tagErotic CouplingsSwan's Way Ch. 05

Swan's Way Ch. 05

byclayboy©

Dance is an elective at my college, but, after spending five solid years immersed in both modern and classical, I had less than zero interest in the course. The room, however, was most useful; large and well lit, with mirrored walls and practice bars. Three times a week I would make use of the facility when no class was in session. Quiet and alone; able to concentrate on keeping my body at its youthful peak.

The room was separated from the gymnasium by a plate glass wall, and on occasion passers by would stop and watch me.

The gym was often occupied by students doing floor routines, or using the equipment, under the tutelage of a male and female instructor. Taking a break one afternoon, a fellow student caught my attention. His specialty was the rings, and, to my untutored eye, he appeared to be of Olympic quality. He would slowly descend into an Iron Cross, hold it for an eternity, then flip up into a handstand, and execute a triple dismount. The rings would appear to be welded in place.

It was not just his expertise that attracted my attention. He was slim, ripped, and had a most intriguing bulge beneath his tights. Close cropped dark hair and a Roman nose.

At the start of the second semester I found him seated beside me in European History. "You're the dancer babe, aren't you?"

"Swan. And you're Tarzan, swingin' through the trees."

He laughed, flashing big white teeth, held out his hand. A spark zapped from his bod to mine. Oooh; what am I gonna say to Marcel? "Nuke. Short for nuclear, ‘cause I had a temper when I was little. After getting my butt kicked a bunch of times, I learned to mostly control myself. You're really good."

"Well, YEAH. I studied forever, danced semipro for two years, before quitting to start college." The professor pulled down a big roll-up map of Europe and got going on the Hapsburgs.

A week later he asked me out, I turned him down. Same thing the next class. Third time he asked me if I was a lez. "No; what I am, is in a relationship. A pretty special one. But I tell you, Nuke, if I wasn't, I'd jump your bones!"

I told Marcel about Nuke, how he'd been coming on to me, how I liked his bod. We were in bed, had just done the deed, were languishing in post-coital bliss. "Do you ever look at other women?"

"All the time!"

"Do you. . .fantasize about them?"

"Is the Marquis a Sadist?"

"Prick!" I poked him in the ribs.

"Fantasy, my dear Little Swan, and reality are two different worlds. In my fantasies I peel them like a grape, ravish them, leave them wet and breathless, begging for an encore. In reality, I get a stiffy, and hurry home to you."

I snuggled against him, "Oh, Marcel; you'll make me weep!" I touched his sticky dickie, sucked my finger, kissed him, and we fell all over each other a second time. Marcel is slow to rise, deliciously slow to erupt, but, alas! All too languid on the recovery. Sometimes, a girl needs a second inning without the wait.

It's unusual for Marcel to get another erection that quickly; generally a half hour or so is required. The wait is worth it; at his age (he's sensitive about how much older he is, says he's only twenty seventeen), Marcel lasts much much longer than the kids I'd balled in high school. Pump pump squirt squirt slam bam thank you ma'am. I wondered at his speedy recovery. Could it have been Nuke? Oh, how delicious!

That Sunday, in the bath, doing our weekly ritual, lazing against the back end of the big claw foot tub, my arms and legs hooked over the edges, I broached the subject from a different angle. "Marcel? You ever do it with two women at the same time?"

He rinsed the razor in the suds, cleaned the excess lather from my freshly shaved cunt, and stood, so that I could give him the same treatment. "Ah, ma petite oiseau! So; you want to add this young gymnast to our games!"

I locked my lips around his soapy cock, stiffening him for his shave. God, this man knows me so well! That's why I never, ever keep anything from him. As to whether he reciprocates, I am still not sure. . .

Later, in the bed, breakfast dishes on the floor, Sunday papers strewn across the duvet, passions momentarily slaked, I turn and hold him against my breast. "Straighten me out, Marcel; like you did with my lezzie lover. I'm so so so confused; lead me, teach me, tell me what to do!"

He kisses my forehead, touches my cheek. "It is you heart that must tell you what to do." He rises, shrugs into a robe. "However, I will do this: write a note, for you to deliver. The next step will be his, then mine, and finally yours. Trust me?"

"Marcel, Marcel! Je suis enchante, mon amour, mon amour!"

"Swan, I think you need to pay more attention to your homework. . ."

I have to turn this over to Marcel; I'm too too F'd up to deal with it; besides, he really took control of the whole deal, at least for the first act. . . ----------------------------------------------

‘Young Mr. Nuke', I began, scratching the broad italic nib of my Mont Blanc across the hand laid note paper that I order from London. First impressions are often the difference between access and denial. ‘Swan informs me that she is intrigued by you; and, as her guardian, I wish for us to meet, so as to ascertain your suitability. Forgive my directness; I am obsessively protective of the child.' I added a date, time, and location as a postscript, signed the short note ‘Marcel P.,' and tucked it, unsealed, into an envelope. A small temptation for my Swan.

That afternoon I am seated at a curbside table outside the local bistro, a script and the dregs of an espresso before me. He approaches, apprehensive, eyes darting. I rise, smile, extend my hand. "Nuke," I say. "Swans description hardly does you justice." I gesture to the other chair, turn to the hovering waiter. "Felix. Noilly Prat; And, for the gentleman. . .?"

"Uh, a beer. . ."

Seated, I come directly to the point. L'audace, toujours l'audace! "Nuke, I lied. I'm not her guardian. Swan is my mistress, and I am very, very protective, of both her and our relationship. However, I am also an aficionado of dangerous situations. The life unexperienced is not worth living. . . You'll learn that, when you study classical philosophy."

Nuke tosses down half his beer, refills the glass. "Uh, Sir, I'm like totally clueless, here. I mean, I ask her out; she's a hot chick, and then she triple blows me off, but today she hands me this note. . .Hey, Sir; I think I'm way, WAY out of my league!


I reach across the table, touch his hand. He jerks it away. I see a young colt, shy at the first approach of the halter.

"Nuke," I say. "Swan has shown an interest in you, would like to take it further. Our relationship is one of pupil and teacher, master and student. I am guiding her through her sexual awakening, as she explores the options spread before her. She is in charge, but I am always there to ensure that no lasting harm befalls her. Do you understand?"

Nuke finishes his beer, and I motion for another. He is wired, ready to bolt. "N-no. I'm totally fucked up! I mean, I'm nervous as hell, never done anything like this before; shit, I've only fucked a girl twice."

Well, that certainly reduces the chances of STD.

"Let me give you a few ground rules, Nuke, should you choose to participate in her experiment. First, lose the gutter talk. Swan is rather free with the words ‘cunt' and ‘cock', but otherwise, she's a young lady. Second, always remember that she is in charge; ‘no' means no, and ‘let's try...' is a command. You and I are there to assist her on this journey. Keep that in mind, young man, and you will also embark on voyages you have never dreamed of." I placed a card in front of him. "Here's the address. Eight o'clock, tomorrow night." I slipped the script into my leather folder, dropped a few bills on the table, and left him with his confusion.

------------------------------------------------- Me again. Marcel sits at the kitchen table, reading that script. I am trying to study for next week's history exam. It's nearly eight thirty. I guess he chickened out. I jump at the sound of the doorbell.

"I got lost," he says. "Sorry."

I stand on tiptoe, kiss his cheek. "It's O.K. Come on in. Would you like a glass of wine?"

"Sure. Good evening, Sir."

"My name's Marcel, not Sir, Nuke," my lover says with a smile. "Are you as worried as Swan is, about this history exam?"

"Yeah, sorta. I can't keep all those kings and emperors straight."

"Plus," I chime in,"The countries keep changing their names!"

We sit and gab about school; Marcel ignores us. I refill Nuke's glass, take his hand. "Come on, I want to show you something." I lead him into the bedroom, close the door. He takes in his surroundings, the big four poster bed, the many mirrors.

He gives me a puzzled look. "What? This what you want to show me?"

"No, Nuke. I want to show you ME. Take off my clothes."

My blouse has many, many tiny buttons. He fumbles at first, picks up speed at the halfway point. A quick study. Good. Has less trouble with my bra. But then, of course, I am not wearing one.

A quick zip and my skirt pools around my feet. I kick off my flats. He hooks my panties with his thumbs, slowly, slowly peels them off. He stands back and feasts on me; his eyes devour my proud, shaved sex, all its folds and convolutions laid bare before his gaze.

"My turn," I finally say, and get to work. In less time than it takes to write ‘I strip him', I strip him. I gasp. He is completely hairless.

He blushes. "Weird, huh? I was on the swim team, in prep school; body hair can add a half second to a hundred meters. Most of us shaved. I got used to the feeling; even though we don't have a swim team here, I still do it. Does it bother you?"

"BOTHER me? It's an incredible turn on!" I flash on Michelangelo's statue of David as I run my hands down his chest, down, down. His brown sack is large, his testicles hang below a disappointingly small penis.

"Uh, Swan, I don't know if your, if Marcel told you, but I've only done it twice. I'm kind of nervous."

"Hey, you think I'm not! Come on, let's climb on the bed, and I'll tell you a story." We did and I did.

"Back in high school, I was dating this guy, pretty steady. One Saturday he'd scored a six pack and his old man's car. We were in the back seat, making out.Two beers, and I had a buzz on. He had one hand under my sweater, the other up my skirt.

Next thing I know, he's got a raging boner in one hand, and my panties in the other. Without preamble, he sticks it in me. Three thrusts; he comes and I bleed. It was two years before I attempted sex again." I lean over and give Nuke a brief kiss. "Your turn," I say.

"My first time was about as bad. I dropped by my buddy's house. He wasn't home, but his big sister was. Four or five years older than me; a college senior. I guess beer must be part of the ritual, because I got kinda wasted, in her kitchen. Next thing I know, I'm kissing her, feeling her tits, er, breasts, through her shirt. Her hand is on my crotch, and I came. Man! Talk about embarrassing. Not to mention having to walk home with a big wet stain in my pants."

"That's it? One the two times you did it?" I was beginning to wonder if I had a virgin on my hands.

"No, it gets worse! She took me upstairs to her bedroom, got us naked. Swiped one of her dads rubbers. Sucked me hard again, rolled it on my di- my penis, and lay back on her bed. I got between her legs, she guided it in; I leaned forward, sucked one of her breasts. And shot my wad!" Nuke picked up his glass and finished the wine. "Second time, later that year, wasn't much better. That's a problem for guys; they come too fast."

"Me too!"

"Yeah, but you're a girl. You can do it again and again."

I kiss him once more, longer, deeper. "So can guys," I whisper, "If the girl helps." I reach down, and find he grown me a pleasant surprise. He's one of those men who show you nothing limp, and turn into the Washington Monument when hard. Nuke reminds me of a large carrot; about eight inches or so in length, and slender. Perfect for a few experiments I've been dying to try.

"OUR First Time," I say, rolling onto my back, spreading my legs, "We're gonna do straight, missionary sex. Don't worry about me; I already came once, a mini orgasm, while I was stripping you. And, go as fast as you want; I'm nice and wet and ready. We have to get this one out of the way, and then we can play!" I don't have the clock running, but I'd guess it's about thirty seconds when he falls over the edge.

"Uhhh!" he groans, collapses onto me. I wrap my legs around him, hold him in, as he surges. Grip him with my muscles as he pumps me full. Finally he rolls off me, spent. "Sorry," he says.

"Not at all! I felt you in places no one's been before." His cock, still long, but now flaccid, lies against his thigh. I French his mouth, stroke his sleek body. Rise, turn, take him all the way in. Lock my lips, slowly withdraw, cleansing him. I French him again, surprising him with a taste of both of us. I feel his heart thud beneath my palm. He is hard again. "See?" I say. "Told ya so!"

Nuke wants to go a second round, but I tell him no. "The night's young, and there are miles to go, before we sleep." Oh, the benefits of a college education! "Right now, we are going to get a shower, clean ourselves up for Marcel."

"Marcel? Hey; I'm not into that gay stuff-"

"Not to worry; neither is he-unless he's been leading a secret life!" We frolic in the bath, explore each other. I give him a crash course in female anatomy, for which he will be eternally grateful for the rest of his life.

Back in the bedroom, door now open, I call, "Marcel! Join us." He enters, slowly disrobes, while I light the candles.

My two guys examine each others equipment; My lover quite frankly, Nuke a bit more circumspect.

Marcel is thick, but not long enough to really get down my throat. I've been wanting to try that. Practiced with candles. Nuke will fill the bill; long and slender. Only, at the moment, he has deflated. "I'm going to perform a magic trick, Nuke; actually, two. But first I have to make a few preparations."

Marcel and I have an exercise bench; the kind with adjustable legs at both ends. It can be used for leg lifts, bench presses, crunches. We use it for altogether different exercises. Marcel's favorite position is to take me standing-you may have noticed that in past chapters! The bench is set at a height where I can lie on it, feet flat on the floor, my cunt at the perfect elevation for him to penetrate me.

"Nuke, stand here," I order, and raise the other end of the bench a few inches to compensate for his greater height. "Now; the magic! Nuke, I am going to make Marcel's limp equipment disappear, then, abracadabra, reappear, at full erection. And," I wink, "I am going to make you hard as a rock without touching you!"

I kneel before Marcel and take him entirely into my mouth; engulf his flaccid penis, his sack, his balls. He loves this almost as much as I. My cheeks bulge like a squirrel preparing for winter. Under the hidden ministrations of my busy busy tongue Marcel soon grows, expands, erupts from my mouth, glistening with my saliva. I also rise and turn to Nuke, who, as I predicted, is diamond hard. "See," I say, "Magic!"

I sit on the bench, face Marcel, my bottom at the edge. Then I lie back, letting my head hang over the other end. "Nuke, wait until Marcel is in me, then I want you in my mouth."

Marcel kneels and pleasures me with his darting tongue for a moment or two, finds me already wet and ready, stands between my legs. Nuke watches, his cock twitching. I pray the damned thing doesn't go off too soon. "Look how thick he is, Nuke. How can that monster ever possibly fit into my tiny cunt? But it does, it does!"

Marcel grasps his shaft and slowly enters me; leans forward, lets gravity help. He sets up a steady rhythm. We haven't made love today, and I know I have four glorious minutes before his first eruption. "Nuke? Put it in my mouth."

He takes a step forward and places his cock between my lips. I lavish the tip with my tongue, then put my hand on it, remove it."What I want, Nuke, is to try and take you all the way in, down my throat. With my head at this angle, you have a straight shot at the promised land. Only, I've never done this before, so if I give your jewels a light squeeze like this, I want you to pull out. I promise I won't hurt you, as long as you don't hurt me. O.K.?"

I look up, past his stiff cock, into his eyes, see candles reflected in his pupils. "O.K.," he whispers, and I take him back in. Marcel has me deliciously stretched at the other end, and I once more inhale Nuke. He slides past my lips and I let my tongue ride the top of his cock. I feel him at the back of my mouth, and I open wider, so that my lips no longer touch him. He plunges in, withdraws, plumbs my depths again. My nose bumps his balls. I can feel him in my throat!

Several centuries later Marcel slows his pace, drawing the moment out; I know he is about to pull into the station. I close my lips around Nuke, increasing the friction. God, I feel so penetrated; fear a head-on collision in the tunnel!

Marcel knows the subtle signs, grips my hips and pounds me. "Pinch her nipples, son! She's almost there; let's all try to go together!" I let my teeth drag lightly along his cock, caress his balls as he comes to a boil. A hundred thousand volts of lightning arc between my nipples and my cunt.

I feel him pulse in my throat as Marcel empties himself into my cunt. I simply explode, shatter the world record for megatons of orgasm. Nuke withdraws, staggers, lands on his butt with a thump. "Holy shit!" he says.

"Nuke," I admonish. "Such language!"

The following week we both passed our history exam. Marcel treated us to a celebratory dinner at my favorite restaurant, and we then returned to the apartment to complete my journey. But that, Gentle Reader, is Chapter Six.

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