Four Erotic Tales (9 page)

“I like,” she answered, managing to sound both breathy and husky at the same time. Her fingers clenched in my hair, and I took the hint, clamping my mouth onto her pussy, tasting it, and tasting it again.

I’ve always liked pleasing my lovers with my mouth. I love being able to taste them, I love feeling their excitement growing against my tongue, I love having my hands free. I stroked the sides of her breasts, causing her to arch.

I love being able to watch her whole body tremble with passion, all because of what I’m doing to her with the smallest touch of my lips, my tongue, my fingers.

Veronica’s belly was trembling; her nipples stood hard and dark pink beneath my fingers. “Oh… Oh… Ken…”

I hummed into her cunt, and she writhed; I could feel her muscles beginning to squeeze and flutter around my tongue. I already recognized the high sighs that announced her impending orgasm, and so I began to settle into the pleasure of the endgame, sucking and licking at her clit, pinching at her nipples....

Just at the point where I was sure she was about to explode, her fists, which had been pulling me in, pushed me away. “Want... to come... you inside...” she gasped, and yanked me up the length of her body with one hand while the other grabbed for my hard-on and pulled it straight into her. Her legs pulled hard against my ass, and we both screamed. I felt her pussy pulse around me. “Ooo!” Her eyes were half lidded as I began to fuck her in earnest, lovely breasts bouncing with each stroke, her whole upper body flushed pink.

I held myself up on one hand, while with the other I reached between us and began to press against her clit with my thumb, so that my thrusts and the rocking of her pelvis kept her cunt tumbling back and forth over the edge of orgasm. “Ooo!”

“Come for me,” I moaned.

Those blue eyes, which had been almost closed, flew open. “
Ooo!
”

Veronica and I have remained friends over the decades, attending each other’s wedding (each to someone else), doing other shows together, always close — but never closer than at that moment. Over the following months (a nice summer affair for sure) we made love hundreds of times — on my futon, in her bed, center stage at the outdoor theater at which we’d met (well after midnight), for hours working off her anger while her ex was having a party in their shared back yard, on a hill overlooking the ocean while watching the sunset, even once with Jenny (a disappointment for us all, unfortunately) — and we blew each other’s brain repeatedly, but I never got her to quite such a state of rolling orgasm again, her whole body quivering, her thighs squeezing my hips spasmodically.

Voice tremulous and husky, she gasped, “Ken... Wanna feel, wanna feel... You asked... You come so hard, you asked, no girl can... Spray inside me, Ken, wanna feel a Ken come, Ken — “ She clamped down hard with her cunt, though her eyes remained locked on mine, and suddenly I felt as if I knew how a star must feel when it goes supernova: pleasure and heat seemed to shrink the whole universe to an infinitely small point within me, and then, just as suddenly, to explode infinitely out.

When my vision cleared, I was collapsed on top of Veronica. Both of us were panting, gasping for air. Arms and legs, she pulled me tight, and I curled around her. “Fuck. Fuck.”

“Uh-huh,” she agreed airlessly. “Uh-huh.”

As our heartbeats slowed and breath returned, but while I was still inside of her, I leaned back, taking in her glorious, fuck-flushed face and wild hair. “You... like?”

Veronica’s face split in a triumphant grin. “Like? Oh, fuck, yeah. Fuck, yeah, I like.”

I am kneeling between Ken’s thighs. Though he is still clothed, I am naked. It seems appropriate; he has made me feel naked since the day I walked into his Beginning Acting class five years and a lifetime ago.

“Allison,” he murmurs, his fingers running through my hair.

“Yes, Ken,” I say, unable to disguise the tremor that his voice, his caress raise in me. My eyes remain locked on the raised front of the button-fly jeans just inches before me.

“Tell me what you want, Allison.” His strong, warm voice is low, and I tremble all the more, knowing what he wants me to say.

“I want to heal you, Ken,” I whisper, my voice high, thin, and warbling.

I can hear the smile, even as the lump in his jeans seems to grow, to rise. “Oh, sweetheart,” he says, “you do that every day that I’m blessed enough to see you.”

My heart fills my throat, leaves me breathless.

“But that’s not what you want right now, is it, Allison.” Not a question, not really: he knows me, knows me better than I do myself in so many ways, and I am raw clay before him, the girl he made and remakes, just by looking at me. By desiring me. By speaking to me in that low, throaty voice so full of love, desire, and control.

“N-no, Ken.”

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” His fingers trace a silver-soft line down from my ear to my collarbone, and from there to the nipple that aches at the tip of my breast. With middle and forefinger, he gives my nipple the gentlest of pinches, sending a spark all of the way to my toes, back up to the crown of my head, and then down into my crotch, which flowers open, so that I can feel the cool air of the room flowing over then. “Whatever you want, you can have. If you ask.” There is power in words, he always says, and I love the power that his words have over me, that my words give me over him.

“I…” Exquisitely conscious of his fingers, his voice, I didn’t notice my own hands sliding up to the insides of his thighs. They are warm and substantial, even through the jeans, and they ground me, even as they lead me upward toward the object of my quest. “I want… to eat you. Ken. Please.” It has been a month and a half since I have had his cock — thick, heavy, and just long enough — inside of me. In my mouth. In my hand. In my cunt. In…

“You want to suck my cock, Allison?”

“Yes. Ken. Please.”

“And?”

“And…” Why am I embarrassed? Why do I feel once more like the virgin I was before Ken first took me into his bed? He knows what I want, and I know he knows how he makes me feel. How many times has he told me,
There is no shame in love, Allison?
“I… want to fuck you, Ken.”

He waits, the other hand sliding up my arm and finding my other breast, which had been feeling deprived, but now,
oh…

“I want… I want you…”
I want you. I want you so bad. I want you so bad, it’s driving me mad….
“I want to fuck you, for you to fuck me.”

I can hear the smile grow, and feel his caresses intensify.

But that’s not all I want.

Name it
, I hear him saying in acting class.
If you don’t know where to go next, name what’s happening — what’s
really
happening. Name what you want.
“I want you to f-fuck me, Ken. Please. And… And fuck my ass. I want you to fuck my ass, Ken.” My voice finds its strength as this confession of the desire.

His breath catches. “Really?”

“Please.” The desire, the
need
has been building in me over the last month, since he sent me the story of his affair with Rachel, the actress he met in New Orleans, of how, when they were both nearly totally spent, he slid into her ass and fucked her there, the one place he has never fucked me, and that it never occurred to want him to fuck me, and the air flows between my open cunt lips. “I want… I want to give you everything. Everything.”

He slides down off of his desk chair and onto the floor with me, and his hands slide over my ribs, down my sides, over the fat ass I’ve never really thought of except as a place to sit or shit — until I read about what he had done with Rachel. His mahogany eyes fill my world, and once more I cannot breathe. “You gave me everything, Allison. Even before you gave me your virginity.” He leans forward, his body pressing against my naked one, and whispers huskily into my ear. “I told you — “

“I gave you back your life.”

“Yes.” His hands, like his cock, are large, and wide, and each slides over one of my ass cheeks, one up, one down, so that one thumb finds its way to circle the opening between them, and the long fingers of the other hand trace the moist, trembling lips of my cunt from the back. “Shit, Allison….”

It fills me with pride and desire to hear that I’ve had that effect on him. “Please, Ken. I want you to come in my mouth, in my cunt, in my ass. I want…”

His fingers find my clit, and he pinches it just as he pinched my nipples, leaving me gasping for air. “And what are you going to get out of this, sweetheart?”

“Hnh?” I’m struggling to focus on his words when the pressure of his fingers around my lips, around my clit, against my anus are forcing out all other awareness.

“I want all of those things. Shit, Allison, I want to fuck your mouth and your cunt, and fuck, yes, I want to fuck your sweet ass.” His thumb presses against my asshole, and I gasp as he pushes it just far enough to force the muscles to open. “But — ”

“But?” I whimper.

“What are you getting out of this, besides giving this old man a heart attack?”

“Not…
old
,” I groan, as I always do when he gets stupid like that.

“Old enough,” he moans back.

Most girls get a crush on a teacher at some point. Most boys too, I suppose. Only a few ever actually get to turn the fantasies to reality.

I did. With Ken.

He did, with his teacher, Dana.

Dana did, with her teacher, John.

I know this because of the inscriptions in the book of John Keats’s poetry that’s sitting on the floor beside my knees. John inscribed the book to his student Dana on her eighteenth birthday. Dana inscribed it to Ken on his.

And last spring, Ken gave the book to me for my eighteenth birthday, and changed my life.

“I…” I grunt, pushing myself back, onto his thumb. The feeling of his finger, of his flesh pressing
in
, pushing into someplace where nothing, no one has ever gone fills me with heat; my nipples buzz with need and my cunt lips flutter against his searching fingers. “I get…
you
.” I look up into his dark eyes, whose lids are drooping with lust. “I get to know that I am blowing your fucking mind, you old fucker. I want to feel you come all of the way up my ass and know that I’ve taken your mind to infinity and beyond.”

He kisses me, and a tremor of passion passes between us. “Buzz fucking Lightyear,” he murmurs against my lips, pulling me against him, pushing his thumb deeper into me. “God, Allison. What’s gotten into you?”

“You!” I pant.