A Tale of Two Paramours Ch. 22

"Kind of like when my orgasm builds slow and then just hits?" Jessi asked, grinning. "That's kinda what this one was like—well, except I had about five seconds warning that it was coming."

"Was it as good as the one earlier," I asked, regretting the question when my young lover frowned beneath me.

"Not as intense," she finally said. "But yes, just as good, if not better."

"Are you just saying what you think I want to hear," I asked.

"Nope."

I lowered myself so that I could kiss her, but Jessi pushed back up on her elbows and met me half-way. For several seconds, our tongues played together, then I began to feel the strain in my arms and the cold around us. I broke the kiss, then carefully rolled off, my limp penis sliding from inside of her as I did so.

"Shit, it's cold," Jessi said, sitting up.

"Yeah, the fire is almost out," I responded. "Let's go to bed. We can get under that heavy blanket in there."

"How long did we do it?" the blonde asked as I helped her stand.

"A long time, I think. I did not look at the clock."

Putting my arm around Jessi's waist—she seemed a little wobbly—we walked through the front room to the entrance to the bedroom, which was just beside the kitchen. As we did, I saw Jessi lean to the side a little to look at the clock that was in the kitchen.

"It's a few minutes after midnight," she said as we entered the bedroom. "You got back with the ice cream a little after nine. We sat and ate it for a bit, then we talked, then we didn't talk for quite a while, then I asked you to make love to me."

"That sounds right," I agreed, letting go of her waist so that I could pull back the covers on the bed.

"So, it probably wasn't later than 11:00 when we started," she mused as she sat on the bed. "That'd mean you fucked me for over an hour."

"There was some discussion before and after," I pointed out, but I agreed with her basic assumption, as did the growing aching in my shoulders and knees. "And we made love, not 'fucked'."

"I thought you said they were the same, at least sometimes," the young blonde replied, lying down on the bed on her side so that she faced me.

"They are, but this time they were not. I cannot explain it more than that," I told her.

"Okay," she smiled, then added, "Get into bed and warm me up, please."

"Do you want your night clothes?" I asked her.

"I didn't bring any," she replied, her smile disappearing into an almost sad face. "Slaves don't wear nightwear."

"Jess, let's not..." I started to say, but I stopped when the blonde shook he head.

"You're right, Mark. I'm sorry. I won't mention it again."

"I could get the shirt and panties you were wearing," I offered, trying to move us past the slave reference.

"No, I like being naked. Just come to bed with me."

I did as she asked while she turned so that her back was facing me. I pulled myself close to her, so that her back was pushed up against my chest. I did leave some space between my groin and her bottom, however.

"Aren't you going to put on anything, Mark" she chuckled once I was snuggled up against her.

"I would feel overdressed, honey," I pointed out.

"Good. I like you naked against me," she sighed.

We did not talk any further, and after a few minutes Jessi's breathing slowed. I did not go to sleep for some time, however, as my mind would not let several things go. One of those was the issue of clothing. Right after the choking incident, I had suggest Jessi get dressed. She had told me that other than the clothes that she had worn to the cabin, she had only brought clothes to wear home because she had planned on being naked the whole time. I had given her a t-shirt to wear, she had put on the panties she had been wearing earlier, and that had been the end of the discussion on clothes. But now that she had told me she did not bring anything to wear at night, I really began to wonder what was in the suitcase she had brought, other than clothes for the ride home, and what she had meant when I had asked about the bags she was brining and she had said that she wanted to be prepared.

***

I woke in the morning to the smell of bacon and eggs cooking. I sat up, noticing that a fair amount of light was streaming in around the curtains over the bedroom windows, as well as coming in through the open bedroom door. I stood up and stretched, feeling the ache in my legs and arms. I did not know how long the marathon lovemaking session on the floor in front of the fireplace actually had been, but I did know it had taken a bit of a toll on my forty-four-year-old joints and muscles.

When I was finished stretching, I grabbed a pair of knit shorts from my suitcase, put them on, then carefully walked into the front room of the cabin. Jessi was in the small kitchen, her naked back to me, cooking at the stove. She must have heard me, because she turned, looked at me, and smiled.

"Hi Jessi," I said, moving toward her.

The blonde shook her head, however, and pointed to the small table. Realizing what she wanted me to do, I sat down at the table and waited. A few seconds later, the lovely young woman brought me a glass of orange juice and put a glass of milk on the other side of the table. She then ran her hand along my shoulder and smiled again before returning to the kitchen. I tried hard to look somewhere other than at her slender yet very feminine body.

A few minutes later, the still naked Jessi sat a plat of scrambled eggs and bacon in front of me, along with a fork. She then went back in the kitchen, where she retrieved a plate of scrambled eggs, another fork, and a couple of bottles. When she was back at the table, she put a bottle of ketchup and a bottle of hot sauce between us, the plate of eggs in front of her chair, and the small bottle of throat spray next to her plate. She had not said a single word.

"Does your throat hurt too much to talk?" I asked, but Jessi held up a finger, silencing me.

I waited while my lover took the wrapper off the top of the bottle then pumped several sprays into her wide open mouth. For a moment, her nose wrinkled up in what was clearly a look of disgust, then she took several deep breaths. She winced during the first couple, but afterwards relaxed.

"That's better," she said, her voice even more hoarse than it had been the night before. "I hope I can eat a bit."

"I'm sorry, honey," I said, knowing that I was repeating myself and that continuing to apologize could lead to more disagreements between us."

"Your food will get cold," she said, a weak smile on her face. "And I'm okay."

We ate in silence for several seconds, and I tried not to stare at Jessi while she ate. I did see that she did not look like she was in pain while she was eating, so I knew the spray had numbed her throat enough for her to eat.

When I pointed out that she seemed to be doing okay, Jessi nodded, then said, "It feels okay, but that shit tastes horrible, and it does not mix well with the tastes of eggs."

"I could make you some oatmeal," I suggested. "Or even mashed potatoes."

"It's fine," she assured me.

I was not sure what else to say, so we ate in silence again. Jessi finished almost all of her eggs, then put the fork down and sat back in her chair. A little self-conscious that I was just half done with my much larger breakfast, I started eating faster.

"You don't have to rush," the young woman said, shaking her head.

"I do not want you to feel bad," I told her, putting my fork down.

"I don't," she assured me. "I'd like to try a piece of bacon, if you don't mind."

"Sure," I said, handing her a piece. "You think it will be okay?"

"Oh, my throat's completely numb," Jessi laughed, only wincing a little. "I could probably even get your cock down it right now."

I opened my mouth, but Jessi's loud sigh stopped me.

"I'm joking, Mark. Don't start getting all worried about shit and overthinking it."

"Okay," I replied, making an effort to start eating again in order to put her at ease.

After Jessi ate the piece of bacon that I gave her, she reached over to my plate and took another. Smiling at me, she ate it slowly, putting on a show of savoring each bite.

"Does it taste better than the eggs?" I asked.

"Yep," she nodded. "Plus, the taste of that shit has worn off."

"But you are still okay?"

"Still numb," she said, nodding again. "You know, I tried something like this back before I was really good at deepthroating. It was made for doing that, or so it said. It tasted worse and did not last as long as this stuff, though."

I nodded, not sure what to say. I was never really comfortable talking about Jessi's past sexual experiences, so I decided to change the subject.

"I saw some interesting little stores when I went to town last night," I told Jessi, watching her face closely. "I thought we could go look at them some today, maybe get lunch, if we can find something okay for you. If not, we can come back here for lunch."

"It's almost 11:00, Mark," the blonde said with a shake of her head. "This kinda is lunch."

I looked at the clock and saw that it was just past 10:30. That did not seem like "almost 11:00" to me, but I did not want to argue.

"Well, we could go to town, look at some shops, get a snack in the afternoon—I saw an ice cream place—then come back here for dinner."

A mischievous look on her face, Jessi picked up her glass of milk, took a long drink, then set it down before slowly, sensuously, licking milk off of her upper lip. I was in the process of taking a bite of eggs, which I almost coughed up.

"You okay, Mark?" my young lover asked, grinning.

"Yes," I managed to say before I took a drink of my orange juice. "What do you think about going to town?"

Jessi, still grinning, took another drink of milk, and this time she did not lick it from her upper lip.

"I have my cat costume," she told me, her eyes taking on that intense look I knew so well. "You could put milk in a bowl and watch me lap it up on all fours. Or, you could put some different cream out. I'm sure that would be okay for me to swallow."

I felt my breathing increase and my penis start to stiffen, but I forced the images she was conjuring up out of my mind. I started to speak, but Jessi did not give me a chance.

"You wouldn't have to worry about my throat, since little cats lick a lot. I mean, I'd suck too, but not too deep. So mainly, it would be licking, like before."

The vivid memory of Jessi in her cat costume, licking my penis all over, as well as other parts of my body, then licking my semen from a saucer, broke past me efforts to avoid succumbing to such thoughts. I heard a groan come from my own mouth, and I realized that my erection was now firm enough to be pushing up the knit fabric of my shorts.

"I don't know, Jessi," I managed to say despite my body's reaction to what she was suggesting.

"If not a cat, I also brought a set of fuzzy angel wings and little halo," the blonde continued, clearly undeterred. "I know it's a bit a stretch for me to be an angel, but I thought it might be fun. You ever fuck an angel, Mr. Warner?"

I suddenly understood why Jessi had a suitcase but no clean clothes to wear other than those she had for the ride home, as well as what she had meant about being prepared. With a sigh and a shake of my head, I folded my arms across my chest and held her intense—and I thought eager—stare.

"Okay, not the angel either," the young woman said, seemingly undeterred. "I also have a princess costume, compete with tiara, that I picked up. My idea was that you could rescue me then enslave me, but I know how you are feeling about the slave thing, so maybe just rescue me and I'll be far more grateful than you anticipated. You can try to make me stop by reminding me I should be proper and ladylike, but I will do all kinds of naughty things to you and for you. Actually, thinking about it, that should be right up your alley, Mark."

I saw that Jessi was clearly amused by what she had said, but I was not. After the night before, both with respect to when we went too far—or rather, when I went too far—and to the intensity of what we had done to make up, which had not involved putting on or pretending anything, I was in no mood to keep playing games. And it was not that I objected to anything she suggested. In fact, I could not deny that all three proposed scenarios were, in abstract, arousing, as my physical response would attest. But I could not face any of them at that time.

"Or maybe we could just be normal for a change and go shopping and enjoy each other's company," I told her, shaking my head, my arms still crossed over my chest.

Jessi sat back, her eyes wide. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Then she began to blink rapidly, and I saw tears were forming in them.

"Jessi, that came out a bit wrong," I said, but I did not say anything else when I saw anger flash across her pretty face.

"Normal?" she said, her voice low. "Normal?"

Then she shot up, her chair falling behind her, landing with a crash on the floor. Tears were now streaming down her face, but there was only fury in her eyes. She balled her fists up at her sides as her body shook enough to cause her breasts to jiggle.

"When the fuck have we ever been normal?" she yelled, pain briefly crossing her face.

"Jessi, your throat," I protested, also standing up. But the young blonde ignored me.

"Is it normal for a forty-four year old man to fuck his twenty-year-old student, Mark? Is it normal for him to fuck her so hard he bruises her cunt? Or fuck her throat as hard as he fucks her cunt, which may make it difficult for her to eat for a day or two? Is any of that fucking normal?"

"When did I bruise...?"

"That doesn't fucking matter," the blonde snapped, and if she was in still in pain from speaking so loudly, she did not show it. "That point is all the shit we do isn't normal, whether it's the rough shit you claim not to like but keep doing, or our ages, or that you are also fucking another one of your students and yet neither of us wises up and dumps your ass. Fuck, Mark. Normal is not us."

"Maybe it is what I would like for us to be, at least more often," I replied, throwing caution to the wind.

"Oh, because you're so fucking normal and I'm not, right Mark?" Jessi spat, her eyes now wild. "So what you're really saying is that you want me to be normal. Well too fucking bad. I'm fucked up as shit, as you well know."

"I didn't mean that," I sighed, shaking my head as I took a step toward her. "I just meant I wanted to spend time with you like..."

"Like a normal girl would, right?"

"Like most couples," I said, trying a different approach, but again Jess did not let me continue.

"Oh, I see. You want a pretty little girlfriend to go places with you and be nice and proper and then fuck you like a whore when you get her back home, right 'Mr. Warner'?" she sneered, her use of my name laden with contempt. "I suspect Big Tits is much closer to that than I am, although I bet even she is edgier than you might like. Still, probably more fucking 'normal' than I am."

"Jessica, stop this," I told her, using her full name.

"Fuck you," she snarled. "You're not my father, and you won't be my master, so don't tell me what the fuck to do."

Her use of those two terms in the same sentence unnerved me a bit, and Jessi must have read that on my face because she threw up her hands and turned away from me for a second. I was taking that opportunity to decide how to proceed when she faced me and started up again.

"Are you going to freak out like when I called you 'Daddy'?" she asked. "You know, I'd think a guy who wants to write fiction would understand the value of make believe a bit more."

"I have to be comfortable with the make believe, Jessi," I responded, trying to keep my voice as neutral as I could.

"No, you want a normal girl who plays a little naughty so you can get off but not in a way that makes you feel like you're taking advantage of a fucked up little slut," she pushed back, and while her tone was still full of anger, the wild fury from a few moments back seemed to have passed. "Well guess what, Mr. Warner. A normal girl my age won't be fucking you no matter what, because fucking a man as old as you would not be fucking normal. All you're going to find to fuck you are fucked up sluts like me."

***

I got back into my car, where Jessi was sitting with her arms crossed. She was wearing jeans and my old Metallica t-shirt that she had taken from my house a couple of weeks earlier—the outfit I now knew she had planned to wear home—and her large, black coat. None of those covered the now dark red bruises on her throat, so I had gone into a women's clothing store we had found and bought her a turtleneck sweater. I held the bag out to her, and she snatched it from my hands.

"Pink?" she asked, glaring at me.

"I've seen you wear pink," I replied. "And it was the only medium turtleneck they had."

"I wear pink," she said with an exasperated sigh, which had become a staple of her conversational style over the past couple of hours, even though she winced after each one. "But not fuzzy pink sweaters. And I wear a small."

We were not exactly fighting at that point, and I did not want to start one. So, I did not tell her that I had bought a medium because she did not have a bra and I was afraid that sweaters in her size would make that fact very clear.

"Are you going to put it on?" I asked her.

"Are you going to look away or are you going to sit and ogle a braless twenty-year-old as she changes shirts? That wouldn't be normal, really, although pretty typical."

I took a deep breath so as not to rise to the bait, then said, "Just put it on over the t-shirt. It is probably big enough."

Jessi glared at me, then shrugged out of her coat. She next took the sweater out of the bag, gave it a contemptuous look, ripped the tags off of it, and pulled it over her head. As I had hoped, the large neck of the fluffy sweater almost completely covered the bruises on her neck without being too tight as to cause her discomfort. Further, the sweater was loose enough that it would probably not be obvious that she was not wearing a bra.

"The t-shirt is longer than the sweater," she said, giving me another glare. "I'm going to take it off."

"Fine," I said, turning my head away.

"Shit, I was just messing with you, Mark," Jessi said, followed by that exasperated sigh I was beginning to loathe. "You don't have to look away."

"Tell me when it is okay," was my only response, which prompted another sigh from my young—and at the moment, petulant—lover.

"Okay, I'm as decent as fucked up sluts get, Mark," she said a few seconds later.

When I turned around, it took me a second to process what I saw. Jessi was sitting up in the seat, topless, her shoulders back and her chest pushed out. Her hair, which had been loose, was pulled back in a ponytail, and she was grinning at me.

After what felt like minutes but was only several seconds, I tore my gaze away from her perfectly symmetrical breasts (which were somewhat marred by the finger-shaped dark red marks on the left one) and the hard, dark pink nipples protruding from them and looked her in the eyes. We did not speak, however. We just looked at each other. Then Jessi rolled her eyes, sighed, and pulled the sweater on.

"Better," she asked, but I was still speechless.

The soft, pink sweater, combined with her hair back in a ponytail and almost no makeup other than mascara and light pink lipstick, made her look almost innocent. The contrast between how she looked topless and how she looked in the sweater made me question even more how I thought about her, as well as the issues that she had brought up in response to my careless comment about wanting to do normal things.