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Lusty, Busty the fever for something new, something borrowed, something ‘blue’. ‘Playing with Shakespeare’ was the headline that caught her eye as she idly flipped thru the community newsletter. It beat playing with herself, she thought, as she read on…’We will be assigning roles and acting out scenes’ – hmmmmm, sounded like harmless fun. She was an inveterate ham, and loved an audience, whether her performance was ‘X’ rated or merely ‘PG’. Besides, she just might get lucky-she’d fucked actors before. They were egomaniacs all, but she knew how to stroke that ego-a little smutty cheerleading and any Laurence Olivier wannabe would be putty in her able hands.
She entered the conference room at the local library that first night with her usual flourish, the last to arrive, like a brightly colored tropical bird invading a sea of lackluster sparrows. She arranged herself carefully in the only available seat-at the professor’s left hand. Cute, was her immediate assessment, smart her next, funny her third. He seemed flustered in her presence, impressed with her intellect. His demeanor was almost textbook perfect; tousled, too-long hair, wire-rimmed specs, corduroy suit jacket, mismatched socks. She hoped her attraction wasn’t too obvious, but when he followed her after class and engaged her in some high-octane flirtation, a deliciously wicked plan began to form. Oh, she’d study her Shakespeare, alright, but she hoped to gain some insights into his sexual proclivities as well.
The second and third classes were uneventful, save for their thinly veiled innuendos and asides. The others seemed too immersed in the Bard to take any notice. It was an eclectic bunch that had chosen to soldier on, despite the dry material – a couple of older, retired couples that followed summer performances of the Stratford scribe’s works, like hippies touring with the Grateful Dead; several women-of-a-certain-age, that filled their lonely nights with seminars like this one; a rather handsome, if quirky, out-of-work actor with a flair for the dramatic; and of course, our heroine, and the object of her germinating desire.
She arrives at the library early for the fourth session, hoping to get some reading done. She’d already decided that it was now or never-she would seduce the teacher tonight. Oh, he’d be a tough nut to crack, married and all that – but she’d come to consider that as only a minor flaw (albeit a somewhat tragic one), in an already flawed plan. What did she hope to accomplish? What if they were to be caught, in flagrante delicto, as it were? These questions niggled, but did not nag; she’d wanted him, almost from the first – and was certain he felt the same way about her.
Her clothing had become increasingly provocative, her toilette more extensive, with each succeeding week. Tonight she’s chosen a long, gauzy dress, hand painted with fish (she’d learned, subtly she hoped, that he is a ‘water’ sign) – a little flimsy for the unseasonably cold weather, perhaps, but loose fitting and just-barely-opaque. Enough so that she won’t arouse suspicion among the other patrons. She has no undergarments on, you see, not a stitch. Easy Access, that was the key…
She sweeps past the checkout desk, gliding by the staid librarian on duty, but not quickly enough to avoid seeing the clerk’s disapproving smirk. She heads for the reading room, set apart from the stacks, a quiet, light-filled space overlooking the bend in the river. As a rule, she dislikes prairie architecture, its lean, angular lines so unlike her own; but this evening, as she watches a fisherman plying the shallows, she is grateful for the setting sun its tall windows admit.
The waning rays glint off of her reddish blond hair as she rearranges a piece of furniture – a deep, leather armchair with slatted armrests. She situates it on the Oriental rug so that it faces the windows, in the corner furthest from the street. Then, she locks all but the door she knows HE will use. She returns to the chair to wait for him, seating herself at the edge of its overstuffed cushion.
Leaning back, she slings first one bare leg, then the other, over the chair’s padded arms. She draws up the skirt of her dress, bunching it in her hands as she goes, drawing her fingers along the insides of her thighs. When she feels the warmth of the dusty shafts of sunlight on her mound, she stops. With her left hand, she slowly strokes her labia until they are glistening with her juice, until the scent of her musk fills the silent room. And there she waits, waits for his footsteps, waits to see if she’s chosen the proper approach, if she can broach the armour of this enigmatic man.
She hears the snick of the door latch and jumps, almost imperceptibly eryaman escort – then comes his distinctive, halting gait. She purposely makes no move to acknowledge him. Before she can arrange her features into a suitably provocative countenance, he is behind her, on her – twining his long fingers into her mass of auburn curls, roughly pulling her head back, mashing his lips to hers, snaking his firm tongue into her wet, willing mouth. He moves around the chair, blocking the light from the windows, his mouth never leaving hers. She grabs his arms, pulling him down, down, forcing him to his knees.
As his mouth travels from her mouth to her neck, she groans. “How did you know, baby, how could you tell I wanted you?” she murmurs as his hands find her breasts. Roughly pushing the twin orbs together until he’s able to bury his face between them, he replies, “How did YOU know, my love, know I’d risk everything for this chance?”
She intends to wrap her legs around him, clamping his arms to his sides, helpless, but he is too quick – his hands move down her torso and slip under her legs, pulling her up, closer, lowering his head. She runs one hand over his silky hair, the other fondling her breasts, pinching her swollen nipples. He’s begun a long, slow inspection of her private parts with his tongue, now hard and insistent, now a deliciously slow, maddening friction, rubbing his nose on her clit, chewing and sucking as if she were a ripe mango, till his face is awash in her dew. His hands, which had been kneading her ample thighs, now move inward, his fingers seeking to fill openings so eager to be stuffed that she lifts her head to command him, “Oh, God, Baby, that feels so good, use your hands too, put them anywhere, make me come, please…”
As she raises her hips from the deep chair, he sits back on his haunches to admire her mouth, gaping in an ‘O’ of hunger. “Do you want my hands, my cock, my mouth again?” he asks, but she can only pant in reply. Swirling around her clit with his thumb, he shoves a single finger into her spasming cunt, and she comes almost immediately. She ejaculates like a man, to his surprise & delight, soaking the front of his shirt, turning the sienna tan of the leather cushion into a deep, damp walnut.
”Oh, again, again, please,” she gasps, and he obliges with his agile fingers, some in her twat, some in her ass. She grinds her hips in a slow circle, to some invisible tune, working up to another climax. And when she comes again, the flood dammed by his large hand, he lifts his palm to his mouth as if it were a chalice and drinks, her juice dribbling down his chin.
She slides off the chair, now, on a sluice of her jism, and kneels before him. They are face-to-face, pelvis-to-pelvis, as she slowly begins to unbutton his rumpled shirt, then slips her hands between them to open the fly of his khakis in one deft, practiced motion. His prick is perfect, as smooth and hard as pink quartz, and she pushes him onto his back. The bristly wool rug chafes his ass pleasantly as she works his pants down to his knees. She takes a moment to caress his balls before she climbs on top of him, and positions herself for the ride she’s fantasized about since he first took her fancy.
She pushes him back onto the dusty carpet and positions herself over his straining prick. As her labia embrace his throbbing member, caressing and milking it, she savours the look on his face – longing, pain & hunger all mingled there. She supports herself, first with her hands on his broad chest, and when she has him in her as deep as he can go and is overcome with a need to connect, to take him & make him hers, she shifts her weight and slides her hands down his strong arms, sweeping them in an arc, until they are over his head, pinning his wrists. She dangles her full breasts in his face, and he grabs at them eagerly with his voracious mouth.
“Oh, God, that’s it, suck harder, HARDER, Damn You!” she pants, all the while grinding her hips, feeling him hitting bottom, wanting to come again, wanting to wait. The brillo pad roughness of his pubes scrubs against her clit, his mouth on her tits, the idea of dominating and controlling him all conspiring to force another eruption, her cunt betraying her, his cock sliding out as she covers his mouth with hers, sucking and biting his tongue. He has the most sensuous mouth, the most agile tongue, the deepest kisses she has ever experienced. Greedily, she slides her sopping cunt the length of his body, until her knees are on either side of his face. As she grabs on to the low-slung coffee table they had steadily been humping their way towards, he extricates his arms and wraps them around her ass, digging elvankent escort in his fingers, plunging his tongue into her wet, gaping womb, his teeth gnashing as he fiercely chews her nether lips.
“Drown me, baby, come for me,” he pleads, but his words are muffled, the sounds of his oral lovemaking drowned out by her moans. When he thinks she will crush his head between her thighs like an oversized egg, he scoots out from under her. Before she can register her disappointment at being so abandoned, he has gotten to his knees and taken her from behind, his hands closing over hers on the well-worn wood. He can’t stop fucking her, fucking her, fucking her, pushing her away and then pulling her back to him, biting and licking her neck. She wants to kiss him again, wants him to stifle her cries with his generous mouth.
“Please, lover, lay me down…,” she begs, and he does, grabbing the cushion from another nearby chair to place lovingly under her head. Now he returns the favor, straddling her first to slide his slippery cock between her breasts – he takes one in each hand and lifts them, molds them, to cradle his prick.
“Do you want me to come in your face, you little slut, is that what you want?” he asks with a growl.
“Oh, no, not yet, let me suck you first, please”, she pleads, and he obliges, bending the head of his prick into her waiting mouth. She sucks the glans desperately, trying not to choke, wanting his sperm, his balls rubbing and slapping against her chin, her face flushed and sheened with sweat…
He continues to slowly slide his cock in and out of her eager mouth, one hand cradling her head, the other stroking and bending his prick to get as much of it as possible between her lips.
Suddenly, he rears back, and gripping his pulsating member, directs a stream of hot cum onto her upturned her face.
“Is this what you want, you hot little wench, for me to fucking come in your face after I’ve fucked you?” he growls.
“Oh, God, Baby, yes, yes,” she splutters, helping him to milk the last drops onto her waiting tongue. She catches her breath and rises to her elbows, forcing him to sit back and get to his feet.
“Nice view, darlin'”, she smiles approvingly as he towers over her, his cock still hard enough to hammer nails. She gets onto her knees and nuzzles his balls, taking them one at a time into her mouth, his pubic hair sticking in the spunk that is slowly drying on her chin. When she tires of this game, she rises up slowly, roughly grabbing his prick, pulling him to her.
“Are you man enough to kiss me NOW?” she inquires with a saucy grin. “I’ll do better than that, darling”, he intones. He takes her face in his graceful hands and tenderly licks the droplets of his salty sweet cum from her flushed face, depositing them into her open mouth, kissing her again, filling her with his tongue, his unquenched desire.
She leads him then to the picture windows overlooking the river. The molten sun plays off the water, illuminating her back with shards of sunset orange as she strips off her simple cotton dress and turns to face him, revealing an exhibitionist streak he is only too willing to help her explore…
“Let’s get you naked, Teach,” she says seductively, easing the worn suit jacket off of his broad shoulders. He has long ago dispensed with his knit tie. She marvels again at how well he dresses the role of the naughty professor; he needs only a pipe & some suede elbow patches to complete the persona.
“Do you smoke a pipe?” she queries, but he is too befuddled by his attempt to yank off his khakis without first removing his shoes to pay her any mind. When she loses patience with his endeavours, she abruptly pulls him up by his shirt collar, popping the few unopened buttons and sending them bouncing & chattering across the terra-cotta tiles.
“Oops,” she says, stifling a girlish giggle, “that’s ONE way of doing it!”
He shrugs and sheds what remains of his shirt. “I guess I’ll have to spank you, then,” he announces playfully, grabbing her arm with mock fierceness and spinning her around. He gives her ample backside a couple of tentative swats, as she cups his cock and balls with her free hand.
“What are we going to do about THIS?” she muses, teasing him on to an even more impressive erection. He answers by hoisting her up on to the sloping grille of the air return vent just below the window sill and burying his stiff prick in her wringing wet snatch, forcing her back against the sun-warmed pane.
He rams into her again and again, going deeper with each thrust. “Uh, uh, uh,” she moans, wrapping her legs around him, trying to pull him even deeper inside emek escort her throbbing hole, digging her nails into his exposed back, silently begging him to split her in two.
“God, you’re so wet,” he pants, planting his sweating palms on the pristine window behind her, “wet and hot and tight”.
“Oh, but my ass is sooooo much tighter,” she purrs in his ear.
“What are you saying, Baby?” he grunts, still pumping, his well-muscled buttocks clenching with each stroke.
“I’m saying, I want you to fuck me in the ass,” she says, slithering out of his grip and turning around. Mashing her tits against the outside window, she presents him with her backside, which now bears the rather unlovely embossing of the air vent’s grille.
“Are you sure you want me to do this?” he asks, hesitating, the head of his dick poised between her cheeks. She reaches back to spread herself apart for him, whispering huskily, “Yes, yes, I want it all, the pain too, I want you to take all of me.”
He presses his shaft, already dripping with its own brand of lubricant, against her puckered hole. She admonishes him to be gentle, but he slides into her almost effortlessly. She lets out a yelp of pain, but he holds her tightly from behind, savoring the delicious friction.
“Relax, Baby, it’s O.K., don’t squeeze me so hard,” he chides. When she begins to give in to the insistent pressure and starts to push back against him, he languidly increases the rhythm and depth of his strokes. She relinquishes all control, then, relenting, surrendering herself completely to the urgency of his need.
“Ooooooh, aaaaaahhh, God, Baby, that feels so good, just like that,” she whimpers. His huge hands close over hers as they make a halting trail down the glass, leaving smeary streaks in their wake to be outlined by the setting sun.
“Whose ass is this, huh, who do you belong to now, you bitch?” he growls, not caring if he bruises her, wanting only to fill her with cum, HIS cum, to see it running down her legs, mingled with her blood.
“Yours, I’m yours, all of me, come in me, come NOW!” she begs, feeling the cold grating pressing against her clit, willing her to come for him, making her cry out, forgetting momentarily where they are.
“NOW, NOW, NOW, OH JESUS, I LOVE YOU,” he fairly shouts, exploding for the second time, collapsing against her, burying his face in her hair.
“I love you, too, sweetheart”, she sighs, the last of her juices spent, releasing her pent up breath in one long, whistling gasp. Turning to face him, taking his head in her hands, she kisses him gently on the corners of his mouth.
They both freeze when they hear the soft ‘snick’ of the door-latch, each looking into the other’s eyes, now saucer-round with apprehension. She risks a peek over his shoulder and sees the other members of the class filing in to the sunroom.
Leila is in the lead. “We saw you from outside,” she chirps brightly, turning to close the door. “Nobody told us you’d moved the class upstairs!” Only then does she look up and realize what has transpired. “Oh, my, oh, my!” she sputters, nearly as flustered as her friend Lois. Lois, always the quietest of the group, stands just behind her, bearing mute testimony to Leila’s shock and surprise at finding the teacher ‘tutoring’ his brightest pupil..
Shirley, the bubbly matron, is the next to speak. “Prithee, Sir, what hast thou done to this maiden?” – she REALLY took her Shakespeare seriously. The girl convulses with laughter at this, what little modesty she possesses still preserved by the barrier of her lover’s body.
“What HO, Sirrah, explain this impropriety FORTHWITH!” pipes James, the only true thespian in the troupe, and the member most easily given to histrionics.
But it is Terrence, the elder statesman of the bunch, who has the last word, as the five of them jostle through the narrow doorway. The professor has by now bent to the task of pulling up the pants that are puddled sloppily at his ankles, his posterior resembling nothing so much as the giant peaches on the old Allman Brothers album cover.
“SHAKESPEARE MY ASS!” grouses the grizzled curmudgeon, slamming the door behind him, leaving the newfound lovers to contemplate the repercussions of their misdeed.
The teacher busies himself dressing, donning his semi-buttonless shirt; his lover drops her cotton shift over her head, smoothing out the wrinkles with one hand as she reaches for his neck with the other, pulling him close for a last kiss. She is helping him button his fly when she sees something moving out of the lengthening shadows. It seems not everyone left in a huff…
“Hey, Herr Professor, not so fast”, purred Leila, pulling her T-shirt up and off in one smooth stroke, shaking her hair free. “Yeah, the lady’s right, what’s the rush? Class seems to have been, um, cancelled.” This was James, the fabric of his Dockers already straining with an impressive boner.
(The night’s not over . . . )
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