How to Train a Lover

Jon was not an overly impressive man. In his early thirties, he was athletic in a wiry, uncoordinated sort of way, with a long frame that lent itself more to the bike or the track than to the weight room. Unruly brown locks, the hairline already beginning its inexorable death march, topped a narrow face that matched the rest of his angular body.

Jon had always survived on his quick wit and wry sense of humor, graduating at the top of his physical therapy class and quickly finding a job at his local hospital, where he helped patients rehabilitate after complicated orthopedic surgeries. He had married his college sweetheart, a physical therapy classmate who appreciated his intelligence and humor. They were still very much in love, albeit the sort that comes after several years of marriage: snuggling by the fire and good dinners led more often to sleep than they did to romance. Still, they were happy, and Jon considered himself a lucky man.

His work life was similarly fulfilling. He had made a great number of friends since starting at the hospital several years earlier, and his job afforded him the opportunity to work closely with patients, physicians, nurses, and other support staff on a daily basis. He was universally well-liked and well-respected, but, despite the fact that he worked with a primarily female workforce, he was rarely the recipient of the soft touches and casual lean-ins that he often saw among his coworkers. Maybe it was the ring on his finger; maybe, he thought, it was his nice guy attitude, but his relationships remained the way upper management wanted them: cordial, but professional.

His closest friend on the floor was a fellow department member, a speech therapist who had worked with him for over a year. Three years his junior, Anna had taken the job right out of school, and they quickly bonded over stories of nightmare patients and the hassles of working in the medical field on a daily basis. Like him, Anna had married her college boyfriend, and lived a content, if sometimes rocky, life. Her husband was a good guy, a friend in his own right, but what he possessed in charisma, he lacked in motivation. The two couples would often go out for drinks on the weekend, and after a few, Anna and her husband would start with the snide comments, the "maybe if you had a job"s, and the "maybe if you would lay off"s. No matter how awkward it got, though, when Monday came, she always seemed as in love with him as ever.

It was one of those very same Mondays that found Jon and Anna sitting together on the orthopedic floor, finishing up some last minute documentation after seeing their final patients of the day. As Anna typed away, Jon glanced over at her; she was a pretty girl, he thought to himself. She chewed nervously on a strand of her shoulder-length curly hair with that same mouth that was quick to chuckle at his jokes, with a wide smile that would spread across her face, and blue eyes that would tear up as she laughed. A conservative gray sweater shaped itself to her torso, clinging to those large breasts that she was so quick to make a joke of; "You try carrying these things around for a while!" she liked to say when someone would comment on them. Black slacks hid shapely legs and a nice butt; she was certainly not a large girl, but she was no twig, either. As his eyes travelled back up to her face, she glanced at him and flashed him a quick smile, a smile meant for a friend. Jon knew that she wasn't interested in any more than that; innocent flirting had gone unreciprocated, and he had been content with their relationship. Their spouses were friends, and he knew in his mind that there was no reason to ruin that dynamic. "Just friends", he thought to himself with a smile. "Just friends, but this week, things might change."

*****

Since high school, Jon had noticed that things around him sometimes seemed a little unusual. Like any guy, he was prone to fantasize about girls, but he'd noticed women seemed almost to react to his thoughts: a shift in the chair, a glance around the room, someone quickly excusing themselves from the table. Subconsciously, he'd stopped thinking that way about women when they were present. He didn't like the feeling, the idea that people might know that he was thinking about cupping a girl's breast, of running his hand up her thigh, of feeling her squirm under the pressure of his hand. He thought about it when he was alone, naturally, but in public, his thoughts were controlled.

But earlier the previous week, he'd let his guard down. While on the bus on his way to work, a young girl, in her early twenties at the oldest, had climbed on at the stop after his. Sitting across from him, he couldn't help but notice her bright red pigtails, her fishnet stockings, her short skirt, her pink top pulled tight over small, perky breasts. As she bent over to set down her bag, his mind started to wander, thinking about pulling up that skirt, rubbing his hand up her thighs, feeling her wetness as he pulled her back to grind up against his crotch. As he thought about slowly pulling down her stockings, he noticed the girl squirm in her seat, then reach into her bag to pull out a jacket. As she glanced at him, he quickly looked towards the bus driver; there were only four people riding, and the other two were seated towards the front.

The girl placed the jacket across her lap, then shifted herself away from him to face the window. His mind travelled back to her body, to pulling off her shirt, to laying her on her back on the floor with her legs spread wide, to slowly licking her wet, young pussy. In his mind, he flicked his tongue lightly, reaching up to tweak her nipples, feeling himself getting harder. Suddenly, he heard a whimper that snapped him from his daydream. He saw the girl's arm disappear under the jacket, her eyes closed, her hand moving where he knew the hem of her skirt would be. He thought of eating her pussy, juices flowing into his mouth, her hand tugging at his hair. He imagined her grinding her pelvis into his face, his tongue darting in and out of her, over her clit, lightly, then harder. He could feel her body tense up, her back arch, then feel her release, her body convulsing, her wetness flowing over his face. Simultaneously he heard a soft moan, and, astonished, looked over at the girl where she sat up against the window. Her hand moved quickly beneath the jacket, and he could see her body tensing and releasing, her other hand gripping her right breast hard through her shirt. After several seconds, her moans stopped and the rhythmic moving of her body slowed. She looked around the bus anxiously, nervously, but no one, including Jon, seemed to be paying any attention, although it required a fair amount of effort on his part. At the next stop, she hurriedly packed her things and darted off the bus, leaving Jon to think to himself, dumbfounded - "Did I just do that?"

*****

Now, seated next to Anna in the nurse's station, Jon could feel anxiousness building. Since that day on the bus, he'd had the opportunity to hone his new-found craft on several women, at the supermarket, at the gym, even on his wife at home. He had discovered that he didn't even need to think specifically about sex; it was a difficult thing to explain, but he found he could send out tendrils with his mind, specific thoughts of pleasure that transferred directly into a woman's body. He could change the intensity with a thought, cause a warm sensuality or a throbbing orgasm just by altering his intention. He had teased his wife while she cooked dinner the previous evening, and they had made love later that night with a passion he didn't know still existed between them. Today, he had finally decided, he would turn his sights on a more elusive target.

As Anna looked up from the screen where she had been documenting a long note on a particularly sick patient, Jon pictured a flame in his mind and directed the thought at her. A slow, mild, heat sparked up in Anna's belly as she looked at him; as she glanced back down, he took it away just as quickly. She typed a few more lines, and slowly hazarded another glance towards Jon; again, the warmth spread through her belly, reaching down, and Jon smiled to himself as she shifted in her chair, leaning back slightly. Her breasts pushed forward through her sweater, and he gave her a little more; sighing, she leaned away from him, shook her head slightly, and began to ask a question of a nurse seated opposite him. Immediately, Jon stopped what he was doing and went back to charting on his patient.

In fits and starts, Jon slowly, subconsciously, trained Anna to look his way more often, to lean in, to scoot her chair his way. By the time he was ready to finish up for the day, she was sitting a foot away from him, making idle chit-chat, obviously distracted by the fire that was slowly caressing her inner thighs, making the muscles in her abdomen quiver slightly, steadily. Although he'd been intending to take it slowly, prolonging the buildup, Jon decided, on the spur of the moment, to give her one last bit of reinforcement for the day. Pointing at the computer, highlighting one particularly atrocious typo that had been made in an electronic chart, he asked Anna to take a look. As she leaned across him, her breasts pressed into his arm, and he released the pleasure in waves, spreading it throughout her body, focusing it in her groin, the muscles of her vagina clenching and unclenching in a steady, rolling rhythm. He could feel her fighting the urge to convulse against his body, and knew that she hadn't heard a word he'd said. Shutting his laptop, he stood up, and with a quick smile and a "see you tomorrow!", headed for the elevators. Five minutes later, a shaky Anna followed suit.

The next day started awkwardly. Anna was in a foul mood, likely from another fight at home, although she didn't want to talk about it. Throughout the morning, the two were busy with patients, but during their brief encounters, he could sense her stealing glances at him, obviously confused by what she was feeling. Just before lunch, they were finally able to catch a reprieve from what had been a particularly busy morning, and Jon decided to use it to his full advantage.

As Anna walked behind his chair, Jon sent his thoughts towards her pelvis, immediately filling her to the same point of release as the previous day. She stumbled as she passed; as she walked towards an unoccupied chair, he slowly let the pleasure fade, agonizingly, an unsatisfying denial that sent her walking immediately back towards his chair, under the pretense of needing to borrow a pen. Jon handed her his favorite Bic; as their hands touched, he doubled the pleasure, but kept it steady. "Th-thanks" she said, haltingly, reluctant to pull back. From this close, her standing, him seated, he could smell the sex through her tight khakis, a musky-sweetness that made him shift uncomfortably as his now erect penis pressed against the leg of his scrub pants. "Any time!" he replied with a grin, and as she backed away, he let the heat fade again. Her disappointment was almost palpable.

The rest of the week passed in much the same way. Jon would reel Anna in, get her close, agonizingly close, to full, mind-blowing release, then take it away as quickly as he gave it. He found her following him around the hospital, making idle conversation, anything to keep the feeling alive, searching for the liberation that he'd continued to deny her since that first day. Instinctively, Jon knew that he'd barely scratched the surface; although it had likely been one of the most powerful orgasms of her life, he could easily increase her pleasure ten-fold if he saw fit to do so.

As Friday approached, plans were made to meet up for drinks and poker, their usual weekend routine. They alternated houses each week; this week would be at Anna's, and Jon fully intended to continue the teasing that he'd started at work. As they headed for the elevator at the end of the day, Jon confirmed that he'd be by with his wife around 8 pm, then decided he'd make sure that Anna would be anticipating his arrival. As she pushed the button for the first floor parking garage, he leaned past her to push the button for the second floor, where his car was parked. His body rubbed against her backside, his crotch pressing into her round ass, and the dull burn that he'd been giving her all day exploded in a body-racking orgasm. She gasped, taking deep breaths, her body collapsing against the wall of the elevator as bolts of electricity traveled through her, every muscle tightening, then relaxing; even her fingers flexed against the wood-paneled wall. For 10 seconds, he watched her try to compose herself against one of the most powerful orgasms she had ever felt; he had doubled the intensity from the one he had given her that first day. As the door opened on the second floor, he released her, then flashed her a worried smile.

"Are you OK?" Jon said as he stepped out.

"Ummm, yeah" panted Anna. "Just some muscle cramps, I'll be fine."

"See you tonight then?"

"Definitely."

Jon knocked on the door promptly at 8 pm. His wife held the usual large pizza, half pepperoni, half sausage. Anna opened the door, and Jon could not help but notice that she'd traded in her usual sweats for a pair of yoga pants and a revealing white tank top that showed off all of her curves. He smiled to himself as she turned; he could just make out her thong through the thin material.

The two walked in, setting the pizza on the table where the cards were already set up. Anna's husband walked to the fridge. "Who wants a beer?" he asked, then swore softly to himself. "Shit. I forgot to get drinks".

Anna stared at him with angry eyes, and he quickly volunteered to run to the store, a 20 minute drive from their rural home.

"Wanna go, Jon?" her husband asked.

Jon was quick to reply. "I really want to catch the Rockies game. Do you mind if I hang out?"

His wife chimed in. "I need to get some beer and stuff for us anyway. I'll go. Just remember, you owe me!"

With promises of a quick return, the two headed out the door. One hour. One hour to do his worst, Jon thought to himself. As Anna plopped onto the loveseat, Jon leaned forward from his seat on the couch. He focused on her tight yoga pants, then slid his eyes up over her cleavage.

"D's at least", he thought to himself, and he let his eyes continue up, past her blond curls, settling finally on the blue eyes that were assessing him, cautiously. As their gaze met, he filled her fuller than he had all week; a shudder racked her body, but she never took her eyes off of him. Higher and higher, he focused the heat in her groin, her breasts, sending sharp tweaks of pleasure through her nipples, her clit. She leaned back, and he could see that her gray pants were beginning to darken where her juices were flowing through. Her nipples pushed out against the thin cotton of her top, and she moaned softly. Suddenly, she became aware of the dark spot spreading across her crotch.

"Umm, you OK for a second?", she said quickly. "I'm gonna go change."

She hurried from the loveseat and up the stairs to her bedroom. As the door shut, Jon focused on the thought of her pussy beneath those pants, the slick, glistening moisture, the delicious, musky odor, how easily he could glide inside of her. He sent the thought into her bedroom, and heard Anna bite off a scream, then the sound of her muscles abandoning her as her body fell to the floor.

Under the pretense of concern, he rushed up the stairs. "Are you OK?!" he exclaimed, throwing open the door. Anna was on the floor, just pushing herself up onto her hands and knees. Her pants and thong lay on the bed where she had discarded them; the only clothing she wore was the tight cotton tank top.

As he averted his eyes, Anna yelped, and made a move to cover herself. She stood on shaky legs, took one step towards the bed, then collapsed against the side, her torso across the bed, her legs hanging off.

"Please, let me help you!" Jon said concernedly, then rushed across the room to where she lay, her body heaving.

"No, please, I'm fine!" she breathed, but as he reached her and pulled her up, jolts of pleasure again racked her body, and she fell against him. As her body pressed into his, her breasts tight against his slight frame, he could feel his penis engorging, pressing against her bare leg through his jeans. He made that his focal point, sending waves of pleasure running up to her exposed vagina, storing them deep inside of her, begging to be let out. Her hand moved tentatively down, brushing his fully erect member; as she did, he doubled the intensity, letting her fall back on the bed, groaning, thrusting her pelvis into the air, begging for more. She was rabid, all rational thought gone, wanting only more pleasure, more of him.

He could see the perfect folds of her pussy, glistening with her wetness, pulling apart, then together again as she rhythmically spread, then closed, her long legs. She was bare-shaven, as he had known she would be; her husband liked to brag after a few drinks, much to her chagrin. She sat up suddenly and grabbed at the button of Jon's pants. With a quick zip, she pulled them down hungrily, his boxer-briefs along for the ride. She grasped his penis in both hands and pulled it towards her, bringing her crotch up, begging him to penetrate her, to fill her, to please her.

Jon rubbed one trembling hand up her thigh, and she grasped it, thrusting his fingers inside of her. Each thrust sent electricity up her spine, into her brain, and she rose to meet him in a steady rhythm. Still on her back, she pulled her top over her head, her breasts spilling out. She pushed them together with her hands, her fingers pressing hard into the milky flesh, her eyes closed, her mouth open in a silent moan.

Anna was a ball of white lightning, of concentrated sense, a black hole absorbing every ounce of pleasure he gave, storing it, waiting to throw it back in an explosion of light and sound. Her pelvis ground against his hand, begging him to go deeper, to fuck her harder, to never stop, never stop, never stop, don't stop, don't stop, oh god, don't stop!

Jon reluctantly pulled his hand away from her and ran it up her body. As he did, he climbed onto the bed next to her, and with a slight pressure against her waist, flipped her onto her stomach, her head resting on a pillow. Spreading her legs, he pulled her up onto her knees, her arms still beneath her, her face pressed into the pillow. He could see her pussy gleaming wetly, her ass pressing back, begging for him to enter her, to violate her. He rubbed his penis against her lips, coating it in her juices, and she moaned into the pillow. Grabbing her ass with both hands, pulling her cheeks apart, he penetrated her, his entire length sliding into her. She screamed softly and panted his name, "Jon, Jon, fuck me Jon, touch me, please Jon, please Jon, please Jon!" He slowly pulled back, then pushed forward again, each thrust bringing new levels of pleasure, new extremes that Anna had never known existed. She pushed back to meet him, pulling her face from the pillow to beg him for more. As she did, he reached forward and grabbed a handful of her blond curls, pulling her back further, shocks of pleasure shooting down her spine to meet those from below.

Harder and harder he thrust into her, giving her every inch of him, and she rose to take it, wanting more. Her hands reached back to grab his thighs, pulling him into her, slamming her, sending ripples through her supple ass as it bounced against his belly. He could feel his own orgasm building, and he wanted to fill her with that as well, to cum inside of her, to mix his own pleasure with hers. He pulled harder against her hair, the other hand clawing against her back. He felt himself contracting, pleasure about to erupt, and he focused every last bit of himself on Anna. Orgasm ripped through her body, and she screamed in pleasure, "Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck!" Her vagina squeezed hard against his penis, and he came inside of her, letting his pleasure add to hers. He pushed hard into her, and her back into him, as he pulled her head up towards his own. Their bodies rocked together as they came, her head twisting around so their mouths could meet, her tongue darting over his lips in pants and moans, a breathy wetness that amplified the pleasure flowing from where his throbbing penis met her sopping pussy. Slowly, their bodies stopped moving; for several seconds, they sat on their knees, unmoving, him inside of her, breathing against each other, completely fulfilled.