, her blue eyes growing, her distrust grappling with the lust that swelled her pupils; then eventually she gave half a smile and chose a strip of roasted red pepper, which she placed on my tongue. I overacted entirely, falling back into the seat, massaging my breasts through the lycra as I groaned with enjoyment; beneath the table I reached between my legs massaging my own thigh as I let a droplet of oil escape from the side of my own mouth.
I could feel the burn of Tabby’s stare as Ray leant against her ear and whispered, ‘Lick it off.’
But the droplet ran down my chin and throat, and she didn’t move an inch. So Ray, in his brilliance, moved round my side of the bench, sitting right close to me, and licked from my tits up to my throat, catching the droplet on his tongue, before repeating the act with his hand on my thigh, his fingers gripping so hard that I felt a glorious shot of pain. ‘Fuck,’ he told me, ‘you’re a sexy little bitch.’
‘Feed me more,’ I gasped to Tabby, rolling my head her way.
I thought we’d snared her because her cheeks had flushed and she was sucking her finger as she stared at Ray’s seductions. He was now lowering my strap, licking across my shoulder; but before we could argue, Tabby was sidling away, snapping, ‘You’ve no right. I’m going to powder my nose.’
She spent the rest of the meal quietly eating, while Ray dangled his hand below my belly, fingering me through my silky briefs – sometimes smoothly, sometimes roughly – until I was so wet I couldn’t eat. Worried about Tabby, I tried not to show my pleasure, which made the whole scenario twice as hot. We ended up back at my place getting stoned in my bedroom, Tabby lying on her belly across my double bed, her prickliness slipping slowly away. I burned a sandalwood candle that gave the pot an exotic tinge, and lay on the rug with my head in Ray’s lap as we shared a joint. I stared up at his lively brown eyes, which made him look as if he were constantly amused.
Ray and I steered the conversation away from Twelfth Night and towards sexuality, but Tabby would have nothing of it. She continually brought us back to the present day, speaking of her teaching work, her neighbours and the art classes she enjoyed. But as the smoke took her, she began to lounge, rolling onto her back and laughing as Ray cracked jokes. ‘Silly boy,’ she told him, taking off her glasses. I was struck by her pretty face, so blue-eyed and innocent. ‘You’re worse than my students,’ she added.
‘I’m offended,’ I said, with a wry smile.
‘You shouldn’t be,’ she said, with a smoulder. Softening, she added, ‘You weren’t just any old student.’
Woah! My jaw went slack.
‘Well?’ Ray asked Tabby. ‘What was Val like? Spill.’
Tabby rolled onto her front, her dress peeling upwards, the fabric gathering around her perfect thighs. Her whole expression was relaxed, playful, sleepy. With curls coming loose from her little blonde pigtails, she purred, ‘Val was the cleverest girl I ever taught.’
I glowed.
Ray laughed. ‘So how come she can’t use chopsticks?’
I slapped his arm.
‘Seriously,’ said Ray, reaching around my shoulders. ‘Val’s adorable as heck, and clever, but I can’t imagine she was much of a boffin!’
‘Don’t have to be a boffin to be smart,’ I said.
Tabby rolled onto her back so she was looking at us upside down, her pale cleavage exposed behind her jawline, as if one move might force those tight little breasts to just pop from the fabric, nipples and all. ‘She was dreamy,’ she said, taking a drag on her joint. Breathing out her smoke, she closed her eyes: ‘In that whole damn class, all I saw was Val.’
I grinned, setting my joint in the saucer at my side. ‘And all I saw was you,’ I said, softly.
‘So?’ Ray asked Val. ‘Why don’t you screw the girl?’
Tabby smoked thoughtfully for a while before giving her answer. When she did, her voice turned cool: ‘A cheating bitch called Layla.’
Ray and I exchanged a look, before he peeled away and crawled across to Tabby. Climbing up onto the bed, he grinned and tweaked one of her pigtails. She giggled, blue eyes glinting as he pulled in close. ‘I know a good cure for heartbreak,’ Ray said, fingers glossing the fabric between her breasts. ‘You’re a sweetie, you know? And hot as hell. And Val over there is besotted. And maybe I am too.’
Tabby’s eyes met his. She watched him for a while, then reached up and ruffled his hair. Smiling, she said, ‘Are you making a pass?’
Ray laughed. ‘We’re both making a pass.’
She stared at me, waiting. At last, she gave me a sultry wink. ‘OK,’ she said, smirking, ‘but only because I’m high.’
Happy as a birthday girl, I skipped across to the bed. When I was next to her, she said, ‘Kiss me.’ So I did. Her mouth was as yielding as I’d guessed: her lips, which tasted of cherry-flavoured gloss, slid across mine, and her tongue was lithe and gentle, tasting of the joint. We kept on going, opening our mouths on one another. I felt her fingers on my breast, kneading gently. She moaned. Then I ran my fingers through those soft little curls and touched her nape and the curve of her ass. She rolled onto her side, settling i
nto the kiss, and now I was able to reach right beneath her skirt, my fingers brushing up those supersmooth thighs – I’d always known she’d be cool to the touch, like the insides of shells. When I drew away, I saw Ray reaching round her, pulling the fabric away from her breast. The sweetest, hardest roseate nipple lay gorgeously exposed. He rolled her onto her back, both of them smiling. ‘Naughty teacher,’ he told her. ‘No bra. How slutty.’ Then he began to lick Tabby’s perfect breast, and kept on going until it was glossed with saliva. I watched for a while, then joined in, running my tongue over her other tight little nipple, making her gasp and shiver. Ray, who was softly moaning as he licked, thrust his hand inside Tabby’s skirt and began to pleasure her with that wonder-touch of his. She arched, lips parting, and let out a sudden cry, her lips and lashes quivering, and said, ‘Oh God, it’s been so long!’ I felt her absently tugging at my hemline. ‘Take it off,’ she gasped, with a pleading look. ‘Oh, Val ... please.’
I didn’t need any encouragement. Beneath I was wearing silky briefs – pink, the colour Ray liked – with a matching bra that raised and rounded my tits.
As Ray began to bite Tabby’s nipple, she groaned, staring down at him, hand splayed on the back of his head; when she focused again, she said, ‘Val, honey, let me touch you.’
On my knees, I shuffled closer, letting her run a free hand over me. She smelt of pricey scent I recognised – something dry by Calvin Klein. ‘My ex was never as pretty as you,’ she murmured, entranced by my body, ‘and never so clever either.’
Ray pulled back, so I lowered myself over her, and said, ‘If music be the food of love, we’re playing it, baby ...’ Then I dipped a hand inside her skirt and found those lacy briefs and the perfectly waxed pussy beneath. I started softly, then pushed my fingers right into her, making her cry out and grab fistfuls of the sheets. Her scent, her little moans, her slick little slit, her wetness sliding smoothly from inside her ... all of this from the teacher I’d once watched so keenly. I was so wet and enchanted that I couldn’t look away.
At last, I heard Ray unzipping, but didn’t expect him to crawl behind me, pull my panties aside and fill me with his cock. As I shivered with pleasure, he started fucking me hard, telling me I was a bad little girl who shouldn’t touch her teachers. My whole body jerked with Ray’s every thrust, and I knew I had to taste Tabby again, if only to feel the yielding of her sex. As I lowered my mouth to her, I glanced up her body: her lips were parted, covered in saliva and she was watching me from between her knees, her eyelids heavy. ‘Do it,’ she whispered. ‘Suck me.’
I was so aroused, I burned.
As I pressed my tongue to her slippery sex, tasting her, teasing the nib of her clit, Ray continued to slam himself into me. ‘Dirty girl,’ he told me, pushing my face into Tabby’s pussy and, turned on by his brutality, I licked and licked and licked. Tabby moaned so loudly, her sex gushing, thirstily. ‘Oh, baby,’ she cried out, ‘don’t ever fucking stop ...’
What I realised while I was going down on Tabby was how charged it felt. This wasn’t simply a fun-fuck. This was about recovery. Later, for instance, as Ray jerked off, watching me spank Tabby, while a thread of drool spilled from her lower lip, I realised we were purging that cruel lover she’d mentioned: the one who’d probably been hurting her while I was in her class and had sensed her pain. Now, she knelt on the sheets, gorgeous and naked, her freckled skin glossed with perspiration, and I knelt behind her, pulling down on her pigtails so she was forced to tip back her head. I loved controlling her and displaying her for Ray, who, with his jeans and boxers round his thighs, was jerking off opposite Tabby. His gaze was glued to her tits, and he soon began a crescendo of ‘Fuck, yes!’ reaching out with his free hand to maul her breast. Tabby laughed and cried, ‘Is he coming on me? Is he?’ And oh, it was so joyous an exclamation, that it made me burn. As Ray came all over those perfect breasts, the sound of his come spattering her skin, Tabby reached back into my wet pussy and I felt such pleasure at her wondrous, digging fingers that I came too – deep and hard – falling on her, with a cry.
Afterwards, whenever we talked about Tabby, Ray would say, ‘She was hot, but you were the hottest,’ as every good lover should, and I said the same to him, of course, except I called him bad. On future dates, we’d talk about how the three of us had lain there together, after we’d all come, tangled up and naked, the smile on Tabby’s face utterly serene. Perhaps this moment sowed the seed that gave Ray and me the guts to fall in love – the gift of what she gave us, and what we’d been giving her.
As it happened, we met her again two years later, quite by accident in a London bar. A beautiful redhead was with her, arm draped around my old teacher’s shoulders. While we drank together, Tabby couldn’t stop touching me – my knee, my arm, my hair.
‘You’re different,’ I told her.
She grinned. ‘Thanks to you.’
‘Later, you can express your gratitude,’ I joked.
And, of course, she did.
Proxy
by Malin James
Peter had been told, on more than one occasion and in tones that varied from awe to disbelief, that his sex drive was truly a miracle to behold. It was a testament to the truth of this statement that he invariably agreed. At 32, he had slept with only slightly fewer women than a seasoned professional and a small but impressive handful of open-minded men. He’d had lovers of every discernible type, in countless positions and in various locations both exotic and discrete. What little he’d yet to experience he’d had no doubt he some day would – until the accident had cut him off (riding a motorcycle at excessive speeds on rainy nights can do that).
With four cracked vertebrae and a collection of other hurts, Peter was three months into a long and painful recovery – a recovery that had all but killed his once heroic libido. At first the loss hadn’t caused undue alarm. Traction, surgeries and heavy drugs would slow anybody down, and Peter’s sex drive, though titanic, was by no means immune. Now, however, that he was fairly mobile again (he could even sit up in bed with a certain rakish flair), his desire for sex was still fast asleep, as was his impressive cock.
He tried the usual stimuli – fantasies, porn, memories (lovingly catalogued) of particularly good fucks – but none of it seemed to work. Thinking that perhaps he needed something a bit more concrete, he tried fantasising about Sarah, his adorable live-in nurse whose long, tapered fingers were a masterpiece from God. He imagined those hands stroking him into a thoroughly rigid state. He imagined the ivory column of her throat swallowing him whole. He imagined her climbing on top of him with her neat little uniform tunic pushed up around her hips, revealing, what he imagined to be, her naturally auburn curls. Still, he didn’t stir. The bottomless well of his sex drive had gone disturbingly dry. Finally desperate, Peter broached the subject with his doctor while the adorable Sarah waited outside.
‘Well,’ said Dr Bradley, an aging hippie with a tremendously kind face, ‘you’ve endured quite a trauma. It’s normal for secondary functions to take a back seat while the body is trying to recover.’
‘Dr Bradley,’ replied Peter, scrubbing his hands through his dark, curly hair, ‘sex is not a secondary function for me. It’s a primary function. Possible THE primary function. If I lose my sex drive, I don’t know what I’ll do.’
Peter, who avoided emotional drama like the plague, heard his voice crack and grit his teeth. Dr Bradley gave him a sympathetic nod.
‘Perhaps you could try something tried and true – something that’s never failed, so to speak?’
‘I have. None of it worked.’
‘Well then, the only thing left to try, short of medication, is something completely new.’
‘Dr Bradley, with all due respect, I’m not sure my history allows for something completely new.’
Dr Bradley smiled. ‘Well, just give it a shot. See what happens. If it doesn’t work, we can always try medication.’
With an encouraging smile, Dr Bradley left, leaving Peter t
he rest of the afternoon to think. He thought while Sarah moved about the room, adjusting this and checking that with her long, elegant hands. He went through the list of things he hadn’t yet done, but concluded that there wasn’t much. He’d seduced a set of triplets the summer before, and the odds of finding a young, willing nun weren’t terribly good at the moment. Other than that, there were only two things, or rather, two people, that Peter had yet to do – his best friends, Ben and Michaela.
Peter and Ben and Michaela had been friends for ages, and in that time, nothing had ever happened between them – nothing except for that once. In their final semester of college, what had begun as a drunken wrestling match had turned into something else, and the three of them had ended up kissing on the floor. It hadn’t gone further than that, but the thought of it teased him now as he remembered Michaela’s hot, swollen mouth and the length of Ben’s cock pressed against his leg. Before he could change his mind, Peter picked up the phone.
He told himself, when he made the calls, that nothing was going to happen, that it was all just an experiment to see if his interest piqued. He told himself more than once and in no uncertain terms, but his nerves still jerked like a puppet’s strings when the doorbell rang that night.
‘Peter,’ Sarah said, in her adorably husky voice, ‘Ben and Michaela are on their way up. If you don’t need anything else, I’m going to go out for a bit.’
Peter’s stomach pitched, but he gave her a nonchalant smile. ‘It’s your night off, Sarah. Go have fun.’
‘Thanks. I won’t be back too late.’
Sarah bit her lip and smiled with a slightly less-than-professional warmth. At least, Peter thought she did. Before he could process the possibility, Sarah was gone and Ben and Michaela walked in. Peter’s nerves came back full force.
‘Hey Peter,’ Michaela said, dropping into a chair. ‘Are you OK? You look kind of awful.’
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