Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience. Just One Small Favor A smut story written by Aaron Myhre Under commission by my good friend Patty Who needs no Adults-Only disclaimer (MF, Mf, oral, beast, rom, cons) It all started so simply. At the age of 30 I had already gone through medical school and had a minor in psychology and for some reason I -(TM)d decided to become a fertility specialist. If there was a medical or psychological reason that a couple couldn -(TM)t conceive then that was my forte. Little did I know that I -(TM)d soon become known as a sex therapist and, for one couple, even more. It was just another day, in yet another week, and yet another last appointment of the day was being ushered into my office. They looked to be about 40 years of age and, like most people who came to see me, were embarrassed to be here in my office. As they both took their seats, I glanced over the pair. It was always odd that I was counseling couples that were usually older than I. The man -(TM)s embarrassment sort of changed subtly to an aura of irritation. His wife, on the other hand, became more cool and composed as she sat, almost indifferent. She was wearing a business suit, black and pinstriped. I didn -(TM)t know if it was because she wanted to impress me or whether she -(TM)d just come from work. Her husband wasn -(TM)t as professionally dressed, but he was no tramp. Any further scrutiny while looking up from their paperwork would be unprofessional and so I leaned back with my hands behind my head and waited for one of them to speak. The woman looked at her husband, the chart informed me their names were Christina and Gregory Dawkins, and he began to speak. -~Um --I --well --I can -(TM)t get an erection anymore, -(TM) he said glumly. -And you wish to have children and this stands in the way, right? - I inquired. -~Well no, not exactly. We already have 2 children, ages 5 and 3. -(TM) Greg didn -(TM)t seem too thrilled about it. -Ok then, you just want to put some zing back in your marriage. - Perhaps this tack would prove fruitful. -~Yeah, that -(TM)s more like it. -(TM) His mouth was saying yes, but his eyes told me he was lying. His look at Christina confirmed it since she nodded under his scrutiny, but as soon as his eyes were back on me, she gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head. -Do you have any circulation problems that you didn -(TM)t wish to put down on the chart? Do you smoke, take any sort of medications? - I inquired. -~I smoke. I have for years, since I was 12, I think. -(TM) He said it very nonchalantly, almost dismissively, like why should it matter enough to ask about. -Well there are only a few things that can be done. You can either exercise more, you can stop smoking, or you can be put on medications. It -(TM)s your choice. - It was his choice, despite my professional opinion. It just wasn -(TM)t possible to force someone to exercise or quit smoking. I -(TM)d learned it was useless to try. The best option was to point out the facts and let them take what seemed most reasonable as a means of treatment. Most people, unless they were afraid of taking pills or had difficulty doing so, chose to take medication for erectile dysfunction. It was easier. Greg indicated that this was the course he wanted to take. I wrote out a prescription for Viagra and ushered the couple out the door, but only Greg did so. He marched off to the exit without a second look at his wife. The complete lack of surprise on Christina -(TM)s face spoke volumes of how the relationship was and had been going. I made to put my office in order, hoping that my remaining guest would take the hint and take the same door her husband had just exited through, but apparently she had other ideas. Closing the door, Christina asked in a soft, small voice for a favor from me. This favor was about to change my life quite dramatically. She began her story, apologizing for the fact that I was forced to stay late for someone who technically wasn -(TM)t my patient. -~I don -(TM)t know where I should begin, but I -(TM)ll try not to take too much time. I can see you want to get home. Probably have a loving wife waiting for you. She seemed very shy, but perhaps it was only situational. In any case, it wasn -(TM)t my job to psychoanalyze her. -~I -(TM)ve been married for 10 years now. I have the two children as you know. Shortly after our marriage, Greg met some girl at work or something and he began seeing her more often and eventually he was making love to her instead of me. I don -(TM)t know how we ended up having our kids. Maybe it was because I thought it would bring us closer together. Was I ever wrong! I beat myself up over it for the longest time. I thought it was my fault. I -(TM)ve seen her and she is gorgeous. Even I -(TM)d want to fuck her. -(TM) She held up a hand before I uttered the thought that flashed across my mind. -(TM) No, I never would suggest a threesome with her. It would just be like pouring salt into an open cut. He already seems to prefer her twat to mine. I don -(TM)t need to be spurned to my face when I -(TM)m naked and wet. I -(TM)ve come to you to request a small favor. I want to date you. I want to give him one last chance, make him jealous. He no longer is the husband, friend, and lover that he vowed to be when we got married. I know it -(TM)s a lot to ask. It probably violates all sorts of ethics codes, etc. What you do could harm another patient of yours, and I do want you to extend the same privacy rights to me as if I was your patient. My husband cannot know until I wish to divulge such information. If you -(TM)re married, I completely understand if you refuse. It -(TM)s just become too much. I haven -(TM)t been laid in 4 years. That was the day my youngest was conceived. It -(TM)s crazy. I -(TM)m crazy. I don -(TM)t know what to do or think anymore. I just needed to let it all out. I won -(TM)t hold it against you if you say no, but please say yes. -(TM) Christina finished and sort of slumped in the chair looking physically drained and psychologically defeated. I looked at her sitting there, eyes downcast as the cogs in my head whirred; I came up with a passable solution. I dismissed my office staff and told Mrs. Dawkins that I would meet her in an hour at Olive Garden. This would give her time to do whatever it is girls do when meeting someone, but I did so on the stipulation that she would dress in business attire so that if someone saw us, nothing beyond an outside-hours business meeting might occur to them. An hour later, we sat down in a nice, quiet corner of Olive Garden in a small booth to order. The booth was such that it was impossible to sit directly across from each other; we had to sit at a 90-degree angle instead. Over a feast of eggplant Parmesan, meat lasagna, garlic bread, salad, and white Zinfandel, she told me a bit more about herself. It seemed Mrs. Dawkins was an English teacher at a local high school. The students loved her, especially the boys, which often irritated the girls of the class. -~Going through puberty makes it a rather trying and confusing time for them, although many of them are already done with most changes other than physical height. The girls complain to me that the only reason the boys pay so much attention in class is how I look. They pay more attention to my backside than the girls -(TM) front sides. Ironic, isn -(TM)t it? -(TM) She looked at me, and I was shocked to be looking into a pair of bluish-grey eyes, the exact same shade as my own, fringed with long, brown hair. -It isn -(TM)t so peculiar that they prefer someone farther from their age; many guys have crushes on their teachers. Plus guys want to conquer any piece of ass that they feel attracted to, - I said. -~Oh, but I don -(TM)t mind. I know I should, for professional reasons. Since my husband hasn -(TM)t been romantic with me in years, maybe I enjoy the attention, the idea that I can still create lust in a male. I -(TM)ve started having to wear pads because I get so wet under their gaze. Sometimes I turn around and can see the outlines of 10 or 15 cocks through their pants, quite stiff. It -(TM)s all I can do to keep from calling one or all of them back into my office and tutoring them in female anatomy and other mature subjects. I know I should be ashamed of myself, and I always dress modestly like this so the other teachers have no cause to complain, but I once read a bumper sticker on a car that summed it up: -~Sex is a lot like air: It -(TM)s not really that important until you -(TM)re not getting any. -(TM) -(TM) I had to laugh at that, and she chuckled as well, a bit more relaxed. -So you have teacher/student relationship fantasies, hmm. That could be rather kinky. Maybe you should do it, but then you -(TM)d probably get arrested. So you -(TM)ve come to me to try and make your husband jealous, to try and get him to see the light, for me to try and be a temporary surrogate husband on an on-trial basis. It -(TM)s rather a large favor to be asking, don -(TM)t you think? What if I don -(TM)t want to do it because I don -(TM)t love you? What about my professional ethics? - -~I -(TM)m not asking you to love me, am I? It -(TM)ll just be sex. Perhaps it -(TM)s just impossible. I won -(TM)t blame you if you say no, as I -(TM)ve told you before. It -(TM)s just that I hope you say yes. -(TM) Her voice had a pleading, sorrowful tone to it. It occurred to me that she viewed me as a last hope. Sure the male students seemed quite enthralled with her, but I doubted it was anything more, that there was any mutual love between student(s) and teacher. My knee brushed up against hers, causing her to jump and squeal as if burned. Luckily no one noticed, no doubt lost in conversation. Having been quite startled, I asked if she was okay. A bit flushed and panting, she apologized for her reaction. I thought I knew why she had done so, but did not mention it, thinking it might be rude to emphasize her state. Christina -(TM)s outburst had caused a debate to occur within my brain. I saw myself in this vision putting my hand on her thigh, slowly moving it up under her skirt. I saw the fingers of my hand gliding effortlessly in and out of her sopping wet pussy. And I also saw the pleasure shining from her face, despite her begging me not to be so bold in public. For just one fleeting moment, I was tempted to carry out this molestation under the table, but my better judgment kicked in and the moment passed. I called for the check and paid it, leaving a rather sizable tip for the capable and friendly waiter. As I escorted Mrs. Dawkins to the door, my mind flashed back to another teacher from my memories. It was my freshman year in college. Somehow I had had one, despite my graduating from medical school at the unlikely age of 27. She had been my psychology and sociology professor though she could have taught any number of subjects. She had written numerous papers and even a few books. Most of them had dealt with love: the psychology of love, love and sociology, the anatomy and physiology of love. It was intimidating to be in her class, to say the least. Whatever her numerous academic accomplishments, when she stood up to teach that first day, she quickly dispelled our doubts and unease. Miss McKinnon was one of those life-long learners. She was not ashamed of learning from anyone who knew more about a subject than she, nor was she the type of teacher who grumbles about passing on her knowledge to others, thinking it below her. On the contrary, the love of learning and teaching was immediately apparent and quite infectious. Even though some of us were only taking the classes because they were required, she was able to make it so that we looked forward to coming to class, that we wanted to learn every day. Somehow, she and I had struck up an academic friendship, a couple of misunderstood scholars and since it was my last class of the day, I often stayed behind to converse with her until she had to go home. I do not know who had the brilliant idea to create walkways on the campus that could hide people and were poorly lit but Ms. McKinnon had to walk through one to get to the parking lot to go home. By the very fact that she was a teacher, she often had to work long past when school had ended and whether from lack of a desire to put an end to our discussions or from an as-yet-unknown sense of gallantry and chivalry in myself I would walk her to her car at night. Months passed in pleasant scholastic pursuits. We had debates often and both of us would come out the better from having seen the other -(TM)s viewpoints and reasoning. Innocent bystanders may have considered them to be flat-out verbal fighting, given my teacher and mentor -(TM)s Irish/Scottish heritage. Outsiders might have considered them marital or lovers -(TM) spats had they had not known about the teacher/student relationship. It would be dishonest to say that I did not admire her or that I wasn -(TM)t fond of her. Quite the opposite was true. It bordered on adoration, the feelings that I had for her. I realized that self-control was the key and never injected emotion into our friendship, if someone such as I could call her my friend. One night, our friendship took on a whole new dimension, a whole new level. I was walking her to the parking lot in our nightly ritual when the angels decided to have a spitting contest. It was not unexpected; it had been forecast and so in anticipation of such an event I -(TM)d packed an umbrella. I opened it and continued our little walk, only to have Ms. McKinnon tug on my arm. She looked different somehow and so I stopped. Whatever was on her mind had to be very important for her to be so insistent. I turned and looked at her, almost a full head shorter than I, and she turned to face me. She stood on her tiptoes, beckoning me to her as if to tell me a secret. Obligingly, I bent my head toward her in supplication. Not moving aside in the slightest, a completely foreign expression written across her face, our lips introduced themselves and began a close friendship while the umbrella dropped from the shocked, pleased hand wrapping itself around her back. Oblivious to any eyes but each other -(TM)s, standing in a warm, summer rain, my teacher and I stood bound to each other. Just as she had initiated the kiss, she was the one to break it. She looked deep into my eyes and asked if she could give me a ride home to apologize for getting me all wet. The umbrella was lying where it had fallen, wind not having accompanied the rain. My dorm was on the other side of the parking lot; I didn -(TM)t need a lift. I said -~yes -(TM), picked up the umbrella, and closed it. The rain could get neither of us any wetter. Ms. McKinnon -(TM)s house was small, befitting a professor -(TM)s salary, but it was so sparsely furnished that it seemed much larger than its actual dimensions. They comprised a small table, a few beanbags, an armchair, and a loveseat. Presumably her room had a bed and a few dressers. The only other fixtures of note were bookshelves. At least one was in each room; even the bathroom and kitchen were not devoid of them. Houses can be said to have personalities of their own. Ms. McKinnon -(TM)s house, she said I might call her Lucille or Lucy, was more like a library or a study hall than a house. It was the sort of house for deep thoughts and musings. You could go to any bookshelf in the house, pick up a book and you would only need to walk a few paces to find a place to sit, lie down, or curl up with your book of choice. It did not seem the place for visitors unless they were reverent and pensive and talked and debated amongst themselves in hushed tones, for even a whisper might sound like a gunshot in the stillness. Lucille told me to make myself comfortable while she took a warm shower. There wasn -(TM)t much to see; I -(TM)d seen it all already. I scanned the titles of the books on the walls absentmindedly, attempting to ascertain more about my teacher than she had told me or I had guessed in our long walks together. The only thing I managed to find out was that there was nothing unusual to find out. She had books on everything from the most profound to the mundane. She was simply a bookworm. I heard the shower stop and Lucy -(TM)s voice tell me she would be out in a minute. Of course there was no rush. It was her house and I was but a guest in it. The door unlocked and, no doubt because this offered me something else to do besides look at books, I spun around at the sound. My idol, for so she often seemed, glided out into the living room. She had her hair drying under a towel on her head, a long and modest silk dressing gown covered her body, and she was smiling the smile I usually associated with class and teaching. In those settings, she would have seemed naked without it. It was Lucy. -~It -(TM)s your turn, dearie. You can hand me your clothes through the door and I -(TM)ll dry them while you shower, unless you -(TM)d rather not. But you -(TM)ll catch your death of cold if you go back out there now. It -(TM)s raining cats and dogs. -(TM) Being addressed as -~dearie -(TM) was a bit shocking; she had never thus addressed me before. I could see the sense in it all. I wasn -(TM)t irrational, and I -(TM)d just been standing in my wet clothes the entire time. The warmth of a shower, then the walk to my dorm with an umbrella over my head the entire time this time around; it was so sensible. I thanked her, stepped inside the bathroom, peeled off my wet clothes and handed them through the partially opened door, then stepped inside the shower. -~Nothing more will happen tonight, -(TM) I thought as the warm shower of water began washing my cold body, the sound mingled with the shower outside. I was only partially right. My clothes were waiting just inside the door as I stepped out and began to briskly dry myself. They were still warm from the dryer. It felt marvelous to be clean and warm and dry once again. After stepping out of the bathroom, I noticed something in the living room that had somehow escaped my notice. Now that it had been modified, I felt foolish for missing it. Crackling and sputtering because of the rain, though still blazing bright, a fire filled the hearth and, upon seeing Lucille bringing a tray full of hot tea, cider, and hot chocolate, my resolve to return to my own dormitory room melted like marshmallows destined to become s -(TM)mores. We talked long into the night, bolstering our energy and alertness with the hot drinks. We weren -(TM)t cold, sitting there by the fireplace and drinking as we were, but Lucille got up and draped a blanket around my shoulders regardless, then sat with her back against my chest between my spread legs and pulled the blanket around her. I woke to the sun shining warmly through a window at my back. I didn -(TM)t remember dozing off but it was fortunate I had not had scalding tea in my hand when I had. A stirring underneath my right arm brought reality sharply back to the forefront of my mind. Lucille was yawning and stretching sleepily, apparently unbothered by the arm around her, scant inches from her breasts, then became still again with a happy little sigh. -Good morning, Lucy, - I said into her neck. Even though I couldn -(TM)t see her face, I knew from the way she said -~good morning -(TM) that she was smiling. -I didn -(TM)t do anything -~ungentlemanly -(TM) last night, did I? We were sitting before we dozed off, and now we -(TM)re on the floor. And I think I might have overstayed my welcome by spending the night here. - -~Nonsense! You -(TM)re welcome to stay the whole weekend if you want. I was the one who kissed you and invited you home. -(TM) She was right, but I gave permission for it to carry on like this. I could lie to her and say that I -(TM)d only kissed her to keep from getting her feelings hurt, or that she was my teacher and I didn -(TM)t think it my place to protest. All of that was rubbish. I did respect her, but she was being serious and so joking about our relationship would have been tactless. To say that Lucy was not attractive would have done her a great injustice. She had smooth, sexy legs from what I saw protruding from her nightgown. Her breasts were about the size of a half grapefruit, sat high on her chest, well-proportioned to her body, and from my speculations, her nipples when aroused must have been about the size of the first knuckle on my little finger. Her hair was like molten copper, cascading down in a cataract and modestly covering her breasts like mist at the base of a waterfall. She had eyes like the deepest oceans or a sapphire made of millions upon millions of compressed tears. My arms were currently wrapped around a stomach and waist that flared ever so gradually to her hips, as if she were a clay pillar that had been pinched a little and fired that way. And as for her bum, which was pressed right up against my cock, with the way it was rubbing up against me with her silky nightdress, my erection was rebelling against my mind -(TM)s control and my mind could not find words to express what a perfect one it was. As it turned out, our new relationship did not entirely escape notice. Often as Lucy and I walked, I would hear the telltale hissing -s - of whispers, of gossips getting their jollies vicariously through the lives of people afforded that luxury. While it was true that I walked a little closer to Ms. McKinnon, closer perhaps than propriety might have allowed for a normal student-teacher relationship, I avoided holding her hand in public despite an overwhelming desire to do so. Our long talks continued unabated with one small change. Instead of discussing purely academic matters, when we were alone, talks involved more private matters or -~couple-talk -(TM). I felt extremely fortunate to have fallen in love with someone who was not only physically attractive, a trait that many happy couples are capable of ignoring, but who I considered to be my best friend. Lucy and I courted each other throughout my freshman year and into my sophomore year of college. Honestly, it was amazing that my grades didn -(TM)t suffer with the amount of time we spent together; somehow I was still getting top marks. Lucille periodically made remarks about not having high enough marks to unlock her panties. Whether or not it had anything to do with my bitching about my studies, it was becoming more commonplace. It must, I think, be emphasized the way I felt about Lucille McKinnon. I believe students should be encouraged to respect their intellectual superiors. Education cannot be carried out thoroughly and effectively without this respect. For example, the education systems of the East and the West are as different as a lemon and a sugar cube. The Eastern philosophy is successful because of the respect each student is taught for such figures. Western schools are undisciplined, emphasize being an individual at the cost of nearly all else, stifle creative thinking in order to hold back the excellent so as not to damage the feelings of the poor to mediocre and hold to the 3-letter acronym popularly used so many years ago, FTW or -~Fuck the world -(TM). To say these did not exist in Eastern culture in pockets would be most unfair for it would be dishonest. However, it was not the norm. As to Ms. McKinnon, -~respect -(TM) would be the weakest verb I would use for my feelings. More fitting would have been the words -~admire -(TM), -~adore -(TM), or perhaps even -~worship -(TM). She was my queen and I fawned over her, a fact not lost on Lucille, though she never had cause to complain. Lucille and I had eventually reached the point of desiring a closer physical union. Her little jabs about not having enough marks to get into her panties were soon to come to a close. I remember that night as clearly as I remember every moment we shared. It was a night not unlike the night we had first kissed. We were sitting beside a crackling fire in her house, listening to the sound of the rain with my voice talking above the soft pitter-patter of raindrops. I was sitting on the floor narrating one of my favorite books for Lucille, the woeful story of Robinson Crusoe and the time he spent marooned on that lonely isle those long, long years. Lucille liked to hear me reading because, as she said, I had a way of making them feel alive. Rather than just ink on a page, my voice could transform words into the thoughts and emotions and triumphs and failures of the author. She found the effect both unsettling at times and soothing, restful and meditative, but I think deep down she just liked to hear my voice reading to her. The house had not changed much over the months we had enjoyed each other -(TM)s company. The collection of books had grown a bit, a few of my favorites finding their way to homes on Lucille -(TM)s shelves. The only other addition to her house had been a bearskin rug that lay now between one of the small couches and the fireplace. It was a fine pelt, sleek, shiny, soft and blacker than a moonless night. Ms. McKinnon hated violence and thought that sports hunters were cruel, but the rug had been a gift from her brother. He had been forced to shoot it when it charged his 3-year old son, Lucille -(TM)s only nephew, at their lakeside home in Oregon. That it had attacked the lad she doted upon so much allowed her some small vindictive pleasure when she trod upon its now-separated fur. I finished the chapter, the one just before Robinson meets Friday, and Lucille wondered aloud to me, as she had so many times before, what it would be like to be stranded and alone on an island, with no way to contact the outside world and wouldn -(TM)t even the most introverted man be slowly driven mad from the solitude. I told her once again that she was probably right, that even Tom Hanks -(TM) character in -~Castaway -(TM) had named a volleyball Wilson and talked to it to maintain some sanity. Company would certainly be preferable. Had not Eve been created for Adam for just such a purpose? Lucille excused herself on the pretext of changing into something cooler; apparently the fire was causing her body to overheat or something. She returned shortly, dressed in a silk negligee through which, I fancied, I could see her skin. Perhaps this was the intended effect. She snuggled up in my lap and in the shyest, most innocent voice asked if I was ready to claim my prize whilst pulling her white panties off from under her gown. I took them from her, still warm from her body, and examined them. There was nothing out of the ordinary about them except that while her mouth was telling me that she felt I was worthy enough to go all the way with, that I wouldn -(TM)t just tire of her, brag to my buddies that I had taken her virginity and then find some other college bimbo to fuck, the rest of her body was saying, -~not yet. -(TM) I drew a breath, kissed her on the lips and voiced what her body had told me, -not yet -. She opened her mouth to speak but I kissed her hard, a full-on, open-mouthed kiss to try and defuse the bomb I saw ticking behind her eyes. Lucy had lost her temper on very few occasions with me and it was not an experience I was eager to witness again. Her bloodline had given her more spunk and tenacity than the entire starting lineup of the Fighting Irish. When I saw the sparks behind her eyes flicker and die out, I pulled away from her and spoke before she could speak her mind. Before Lucille, I had dated a girl during summer session. Her name was Amber. She and I were trying to get a jump on the other students by getting a bunch of our general education classes done during the summer. She was an English major, a nice enough girl, slightly bookish, petite and rather talkative. I thought at times that English was not her true calling; speech was her true aptitude, but she always laughed and said that she would die if she had to speak in front of people she did not know. I reminded her, to no avail, that teachers do that all the time and I did not see what other career choices there were for English majors to pursue. Amber used to compare sex to writing. Perhaps it was just because writing was a subject she knew well since she and I were still virgins at the time. She said that sex without foreplay was like a joke: short in the telling and short in the climax. With foreplay, sex was more like a story. The foreplay was the exposition, clothes were coming off, the stage was being set for the action and the characters were introduced. The rising action was where the plot thickened with conflicts and mounting tensions, building toward the climax. The climax, which could have rising action and conflicts comingled, was rather self-explanatory, in short, the orgasm. The falling action was that post-coital bliss of coming down from that orgasmic high, the cuddling, more sweet nothings and thanks. Then, if the story did not repeat itself, the conclusion came. Clothes went back on, you cleaned up, showered and it came to a close for the night. In time, Amber and I came to one of those times where you start the night kissing and you wake up the next morning like in one of those romantic movies, except you don -(TM)t pull the sheets over yourselves because no one -(TM)s watching but God, and the sheets aren -(TM)t all nice and Martha Stewart perfect. There -(TM)s blood, there -(TM)s sweat, there -(TM)s tears, there -(TM)s fluids that you don -(TM)t see in Hollywood romances but none of it is out of place. We guys remember our first time too. Looking back, this was probably the high point of the relationship. While it wasn -(TM)t the last time we ended the night in such a state, Amber started to change. I don -(TM)t know if friends or books or media influenced her but she became less and less fun to be with. -~Men are to be subjugated. Cheating is okay to satisfy your needs while you punish your guy by withholding sex. -(TM) She never said it outright, but her actions told me all I never wanted to know. I started to wonder if she had used me, a nice guy, to gently usher her into the world of sexuality so she could run with a tougher crowd. She had always been nitpicky, as English majors I -(TM)ve known before and since had a habit of being, but she became increasingly more anal about all things, no matter how trivial. When we finally had the good sense to call it off for our sanity -(TM)s sake, she left me a note on the pillow she always used when she was at my place that said, -~Thanks for all the fucking. It -(TM)s the only thing you never fucked up. -(TM) I filed away the backhanded compliment and moved on. I never heard from her again since she transferred schools at the end of summer session. I shortened the story to the relevant parts for Lucille -(TM)s benefit. I figured that the bit about the importance of foreplay would strike a chord with her scholarly mind and it was the reason for my -not yet -. I was surprised that with all the books on sociology, psychology and love that she had read or written, none had helped her explore human sexuality. Lucille accepted my explanation by saying that she understood but that I wasn -(TM)t off the hook yet. Tonight was the night for her and she would accept slight delays but no cancellations. I gave her bum a playful squeeze to show her my agreement to these resolutions and she jumped a bit in surprise. Clearly I could do no such thing in public, but as many times as we had kissed, I guess none of us had really pushed each other -(TM)s physical boundaries. She sat up in my lap, kissing me as fully and deeply on the mouth as her growing passion dictated. I had moved my hands from her bottom to around her midriff when she had moved to kiss me and now it was as if we were spooning while sitting up. As we broke apart, a small line of saliva connected us for the briefest moment and then burst like a balloon meeting a tack. I leaned in close and whispered into her ears how much I loved her and she said, -~I know. -(TM) I told her I didn -(TM)t just say that because she was letting me make love to her and in a softer voice she said, -~I know -(TM). And I told her that even if we never made love even once, I would still love her. She said, -~I know and that -(TM)s why you are the only one who is going to get that chance. -(TM) At first I moved lightly up her legs with my fingers until my hands were under her gown. She told me it tickled so I touched her more firmly, caressing her lower lips and playing with her clitoris. She said that really tickled and so-of course-I played even more with it until her hips bucked against my hand at the same time as she tried to pull away. -~Stop, I -(TM)m gonna pee! -(TM) -Lucy, you might squirt some, but it -(TM)s almost never pee. Girls can cum in the same way (almost) that guys do. Your body wants it. Just give in to it. I -(TM)m shocked you -(TM)ve never had one before. - -~Maybe you wouldn -(TM)t be if you went to a Catholic school where they taught that masturbation would make you blind and send you to Hell. -(TM) I resumed my caressing, nibbling at her earlobes and neck until she relaxed, and promptly tensed up as her first-ever orgasm hit her like a freight train. Her body quivered against me, the warm wetness against my hand spread and the windows to her soul closed. I like to think she saw Heaven and angels on the back of her eyelids, maybe even God. Perhaps I just think too highly of my meager sexual prowess. When she returned to herself, she opened her eyes and kissed me sweetly again, looking to see what I would do with her next. I pulled the nightgown over her head and laid her on the rug by the fire, coaxing her legs apart with my hands. -Round 2, gorgeous! You -(TM)re gonna love this. - Kissing her once again on the lips, I painstakingly kissed, nibbled and licked a winding trail until my head was between her legs. Tantalizing each fold, nook and cranny with my tongue, I breathed hot breath across her sex, letting it wash across her sensitive valleys. And only then did I begin making out with her pussy. 0 minutes, 20 minutes, forever? Her legs clamped around my head time after time until my ears were sore. Sore but pleased with myself, the taste of Lucy on my lips, I leaned over her body and let her taste herself. She wasn -(TM)t revolted like a man tasting his own cum on his lover -(TM)s lips. I pulled her close against me and said just one word. -Yum! - On hands and knees, I crawled slowly over her and she wrapped her arms and legs around me, pulling me closer as she made sure I no longer tasted like her. When she was satisfied I was back to my normal taste, she let go and pushed me away, grabbing for my belt and pulling it forth in a single motion. I took the hint and dropped my pants to my ankles and kicked out of them. Lucy -(TM)s eyes widened. It -(TM)s not that I was anything more than average package-wise. Perhaps she was innocent enough not to have been exposed to a male -(TM)s erect member. She probably wasn -(TM)t sure how something like that would fit inside her. I wasn -(TM)t there to analyze my lover; I had no training in the discipline. -Relax, baby, it will be easier for you that way. Just think of it like a shot. It hurts more if you tense up. - I entwined my fingers with hers, maneuvering myself and pressing hard against her until I felt her innocence rend and I was deep inside her. -~Didn -(TM)t hurt, -(TM) she told me through clenched teeth and I was smart enough not to press the issue. -I -(TM)m glad, sweet Lucy. Do you want to get used to things a bit or is it okay to move? - -~Slowly for now. I -(TM)ll get used to you and there -(TM)s no rush. It -(TM)s just us and the fire and the weekend. There -(TM)s no rush. -(TM) She was right. I didn -(TM)t rush or pick up the pace until her voice pitch changed and I knew it was okay. I envied women their multiple orgasms and quick reload times. She could have kept going until well after I was spent but fortunately didn -(TM)t force the issue as I rolled off her and she turned toward me for another kiss. -I love you, dearest Lucy. I hope you never have cause to regret tonight. - -~I love you more. And it hurt like hell. But isn -(TM)t it true the ones you love are the ones that hurt you? I -(TM)m just glad it was only this kind of hurt. -(TM) I smiled as I held her warm body to mine, savoring the press of her nipples against my chest as our eyes weighed down with contented exhaustion. What a great way to start the weekend! With that intimate barrier breached, our relationship took on whole new nuances, but we didn -(TM)t lose any of the things that had caused our love in the first place. We still debated hotly and the -~makeup sex -(TM) that followed was even hotter. I loved the hell out of Lucy. One of the nights we were together, I got down on one knee and begged her to marry me. Not as pathetically as I just made it sound. I couldn -(TM)t imagine a life without her. She said yes! Then she explained that even though women in her family used birth control, when the right guy came along, the one they were destined to spend the rest of their lives with, they somehow fell pregnant. -~Mom and dad conceived me, got married and have been happily together ever since. -(TM) -~I -(TM)m glad you proposed before I told you though since I wouldn -(TM)t want to force myself on you. We -(TM)re pregnant. -(TM) Lucy smiled reservedly at me, gauging my reaction. -I always wanted to get a girl knocked up in college! More seriously though, I -(TM)m so happy it was me who impregnated you. I guess we -(TM)ll have to plan a wedding after school lets out. - The front doorbell rang. -Who the hell would call this late at night? Don -(TM)t they have any decency? We -(TM)ve students and teachers here. - Lucy got to her feet to go answer. -Don -(TM)t go, baby. Leave it for another night. Stay here with me. - -~I have to go. Might be a student who needs my help. -(TM) She was always concerned about her students. It was just another reason I loved her. She pattered off on her quiet feet and I heard the door open. Muffled conversation. Two gunshots. Running feet. I ran to the living room. Lucy had staggered backward when she -(TM)d been shot and was resting on the bearskin rug she -(TM)d shed her girlhood blood upon. She was bleeding now from a wound in her neck and chest. I dialed 911 and hurriedly told them there had been a shooting and where her house was. I hoped they were fast but it was a weekend so I wasn -(TM)t hopeful. She pulled me close and said between ragged breaths, -~I die a happy woman to have loved and been loved by you. I -(TM)m glad the baby is yours though I regret how you two will never get to meet this side of heaven, if heaven exists. I want you to promise me one thing. If after I -(TM)m gone you meet a woman who needs and deserves to be loved the way you -(TM)ve loved me, don -(TM)t hesitate to do so. -(TM) -I promise. - I couldn -(TM)t imagine I -(TM)d find anybody like Lucille. Where was that damned ambulance? I kissed her our final kiss. Told her I loved her and she told me the same. Told me getting shot was almost as bad as when I broke through her hymen. Told me lots of mushy things. Told me no more. Where the fuck was that fucking ambulance? When they found me, my legs were stained with her life essence. I cradled her head, closed her eyes and they had to force me to let go. Edgar Allan Poe -(TM)s -~Annabel Lee -(TM) running through my head, especially the lines -~We loved with a love that was more than love/ I and my Annabel Lee -(TM) and also -~That the wind came out of the cloud by night/ Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. -(TM) I -(TM)d never understood the anguish buried beneath those words until now as I sobbed bitterly o -(TM)er her lifeless body, possibly for the first time in my adult life. If Edgar truly had gone insane, I could not blame him, considering the losses he -(TM)d suffered. The investigators scoured the premises in the morning and found blood and fabric on one of the rose bushes outside the house that had been deposited in the gunman -(TM)s hasty flight. It didn -(TM)t take long for them to track the culprit down since he hadn -(TM)t even left campus yet. He was even in the same dormitory as me. I -(TM)d probably passed him in the hallways a time or two. The murder trial was even harder, perhaps, than her death. It was certainly a lengthy reminder of it. The man on trial (I use this term loosely) was no older than I. He was a student as well. Kind of creepy loner sort of vibe only made worse by his testimony. -~Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, so help you God? -(TM) -~I do. -(TM) -~The evidence that prosecution has is enough to cause you to be a primary suspect. What say you to that? -(TM) -~Guilty as charged, Your Honor. -(TM) -~Care to explain, young man? -(TM) -~On the night that this other guy here first kissed the deceased, I was hiding in the bushes, waiting for Lucille to walk through that dark section and waylay her. I planned to drag her pretty ass into the bushes and rape her. An appetizer of rape followed by an entree of rape and followed by a dessert of rape-covered rape with rape filling. That little slut would have deserved it. -(TM) -~On the night in question, I was listening in through bugs I -(TM)d planted throughout the house. I heard the proposal. I heard her admit that not only had she been fucking this other dude, but she was carrying his kid. -(TM) His voice had been getting louder and angrier this whole time. The judge pounded his gavel to restore order and a more sensible volume to the testimony. -~And? -(TM) -~And so I rang the doorbell, had a few words with that hussy and I shot her. Now why didn -(TM)t I shoot this guy here? I knew he was there. I didn -(TM)t shoot him because I wanted him to feel the kind of sadness I -(TM)ve felt. I wanted him to suffer. I made an example of her. -(TM) I just felt sick to my stomach, hearing him talk about Lucille as if somehow she -(TM)d wronged him by not caving to his desires or being a victim of his intended sexual violence after she -(TM)d spurned him. Rage boiled inside like steam in a kettle. I wished I -(TM)d found him before the police had. I wished I -(TM)d inflicted the pain on him that he -(TM)d selfishly inflicted on my dearest Lucy and me. I wished I -(TM)d cut his heart out slowly with a rusty saw while he was still conscious. But I would no longer be the man that had received a -~yes -(TM) to my proposal. I would not be the man she -(TM)d loved. She didn -(TM)t have a mean fiber in her body. I felt only slightly better when the verdict was read: life in prison with no chance at parole due to the malice aforethought he -(TM)d displayed and the cold, psychopathic way he -(TM)d delivered it. -~May God have mercy on your soul as it rots in jail until you meet Him. I don -(TM)t care if it -(TM)s unprofessional to say but you -(TM)re one sick son of a bitch and I -(TM)m saddled with lots of them. -(TM) Her funeral was held at the school she -(TM)d loved so much. Hundreds of students and former students came to pay their respects to a woman whose life had been spent in the service of making them think, making their lives fuller, richer and smarter. The sun shone and her red hair shone like it was gold and not copper. There were murmurs about the killer, murmurs about the deceased and me. I didn -(TM)t give a fuck. There was no bringing her back and the time I spent with her was far better than these silly jays could even comprehend. And as the sun was hidden by cloud, her last words resounded in my head. I should move on. Mrs. Dawkins brought me back to the present, breaking me out of my flashback. -~I think they want to close up for the night. They keep looking our way. Are you okay? You completely zoned out for a bit. I was getting a bit worried you weren -(TM)t used to alcohol. -(TM) -No, I -(TM)m just fine. Was lost in memory. I -(TM)m sorry. - There weren -(TM)t many cars in the parking lot as we left the restaurant. As I escorted her to her car, I found she was parked right next to me. The time had come to decide. Oh, what the hell (probably where I was going). I opened my passenger side door for her like a gentleman and she settled in. I had a special place in mind to take her to. Had been a while for both of us and I thought she might appreciate the thought. -~Are you spiriting me off to some crazy desolate place to take advantage of me? -(TM) she asked as we pulled onto the highway. -Humph. Who said anything about sex? Besides, it -(TM)s not rape if she says yes, is it? Who knows, I might just be planning to dump your naked body in the woods. And just because it -(TM)s desolate doesn -(TM)t make it crazy. I think you -(TM)re going to like it. I don -(TM)t take just anyone there. - I laid my hand firmly on her knee and she squealed again. I felt like a pervert molesting a schoolgirl. -Just kidding. Murder would be such a waste. - It really had been a while since someone other than herself had touched her body. -~Before we go too much farther, I should lay down my boundaries. No kissing on the mouth. I only kiss my husband that way. Lastly, absolutely under no circumstances will I do anal. I am on the pill and I really enjoy when a man cums inside me so don -(TM)t worry about that. You look like a decent chap. You don -(TM)t have any strange presents to give me I hope. -(TM) -Seems reasonable, - I said, sliding my hand up her leg before hooking my finger through the crotch band of her unmentionables and giving it a stiff yank. Her pants caught around her knees where she kindly eased them off and spread her legs a bit more, rotating toward me so I could finger her more easily. Her insides sucked my fingers in like a second mouth and released them reluctantly in rhythm. She did most of the work so I could concentrate on driving without killing us before her climax. In and out, up and down, tighten and loosen until just before the parking space. She gripped my fingers hard inside her, her nails digging into my arm as her pussy twitched its cum down my fingers and onto the palm of my hand, leaving her breathing heavily beside me. When she had caught her breath enough to speak, she thanked me profusely despite the fact I -(TM)d hardly done anything. I pulled my sopping wet fingers from her before getting out of the car and opening the door for her. No sooner had she gotten out of the car than she dropped to her knees in the grass beside the car. I thought maybe she was still weak-kneed from her orgasm until she reached for my belt. Before my pants had fallen to my ankles, her tongue snaked out and coaxed -~mini-me -(TM) into life. She hadn -(TM)t lost any skill due to lack of practice. Her tongue had a mind of its own and when she committed to taking the entire length of me into her throat for half the blowjob, I almost proposed right then and there. She told me not to worry about where I came so long as I gave her fair warning. I was just about ready by then and told her so before unleashing into her mouth. She showed it to me proudly before gulping it down. -~You might think I try and act like a porn star and that I -(TM)m degrading myself but I -(TM)ve always been turned on giving blowjobs and testing a man -(TM)s length with my throat. Like to know what -(TM)s getting into me. -(TM) We didn -(TM)t make it very far from the car for some time. No sooner had she finished blowing me than she -(TM)d opened the rear door of the BMW and presented her bare ass to me. I hiked her skirt up and gave her a commanding smack on her bum, sliding into her with minimal resistance. I leaned over her and whispered into her ear, -Miss Dawkins, I think I love you. I -(TM)ll never tell anybody, I swear. I never dreamed a day like this would come. - And then I came. -Oh my fucking God, Miss Dawkins! Have my babies you sexy little bitch! - I held her hips to mine, pretending that like a male dog, I had knotted with her and she couldn -(TM)t pull away. I -(TM)d always thought that was kind of romantic, being joined to one -(TM)s partner in post-coital bliss. When I -(TM)d pulled out of her at last, or rather gone flaccid and slid out, I stripped off what remained of my clothes and helped her unzip her skirt and unclasp her bra as we tossed our clothing into the back seat of my car. I took her hand in mine and led her to a verdant clearing full of soft grass. The moonlight shone down through the trees like a stained-glass window. One beam of light projected onto an open space. I called it -~the altar -(TM) and I -(TM)d -~sacrificed -(TM) a girl or two here. I imagine the native tribes of our region had made many a papoose here back in their time. It just seemed like a place dedicated to the goddesses of sexual desire, love and fertility. Before I laid her down gently in the soft grass, I feasted upon her breasts and her nudity. I made a mental note of her standing there in the clearing, skin illuminated by Luna who smiles on lovers and their trysts. With the angle she was at, she glowed as if there was some kind of halo wreathing her alabaster skin. Maybe it was the glow from the orgasms she -(TM)d already had tonight or maybe she was an angel in disguise, a reincarnation of Lucille. Whatever the case might be, for a night she was my lover and tonight I was hers. As my weight pinned hers to the ground, I told her my thoughts as our last marathon of sex began. I don -(TM)t know how long I was inside. I know it was a while because it was my third time of the evening. I know that every time I got close, I -(TM)d pull out and stimulate her with my tongue or my fingers until her orgasm built and came and mine died. I know that when I finally did finish inside of her, the first light of day was lightening the clearing. I know that she smiled the most beautiful smile at me as I rolled off her to get some sleep on the blessedly cool green mattress we were on. Then I remember nothing. I woke to Christina -(TM)s moans. I peered through my eyelids, hoping she was only taking advantage of herself and not that someone had come along and was truly taking advantage of her. What I saw, I never would have dreamt in a million years. A fawn was between her spread legs, lapping at our leavings as if she was nothing more than a salt lick. Since she was enjoying it and was calling out some guy -(TM)s name (not her husband -(TM)s) I let her be. No sense in ruining the moment. Bambi didn -(TM)t seem to be scared of her increasing vocalizations and kept right on going until she was satisfied before bounding off as if nothing happened. Maybe the deer was some kind of watcher, ancient beyond years and had done this to all the girls it came across. It was a mysterious place and I didn -(TM)t really care. -~You sure know your way around a girl, doctor. -(TM) -And you -(TM)re really going to need to get cleaned up after tonight. Oh, and that wasn -(TM)t me. That was Bambi. - -~Is Bambi your slutty office assistant? -(TM) -No, that would be Brenda. She -(TM)s a borderline nymphomaniac. I mean there was a fawn fawning over you. Looked like it knew how to perform cunnilingus since you were enjoying yourself. Was so unbelievable I didn -(TM)t want to break the spell or dream or whatever it was. - -~Oh my fucking god! So I guess that makes me a pedophile and zoophile in one act! -(TM) -Don -(TM)t worry, - I said, grabbing onto her bare ass as we walked back to the car, -what happens in Eden stays in Eden. - -~Eden? I guess it kind of is. Male and female, naked as they came into this world, enjoying each other and the scenery around. I want to come back to Eden one day. With you, with my husband, however things turn out. -(TM) As we put our clothes back on and drove back to the restaurant, she told me she kind of hoped for more nights like this from me, that her husband would leave and she could move on. I parked beside her car, escorted her from my car and opened hers, kissing her hand. -Until next time? - -~Definitely! -(TM) and then she was gone. The next week, she told me she wanted something to show her husband. One of my clients was pretty grateful for me keeping him in performing condition since he was a porn star at a site called greatpackagescomeinsmallthings.xxx, a site about well-endowed men and petite girls and the reminders the men left inside them. He told me to call him if I ever wanted to try my hand at porn. Christina agreed to be my starlet as I was assured the man -(TM)s face isn -(TM)t the focus of most porn shoots. Apparently most men get performance anxiety so while starlets are many and varied, there are much fewer male performers and lots of trickery can go on because the man -(TM)s face isn -(TM)t shown. Lights, camera, action! The people on set were impressed. I gave the sloppy, grinning girl a thumbs-up after the cameras stopped rolling. -~You really should have become a porn star. We didn -(TM)t even have to substitute in for you. Much less schooling and debt, bro. Think about it sometime. -(TM) I promised I would and they handed over the tape. -~We don -(TM)t really shoot a lot of revenge porn but I hope it works out, eh? -(TM) I thanked them again and -~Tina headed for the shower, pulling me with her. -~You did a great job, as per usual, -(TM) she said as we soaped each other up. -~Want one last one for the road? -(TM) -Only from you - as I focused on getting her slit sparkling clean. Probably shouldn -(TM)t have wasted so much water. Oh well. The next week, she came to my office to report that she -(TM)d caught her husband masturbating to the video we -(TM)d made. He hadn -(TM)t even recognized that it was his wife in the video until she told him. -~When did you get a second job as a whore? -(TM) Things had gone downhill from there and she -(TM)d left him to finish himself off. -~Take me back to Eden, my Adam. Please, I beg you! -(TM) As we drove to where I -(TM)d parked earlier, she told me things had gotten worse. She said her kids had told her that they -(TM)d spied on their babysitter when they were supposed to be in bed. She was the 13-or-14-year-old daughter of the woman he -(TM)d been fucking. He -(TM)d been kissing her, feeling her up inside her clothes, taking them off. She -(TM)d told him she wasn -(TM)t ready; she was too young and inexperienced. But Greg hadn -(TM)t cared. He -(TM)d had sex with her anyway and while she protested and cried at first, she moaned as things progressed and when their daddy had pulled his thing from hers, it was blood red and she -(TM)d sighed. She -(TM)d filed for divorce and he -(TM)d signed the papers readily. There was one other piece of news though I should have expected it. -~Tina, as I -(TM)d nicknamed her, was expecting. What was it that made a gal -(TM)s birth control go on the fritz with me? Of course I proposed even though she -(TM)d just terminated her first marriage. She agreed to make me an honest man and her into an honest woman. We held the ceremony while she could still fit in her old wedding dress. I suspected it was twins. We had our first kiss on the lips that day. No doubt we embarrassed the kids and our parents by our extended French kiss. As we pulled apart, she whispered in my ear, -~I still won -(TM)t do anal, honey.'