by Zetta Brown
“Good. I think you’re ready now.” I walk to the foot of the bed and pick up the rest of my equipment. Placing a slim dildo inside a harness, I strap it around my waist. The toy is smaller than what I’m used to, but considering what I’m about to do, I’m going to be just as considerate as he was with me by going slow. I squirt a generous amount of lubricant into my hand and slather it onto the dildo.
Since he introduced me to anal sex, I’ve become more open and confident with exploring my sexual desires, and he’s been generous of every one, from bondage to nipple clamps. Finally, about a month ago, he acquiesced to my even touching his little rose-hole. Since then, he’s been more relaxed, letting me play and linger in this area.
Tonight, I will do more than linger. I will dwell. I am going to possess him until he knows who is Mistress. When I straddle his legs and squeeze a large dollop of lube between his ass cheeks, my intentions become clear and he raises his head.
“I hope you’re not planning to talk, Jared. In fact, you just moved without permission.” I start to get off the bed and he moans loudly as if in agony.
“Are you trying to tell me something?”
Even though his face is hidden, he nods.
“What do you want?”
He raises his head, looks at me, and my heart stops. He looks so sad. I wonder if this is how he looked when moving from home to home. I straighten my spine, hoping to appear more resolute than I really am, but after all, part of me is trying to come out of a sexual shell. Then I realize he’s waiting for my permission.
“Speak.”
When he does, his voice is soft, breathless.
“Please, don’t leave me, Eva . . . Messalina.”
He sees me in my regalia and his jaw tightens before he buries his face into the pillows and increases his grip on the headboard. I resume my position on my mount, allowing my toy phallus to slide up and down between his ass and up to the base of his back. I do this several times until his body shivers and I have to clench my thighs around him to restrain him.
“Whoa there, big fella.” I stretch myself on top of him and remove his hands from where they’re gripped, so I can place my head on his shoulder. “I need you to relax, babe.”
In a sure way to achieve this, I nibble his ear and reach under him to rub his nipples while slinking my body up and down. Jared’s heart thunders in his chest, his skin is very warm, and he’s starting to sweat. I kiss the side of his neck and then his shoulder, letting my lips caress and suck. I do this for several moments as I continue rubbing against him and the action causes the dildo to stimulate me as well.
When I hear him exhale and deflate into the mattress once again, I take advantage of the situation. The tip of the phallus slides forward with little resistance before he tenses and I have to brace myself, using my weight to keep him from squeezing me out. It’s a balancing act, but I don’t advance and I don’t withdraw.
“Now, now, lover,” I murmur and kiss his ear. “Don’t be shy.”
In reply, I get to advance another inch, and then another. Finally, I give a gentle nudge until completely lodged.
Jared releases his pent up breath again and starts trembling all over. His body turns gelatinous as his nervous system responds to the intruder inside him. I clamp my legs and arms around him, hugging him tightly, pressing my breasts hard against his back.
“Shh, Jared.” I kiss his shoulder. “It’s all right. I’m not going to hurt you.”
Once the words are spoken, we realize that’s the exact same thing he said to me the first time. I kiss his neck and stroke the hair from his forehead, waiting for him to adjust to the sensation. But I’m aroused, too. I give a tentative thrust and he groans. I do it again and continue kissing the back of his neck and shoulders as I slowly, gently stroke into him. I reach under his waist and can’t help but gasp. He is diamond hard. Oh, fuck—the cock cage! I know Jared is stoic when it comes to pain, but Jesus Christ, he must be in agony!
“Jared, how are you feeling?” Although concerned, I keep my voice stern.
“I’m fine, Messalina,” he whispers and leans into the hand caressing his head. I pet him a little, but I swear his cock’s about to burst. But not yet. A little more won’t hurt. He can’t see me grin, but I can feel my orgasm as it trembles through me and the harness—and through the dildo inside him.
Now I’m satisfied. Riding victoriously astride my stallion, I signal my approval with one good, solid thrust. I loosen the cock cage and he cries out, his body going rigid as he comes in torrents across the sheets and collapses onto the bed. I slowly extract myself from him and stand up. My legs are weak and I stumble but quickly recover. We are both drenched in sweat. His skin is so red he looks sunburned with a full-body blush.
“Look at me, Jared.”
He turns to face me where I stand with my feet planted shoulder-width apart, emphasizing my artificial enhancements, and my fists on my hips. His eyes are dilated and his lips are set in a thin line.
My hair hangs limp in my eyes, so I pull out the hairpins and fluff my hair about my neck to cool myself a bit. One of my bra straps falls off my shoulder it’s so limp from sweat. I unclasp the harness and shimmy out of it. Jared, in response, flexes his muscles starting with his arms, then clenches his buttocks and legs, and finally flexes his feet.
I stoop to pick up one of the damp towels and find it cool instead of warm. He stares as I run the towel over my neck, chest, down my arms and belly, and then between my thighs.
“I’m done—for now.”
I toss the towel at him. It lands on his face.
“Your turn to sleep on the wet spot,” I say and walk around to my side of the bed and lie down with my back to him. I close my eyes but feel him move and turn over. The bed jostles as he lifts his large frame and I hear him walk to the bathroom.
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I know, my eyelids pop open when I’m grabbed, dragged to the center of the bed, and rolled onto my back. Jared moves between my legs. He has taken a shower and is still damp; his hair is slicked back, giving off a dark chestnut sheen and his expression pins me to the spot. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he looks ready for battle. My eyes drift down and I see it.
Jared is now wearing the harness and totes an artificial rod that the catalog calls “The Punisher.” He’s slicked both himself and the dildo with lubricant.
I swallow hard. Usually, Jared would simply use a dildo to get me ready for him. Despite all our fun and experimenting in the bedroom, I have yet to be double penetrated, but the look in Jared’s eyes says that is about to change. He anchors my legs over his haunches, positions himself at each of my entrances, and cradles my bottom in his hands. Then he stops. Our gazes lock with a palpable intensity. He’s giving me a chance to protest. Instead, I tilt my hips up to give him better access and clutch the bed sheets.
He moves forward and you would have thought I had been electrocuted. A primal scream escapes my lips as my most private spaces are simultaneously filled and stretched, causing me to spasm with an immediate, bone-rattling orgasm. I release the sheets and wrap my arms and legs around him, pulling him onto me. His strong arms tighten around me while giving him traction to move deeper. My body reacts the same way his did when I took him, but I’m not stoical about it. Tears spill from my eyes and my chest constricts as he squeezes a sob out of me.
His kiss smothers my cries while creating a chain reaction, and we climax together. I shudder with yet another aftershock and it takes several minutes before we are able to look at each other. When we do, it’s evident in our faces.
We are a perfect fit.
Chapter fifteen
“The life of lucrezia”
“Eva!”
I look up and see Harold Seigel, the 18 th century literature professor, heading my way. His usual happy countenance shows concern. “Are you OK? You look a little off color, if you don’t mind my saying.” He smiles knowing I’m not so touchy to be offended by his choice of words.
“I’m fine. Just a little sore and tired. What’s up?”
His gives me a questioning glance, then asks, “What time is your last class?”
“Two o’clock.”
“Great. Can you meet me in the lounge at three-thirty?”
“Sure. What’s going on?”
“You’ll see, but you’re gonna want to be in on this.” Harold’s medium-sized frame is quickly swallowed by the student body filling the hall to near capacity, leaving me feeling both curious and suspicious.
* * * *
My suspicions are well-founded. My colleagues want to hold an open debate about faculty/student “relations” since these lines, never clearly defined to begin with, got blurred even further during the tenure of the last Chancellor. However, with his retirement and the increase of more conservative colleagues, like my dean, J. Paul Mathis—plus the Hyde affair—we have a full-blown crisis on our hands, at least as far as public relations are concerned.
“It’ll be a panel discussion,” says Harold. “One side argues for stricter rules of conduct; the other side defends a person’s right to choose their nookie partner. The administration won’t be able to participate because of the lawsuit, though I’m sure a representative will be present. This is strictly to get the rank and file to discuss the issue in the open. After all, this is a college. The exchange of views and ideas should be encouraged.”
I sigh. Yeah, right. But my cynicism bothers me. I’m starting to sound like a pessimistic lifer.
Harold continues, “There will be a total of twelve participants, three faculty and three students on each side, all from different backgrounds. Professor Alicia Beecham, from Comparative Religions is going to head the pro-restriction side.”
“We want you to head our side, Eva.” Kent Melbourne, a linguistics professor, blurts out. He’s another guy popular with the students.
My eyes open wide. It’s nice to know your peers like you enough to ask you to take the lead, but this is different. I shake my head.
“I don’t see how. If we’re trying to get people on our side, first, I’m hardly the most popular or senior faculty member. In fact, I’m the youngest in our division. Second, I was Hyde’s protégé. And third, I may be called as a character witness.
“But that’s what makes you perfect for the cause, Evadne,” Howard says. “Unless you are subpoenaed or under a gag order, you can still participate. Besides, we’re not discussing the case but talking in generalities.”
Kent smiles. “We even came up with a name to call ourselves.”
“Oh, good lord, what?”
“The Cunning Linguists.”
* * * *
Tuesday has yet to start and already I get a glimpse of the foolishness yet to come by way of a memo in my office mailbox. Two more students have come forward to confess their relationships with Terrence Hyde.
The tabloids are having a field day. More than once I see TV unit trucks prowling around. They haven’t been on campus yet because we are a private institution. Nevertheless, the strain on everyone is getting worse.
For weeks, memos have been coming out practically every other day and one-on-one conferences between faculty and the bigwigs in administration have become common, creating an atmosphere of hypersensitive, politically-correct paranoia. For many of my colleagues, The Cunning Linguists and myself included, the steps taken by our bosses have become a bit ridiculous.
But when I hear one joke too many about “Horny Hyde,” it doesn’t help my attitude. Over lunch, Glynnis and I talk about the latest proclamation from on high.
“They are trying to prevent a witch hunt while setting the stage for one,” I bitch. “It’s been nearly a year. They need to hurry up and put an end to this. I mean really. What’s this crap about keeping our office doors open if we have a student in there?”
“Well, you know what happens behind closed doors, Eva.”
“Quiet? Privacy?”
“Yes, but it’s also easier for people to do what they shouldn’t.”
I laugh, but she frowns.
“I should think you’d be more appreciative of the new guidelines.”
“Why me?”
She looks over the top of her glasses at me. “You mean apart from your participation in The Great Sex Debate, being Terrence Hyde’s protégé, and that you’ve had a bit of notoriety in the press lately?” She takes a bite of her sandwich. “Also . . . you have a puppy.”
Puppy is the term we use for students who follow us from class to class wanting our undivided attention. It’s reserved for students brown-nosing (or tonguing) and those who have crushes on their professor. I chuckle.
“I wouldn’t call Neil my puppy, but so what if he is? I’ve never had one before.”
But Glynnis doesn’t see the humor; instead she just nods.
“That’s what I thought the first few times it happened to me. Evadne,” she says, taking her sandwich out of its wrapper, “they always have ulterior motives. How long have you been teaching at college level?”
I shrug. “About five years.”
“You’re still young.”
“Damn! I hate when people say that. Does that mean I’m stupid too?”
“No. It’s just that, in our profession, it’s easy to get caught up in the unbridled hormones around us.”
“Hyde has taught for over twenty years. Sounds like he’s been a lech for all of them.”
“Yes, but he’s a man.”
“I had no idea you were so sexist, Glyn. Wasn’t it you who once said I should ‘get fucked?’ Those were your exact words.”
“I’m not sexist, just practical.” She gives me the eye. “My suggestion served you well.”
I look away. The last thing I need is anyone speculating about my sex life at work.
“Is something wrong?” she asks.
“No.”
“Hmm, well I’m just saying, don’t go looking for love in all the wrong places.”
I start laughing, not minding the looks we get from others in the cafeteria. “Can we please stop playing Name That Tune ? I’d like to finish my lunch.”
* * * *
The Life of Lucrezia Spence is turning me into a slacker and with Jared so busy, it’s the one thing I have to take my mind off matters. I’ve even got Ana and Tony reading it and loaned them my previous issues until they get their own subscriptions.
If I’m not rereading the latest issue, I’m hanging out in The Life of Lucrezia chat rooms and listservs under the name “BlackCat” in honor of my last tattoo. I’ve made some interesting friends online, like RazorBrn and TriXXX, and I bet I’m the senior citizen in a group of cyber-kids. Either they are very reckless or full of shit—I suspect a bit of both.
The official The Life of Lucrezia website, authorized by the writer and creator, Ali, and with a webmaster named RudeBoy, is my favorite LoL website. It doesn’t matter when I sign on, RazorBrn and TriXXX always seem to be in the chatroom—and they’re not even
moderators.
One of the most popular threads is about Lucy being under surveillance. One of the school’s second graders, Carrie Dover, is the child of single parent and police detective Jack Dover. Jack is a young, sexy hotshot rising through the ranks. He knew instantly what was implied when the papers ran the photos of Lucy receiving the Employee of the Year Award from Superintendent Patrick Klein and the one taken outside his house. Apart from a few voices of discontent from local bible-thumpers, the incident blew over. But Jack refuses to let go and when he finds evidence implicating the district attorney and a justice of appeals, Jack is ordered to back off by Police Chief Adam Lawson.
blkcat: things are getting spicy
RzrBrn: yes finally
triXXX: o come on razor give the man a break
RzrBrn: who said ali’s a man?
triXXX: of course he’s a man. this is a man’s fantasy
RzrBrn: i dunno could be a bull dyke
lickitty: thx razor 4 b n so sensitive
RzrBrn: i don’t mean you lickitty. i’d cut off my dick to be with a hot babe like you :-* nice to see you could join our threesome
:-)
blkcat: hate to admit. would love for LoL to come out weekly
triXXX: embarrassed?
blkcat: no. addicted:-)
lickitty: ain’t no shame blackie. if i had tits like lucy i’d want to see more of em 2
RzrBrn: hmmm, blackcat and lickitty. r u a couple?
lickitty: a couple of what?
blkcat: does that turn you on razor? ;-)
triXXX: he’s jerking off at the thought
lickitty: well, maybe if he’s a good boy, blackcat and I will get a pvt room. what u say blackie?