Educating Laura: Anal Time

"I've got a hair dryer, if you want."

"You do? Please."

He stood utterly self-unconscious, leaning back in front of the window, blowing the last of the water out of his hair, then pointing the dryer at his armpits, then at his groin, lifting his balls for a perfect warm finish. Clean and dry. He laid the dryer back down on the chest where I decided it could live, and nodded thanks at me.

"What's your plan for breakfast? Do I need to get dressed?"

"If you're happy with toast and coffee or tea, then up to you. Eggs, too. That's what I've got in. Some good marmalade..."

"How could a man resist? Tea and toast. Is that what you're wearing?"

I'd put on underwear and a long lumberjack shirt, unbuttoned. Thinking about it, that would suffice for the kitchen. I nodded.

"Right. Lead on." He wore jersey undershorts. Nothing else apart from the elastic he was looping round his hair.

As I went down both flights of stairs and to the kitchen at the back of the house, it occurred to me that part of Richie's attraction was simply he didn't know he was a good-looking guy. Maybe too many people had been put off by his brusqueness or layers of defences? By the time I'd dug out bread and plates, he had the kettle boiling.

"I'm making proper coffee, if you'd like some too."

"No, I said tea."

"I know you did, but some people might have said that to avoid bad instant, or not to put out their host."

He thought a moment. "True, I don't like bad instant coffee. Still tea, please."

"We'll give you charming manners yet," I joked. Only then realising, it wasn't a joke.

"Good luck with that. I'd stick with the chemistry, if I were you."

"Maybe. How's your table manners and general etiquette?"

Richie glared.

"No, seriously! You got the memo on the importance of cleanliness, and clean clothes without holes, which is a good start for making good impressions. And scientists are scientists, we know that. They'll overlook a lot of eccentricity that mainstream types won't."

"Like Molly."

Our personal tutor, Prof Molly Harvey, was a renowned classicist who knew diddly about science and was generally unhelpful to all her science tutees. Though Richie had dismissed her interference in his life more rudely than most.

"Precisely. But at some point in your life you'll need to impress a bank manager or your admin staff or someone. And also the great and the good in science. Convince the head of the MRC or a vice-Chancellor to invite you to dinner."

"I know about table manners. Always put the butter on your side plate, apply small amounts to a torn-off piece of your bread; pass the port to the left, eat your banana with a fork."

"And I thought I was the only one who learned etiquette from a century ago! Though all still valid, if you end up at that kind of a do."

"Good to know. I don't want to look working-class as well as an arsehole, do I?"

If it hadn't been Richie saying that, I'd have taken the light tone at face value. But a slight tension in his throat was the same as a scream from, say, Sanj.

"You're observant, when it comes to copying people. You'll be fine. Just remember the frequent cake, for your colleagues."

"Cake, not just biscuits? I'd better learn to bake."

"You can't bake a cake?"

"Never tried. I mean, not since I was five and my mum had to do the oven for me."

"We could do one later. In the meantime..."

"What to do?" I spotted his mischievous expression, deadpan with the tiniest crinkle of his eyes. "We could go hiking in the Fens. Or a trip to Ely. No? Don't want to see the famous cathedral? Shopping? Women like clothes shopping, don't they? Nah, fuck that." He pretended to stare out the window. "Looking a bit black over Bill's mother's, so maybe not."

"You what?"

"Argh! I thought you was good at English, being from up north and getting schooled down south? Did you miss the Midlands?"

"Cob, batch, morning roll," I retorted. Names for a bloody breadcake or bun, apparently. "Or a roll or a bap, down here."

"Oh! Is that why Sam Widges calls them baps? I thought he'd just read The Sun too much." Page Three of the UK's top-selling newspaper always had a girl showing off her nice pair of baps. Not bread products.

I laughed. "I'm getting good at regional language from the guys on my course. Lindsey's from Newcastle, Will and Adrian are from Northern Ireland across the divide, Melanie's East London, Gareth's from near Bristol but plays up being Welsh. So the first time we went to Sam's for sarnies, asking for a barm-cake, stottie bun, roll, breadcake and whatever, they thought we were just taking the piss! Gareth just gave up and copied Ali, miming. No, not our Ali! This Ali's an Iranian lad. He speaks dictionary English fine -- but real English was a bit of a shock to his system. He's getting the hang of it, now, especially after a few beers."

"Beers? Is he not Muslim?"

"Technically, he is, but not particularly strict. He says only Allah is perfect, so he might as well enjoy failing. I suppose he wouldn't choose a ham sandwich unless no others were left, and he won't be the most drunk guy in the room -- though with Adrian around, that's hardly a limitation..."

"Enough about your other mates. You finished breakfast? Like I was saying, it looks about to piss it down outside -- there it goes. So how shall we pass the time, inside? Hm?"

I knew I'd have to say it. He clearly wanted me to ask. If I didn't, we'd probably end up working on chemistry problems!

"We could go upstairs?"

"And?"

"Many, many things! Tell me, what would you really like to do with a woman's body? Mine, seeing as it's the only one here."

"I'll come with you. What I like..." He was silent as we trudged up the stairs with their thick lumpy coats of white gloss paint.

Back in my attic bedroom, Richie looked me up and down. "Lose the shirt. And the rest. That's better." He brought me to where he was standing, held me close with his arm, and spoke in my ear.

"You're happy with that, aren't you. You, naked? I didn't need to order you, you'd likely have done it anyway. My slutty 'sister'..."

"I don't want to know about those fantasies!"

"Fair enough. I can assure you I have no lustful intent towards my actual sister at all, though. I mean, being pubertal and getting hard at anything walking past doesn't count, right? But you, pretending..."

"It adds a certain something, does it?"

"Makes me feel even more like your dirty secret. What? It's not like you're telling anyone at college, is it? Bet you've not mentioned it to Sanj, even."

I shrugged. "I told her you came to visit me, and then filled in for Pete for a couple weeks. Any assumptions she may make are her own problem. It's not secret..."

Richie raised a brow.

"Just private."

He continued saying nothing.

I went on, "Seriously, if it comes out that we slept together, fair enough. Any more detail than that..."

"Oh, obviously. But when Ali asks?"

"That's different. It's... relevant."

"Relevant?"

"Well, yeah. If I want to play with you and get kinky and shit, and learn from her more about that, and you want to do the same with her, then I'll have to tell her, right? Or you will."

"I suppose." He looked at me with his small happy smile; I realized I was making the same face, and laughed. "Bit like telling Teacher we've done our homework!"

Richie laughed. I liked that rare sight. "Safe Sadism, Part 1A?"

"Yeah. 'Write an essay comparing and contrasting...' ooh, what you want to get out of a scene, versus what you think your partner is getting out of it?"

I steepled my hands together and looked down at him, attempting to be as professorial as possible. Not very, given I was naked, he wasn't, and Richie was notorious for ignoring most of his tutors anyway.

Richie actually looked impressed. "Good question."

"Mm? Go on, then. Give me the bullet-point essay plan." I was intrigued.

"Fucking hell, woman! What I like... Huh. OK. What I like, is reactions. Watching someone's reactions. Ideally to what I'm doing, but to what someone else is doing is good too. Seeing your face when Andy took you, how your tits shake, your breath... that was well hot."

"You were just watching me, eh? Not Andy?"

"Not really. I mean, it's interesting, seeing a man get off, but sorry, I know you'd like to see me with a guy, but I'm really not really into it."

"Didn't say you were. Just reckoned you'd try anything once. In case of need to try it at a job interview, you said."

"Eh, well. If that ever happens, I reckon I can play it by ear. They'd probably want to feel they'd corrupted the straight boy, right?"

"Who knows? So, right, you want to see what effect you're having on someone. Say, me. What do you think the point is for them?"

He shrugged. "Some of it is obvious -- it feels good? The other feelings... Is some of it, like, highlighting the good feelings? Like, some pain first makes the pleasure better?"

"Can be. But both are satisfying, in different ways. Can be satisfying, I suppose. I'm fussy about my pain."

"Mm. I get that. But the bondage, and the doing stuff that's normally embarrassing. What's in it for you, there?"

"Fucked if I know!" He didn't laugh. "No. For bondage, restraint, blindfolds -- that's all part of the sensation thing. Like you like nuzzling skin, I like feeling snug in leather, held safely in place. Similar thing."

He nodded. "And you like the dark, not being distracted by what you see, I guess? But, like, what do you get out of being treated like shit?"

"I'm not being treated like shit, that's the point! I'm being treated like a toy, a sex object, sure. Objectified. But by people who think that's a good thing."

He didn't get it. I tried to explain better. "It's probably different for men. Everyone expects you to want sex, right?"

"Heterosexual penetrative sex, not really caring about the woman beyond her orifices, but yeah," he agreed.

"Yeah, well, lots of exceptions I'm sure, but it's different for girls. You admit you want it, that's wrong, gets you a bit ostracised, when you're a teenager. As you get older, it's more acceptable to say you enjoy it, but you've still got to laugh and shrug about your useless men -- forget insisting on them doing you better! And God forbid you mention enjoying sucking cock or being held down and fucked hard, or any of the other shit I get off on!"

"You haven't told Sanj about your thing for nipple clamps, then? Don't worry, I haven't told her anything beyond that I stayed on the camp site."

"Good. I mean, the clamps are easy enough to explain -- I don't know what mess of wiring it is, but putting them on is like an instant switch to my cunt."

"I've got you saying 'cunt', now," he observed.

"Yeah. Too laddish and too sexual, me."

"No, Goldilocks. Just right."

We both blushed a bit, there.

I tried to clarify. "I know some people need to be told they're disgusting or worthless, but for me it's the opposite -- I'm worried about being disgusting, by normal standards at least! So I need that reassurance that whatever I'm doing, it's actually OK. Especially if it's making someone happy, being under their control."

"But they -- I -- want you crawling, showing off your body, whatever, mostly because you're getting off on it."

"Uh-huh. Like you're not getting a kick out of me being naked and you not, right now?"

"I never said that. Just that you are, too."

"So if we both like it, what's the problem?"

Richie considered. "I still haven't figured out why, so I can't write that essay?"

"Just as well it wasn't real. Though if you ever do write it, send to me and I'll mark it."

"Oh, no! Only being able to get a good mark if I'm psychic? Fuck that."

"You don't have to be right. It's humanities, sweetheart. It doesn't matter if your theory is right; you just need to have a logical argument backed up with some plausible evidence."

"Huh. I might, some time."

"Sounds like your idea of fun," I agreed. "In the meantime, tell me more about what you like. Like to see, or do with someone."

Richie took a deep breath, considering, then spoke.

"See, what I like is seeing all the range of emotions and sounds you can make. Like, it's like playing a musical instrument. And knowing I did that, when you're screaming in pleasure. Or knowing I've persuaded you to take it, if it's pain, too. Balancing those out... Well, it's an art, I reckon." He mused, "I always wanted to find an art worth practising, so I'd get better. I was crap at music."

"That makes sense, actually. Fancy a bit of experimentation?"

"Mm. Lay still. Tell me what's good, what hurts in a good way or a bad way, what's just ticklish or annoying, right?"

Which is how I learned how good fingernail scratches can be, and that a massage across the top of the pelvis can wake up all sorts of nerve ending inside. Along with various weird sensations on my arms and legs that Richie was clearly adding to his mental 'no' pile. He rubbed his palm over my abdomen some more. It was probably getting to that time of the month -- it did feel rather tense all over. Joy.

I noticed Richie was keeping going with the same action, looking thoughtful. He'd taken on board one of my rants, about how a guy starts doing something that feels fantastic, you tell him it's great, so he immediately stops and does something different. 'What's with that? If it feels good, keep going until I come or your hand drops off!'

Eventually I had to ask him, "All right, what are you thinking about? Mathematical biology again? Transforms?"

"No, not just Fourier transforms... Oh, whatever. OK." He drew a breath. "Seeing as you want to be appreciated for being such a great slut. I was thinking, like, you said how you've never been fucked up the arse? Which got me thinking, right, how you might feel if I did, and how you'd look and sound..."

"Uh-huh? Me struggling to take your cock in, despite all the stretching and lubrication in the world?"

"Mm. You trying to relax enough to just take it. It hurts, but you're getting off on that, blushing from how dirty you feel..."

"Eventually getting enough of you inside that you can fuck me all slowly and gently and it stops hurting, just feels good?"

"Yeah, and your cunt's all wet and gleaming, and I slide some fingers in there too, and you're screaming, gagging for it..."

"Sounds good. Let's give it a go."

Richie stopped, startled.

"What?" I asked him, knowing damn well what. I enjoyed seeing him nonplussed for once.

"You'd seriously like me to try fucking you up the arse? Your little virgin arse, at that? Are you mad, girl?"

"No, I'm not. Yes, yes, I know you've got a big cock," I soothed. "So. You've seen a plug up me, right?"

"Yeah, but that was just a skinny little thing." No wider than his finger.

I stepped to my bedside table, pulled my new toy out of the middle drawer, and handed it to him. "That isn't."

Richie held up my new butt plug, looking at it approvingly. He was clearly impressed. And extrapolating immediately to other items of similar circumference. "Has this been used? There's a smear of lube..."

"All right, Sherlock! I bought it on Tuesday, practised with it on Wednesday night. Managed it fine, on Thursday." It had helped no end at preventing me from feeling lonely, not missing the guys.

I'd thought of trying again the previous night, but had dozed off thinking of Richie's cock, instead. I estimated his girth was similar, with a bit of crucial give in it...

"Nice. Well, pet. Prove you can take that, then I'll have a go."

"Not taking my word for it?"

"Oh, I believe you! Why would you lie? Bad idea. Just, I want to see you opening your arse with that, working it in." I stared at him, and he continued, "Not a sight I've been privileged to see, before. Oh! There, yeah, that embarrassed look on your face! I like that, too. And that's even before we get my cock remotely involved..."

It struck me: Richie actually liked aspects of sex that weren't solely centred round his cock. It made a pleasant change from most men. I mean, I loved being fucked, didn't mind sucking cock, and to date I'd not had a man actually refuse to go down on me when I made it clear it was a prereq for sex, but that all made for rather a narrow menu of sexuality as far as my body was concerned.

Women tended to be better. Even Jenny, who'd been too shy to actually welcome a hand between her legs, had been a lot of fun. Hair-scrunching, love-bites, fondling the skin of her back, how she'd attacked my breasts...

"Go on, then. Show me. I want to get off from it, you'll get off from me watching..."

I knew he would. He wasn't wrong that I would, either. "Pass me that back, then."

He returned the plug, stroking one of my fingers with his. "Here's your giant bottle of lubricant. And a rubber to go over it. Go on. Give us a show."

Richie reclined back on my bed, adjusting the front of his trousers.

I turned away so he could see my bare arse, parted my cheeks, ran a long squirt of the clear gel down towards my hole. I pushed all the lube to where it would be needed, getting all of the wrinkles of my arsehole good and sticky, and forced a glob of the lube inside.

Then I let my whole forefinger slide in.

I heard Richie sigh. I let the finger go in and out a few times. I'd previously thought that a couple fingers inside would be a fun thing, but with the angle of my arm needed, it wasn't comfortable. So instead, I snapped a condom over the plug to keep it clean, and drizzled more lube over it, just as an ice-cream van man covers a cone in monkey's blood, twirling it with what might count as style.

I touched the plug's tip to my arse, rubbed it around.

That was definitely a small moan from Richie.

I smiled, which he wouldn't be able to see. I liked being able to elicit reactions from him. I supposed it was the same as him liking watching how I responded to things.

The rounded plastic poked smoothly inside me. An inch, possibly two, stretching me open; then it hit resistance. I jiggled the thing about, breathing hard. I could hear Richie panting, too.

I loved knowing how he was being affected by my body, by me.

I forced my hole to relax and shoved the plug in further, listening to Richie's stifled moans. A deep breath, a squat, and I pushed the whole cone inside myself, shuddering as my arse successfully contracted behind the widest point, with sudden space to spare.

I gripped the base more firmly, ready to pull the plug in and out for Richie's entertainment -- and mine.

"Turn around." His voice was scratchy.

"Eh?" Didn't he like watching my arse?

"Want to see your face... Yeah, pet, you're so hot, fucking yourself... Keep going! Yeah. Look at me."

I managed to look up to his face, keeping my balance. That small smug grin had grown, the bastard. On the other hand, I was loving how it felt, liking having such an effect on him, and that naughty, slutty feeling, me naked, doing perverted things to entertain a clothed man...

I blew him a kiss.

As with any suggestion of affection, he seemed surprised, but not rejecting the notion. I grinned, making the plug circle around inside me, and he smiled back.

"Get on the bed," he told me.

I raised an eyebrow.

"You ain't gonna come like that. Yeah, on your back. Stick your hands up under the pillow. Now, if I do what you was doing..."

I forced myself to take it, the plastic being thrust inside me similar to how I'd been doing. It was awkward, forces coming at unexpected speeds and angles.

"Bit much? Leave it be, then. But you need more, don't you, ducky? Huh. It's a bit soon to whack you." He groped my arse, providing he had a point as he dug his thumb into a yellowing bruise. While I might fantasise about him tying me down on this bed and beating the hell out of my backside, all with his meticulous attention ensuring I was only hurt, not harmed, my sensible brain had to admit it: today was not going to be that day. Tomorrow probably shouldn't be, either.