Educating Laura Ch. 02

Richie persisted, "Yeah, but before that?"

"Up in Scotland. This and that. Nothing interesting." As usual, no detail given.

I kicked Richie on the ankle before he retorted something like 'I can tell you're Scottish, I'm not a moron.' Luckily, all he said was, "Good malt. Thanks."

Conversation continued about drinks, and the activities here and in London with the kids, but it slowed as we all felt the quiet night drawing in around us.

"I'm bushed. I'll best be getting to my bed," Andy said presently. "See yez in the morning."

He nodded to us, stubbed out his cigarette, and wandered off. We saw his head-torch flicker as he left our field, entered the other, stepped around

my tent, and ducked into his. Then only a glow could be seen, with a faint shadow indicating him sitting, then lying down. I found it reassuring that not much detail could be seen from outside -- though we were a hundred yards away.

Richie and I moved closer together, along our log we were using as a seat, edging it towards the fire. The fire was small now, only two large logs glowing red under another that still flamed, various chunks of semi-burnt wood around and beneath them. Once the orange flames died down, I suggested it was time for bed. Before I got too tired.

"Keep you warm. I agree."

Time works differently, living with nature. I'd shifted from being a student burning the midnight oil, to going to bed soon after dark -- around ten -- and getting up soon after the sun, once the world started to warm up again. It was still cold, at six am, but the dewy landscape and dawn light were worth it. A mug or two of steaming tea made it perfect.

Even the dyed-in-the-wool city kids adjusted after a few days, once we ensured they all had suitable warm clothing. No matter how many instructions were given, they or their parents never packed enough practical clothes. Some simply didn't have many clothes, which we dealt with, but most valued their usually-fake designer labels over practicality, often sobbing when their prize outfit ended up with them in the mud.

So far, the dirt had always washed out, though Jude assured me last year she'd been sent dry-cleaning bills after certain children had returned home. The parents had been given a two-word reply, ending in 'off'.

"Normally I take a hot drink to bed on cold nights," I told Richie. "Either hot water in a Thermos, or hot chocolate. But if I have you as a heat source..." I was reminded of my survival training: if hypothermic, get into a Bivvi bag and shove your head in a warm naked person's groin. I'd never needed to test it -- not beyond the sleeping in a survival bag part, anyway.

"My sleeping bag unzips. Could use that as a blanket for us."

"You'd better get a spare to lie on, then. Here. This one seems clean and dry."

"You're a practical housekeeper, aren't you? I won't look at it too closely. Sorted. Take me home!"

"Is that the chat-up line you've been using?" I wasn't going to reply to his other comment -- I knew I'd become more self-sufficient than most kids at an early age, and had taught a ridiculous number of mates stuff they needed to know, at both boarding school and uni.

More light might show up a blush on his cheeks. "Pretty much. Find group of women, ask if any of them could put me up for the night. The gobbiest one always goes, 'Is that a euphemism for a fuck?' And I insist that I really do need somewhere to stay for a night, but of course if they happened to offer more, then I'd be both surprised and delighted."

He gave a mirthless chuckle. "You're right. I should try it even when I'm not looking for somewhere to stay -- about three times in four it works. As in, not just a sofa... Sorry. You probably think I'm a right tart."

"Hardly. I mean, I'm not exactly one for only-in-committed-relationships either. You may have noticed."

"I'd noticed," he agreed.

"Good."

"Yes. After you."

I crawled into my domain, head first, moving my light to the far corner. Barefoot, Richie followed me, lighting the other corner with his torch. He opened out his sleeping bag and I helped him lay it across the single ones. It was a good a mattress as our fuck pad was going to get.

He looked at me.

He said nothing.

I'd have to.

"Are you going to get your kit off again, then? Seeing as you got all nice and clean, and all."

"Ladies first."

"I'm no lady."

"You're all woman. Probably better." Still a deadpan voice. He did, however, start undressing, so I copied him. He left his briefs on, seeming suddenly shy, which I thought was rather sweet. I stopped disrobing at the same point.

Which was when I realised I didn't have a hot water bottle and actually was getting cold. I'd have to press my body to this handily-provided near-naked male. So I did, getting us both lying on a remarkably comfortable surface, my arm wrapped over his shoulder as I faced him.

His chest to mine.

The warmth of being in a man's arms.

Security, promised passion, body heat, glorious scent of his skin. In some ways, this was what I craved more than I wanted sex.

I'd had two things during first year that one could dignify with a label like 'relationship', but this was what I'd really missed once they'd ended. More for what it stood for -- a shoulder to cry on, caring.

I'd decided to give up trying to find that and romance at the same time. Romance? I wasn't the sort of girl who wanted jewellery or flowers. Really, I suspected some good sex was the best bet. That, and some good friends.

It might not be what I'd been raised to believe in, our whole culture pushing towards finding The One, but wasn't exploring new ideas what university was supposed to be all about?

Though, oddly, I guessed Richie might be better for the being cried on and the caring than one might expect, if you didn't want 'there, there,' and might appreciate some practicality.

Like a mug of tea, silently appearing.

I recalled Sanj being dumped by a lad who'd been two-timing her. Someone had mentioned this to Richie, when he'd entered the kitchen and seen her in floods of tears.

Richie's response was a mere mumble, "He's a fucking idiot, then." He'd continued rummaging in his food cupboard, then wandered out. Shortly after, Rich had wandered back in, dropped a box of tissues on the coffee table, and left again. I'd thought it coincidence, then, but now I suspected it was actually a kindness, albeit with communication failure.

"Mm," I murmured, snuggling up to him.

"Mm?" Richie lifted his head.

"Body heat. Nice," I told him, not bothering to waste words late at night.

"Hm." He pulled himself away slightly. "You're not getting... wanting... Are you? I just can't... Shit."

Not wanting what? "Oh! You said, you didn't want a relationship, right?"

He nodded.

"Whatever. I'm not looking for a relationship either. Not right now."

Richie seemed mightily relieved.

"And if I was, it wouldn't be with you!" It was meant as a joke, but as the reality of it dawned, I winced. "Shit! That was really rude, I'm sorry."

"Like me?"

I realised immediately it was true. I stuttered to a halt. Then, to my immense relief, I saw amusement in his eyes.

"'It's not completely me not being able to help it. Just mostly." Richie shrugged. "If I'm going to offend idiots anyway, I might as well have fun with it. Not that you're an idiot -- here we go again --"

"If I was, you wouldn't have offered to shag me?"

"Precisely. Getting back to that. If you'd like."

"I would." Clarity was even more important than usual, here. But being forthright about what I wanted sexually -- it rather turned me on, I decided. Even before I got what I wanted. I'd never been any good at being coy, anyway.

"Good! I enjoyed last night."

"Me, too. More, please."

"Hell, yeah!" That grin was an expression I'd never seen on him before, both relaxed and full of enthusiasm at the same time. "So..." He flipped himself over so he lay on top of me, his now-firm cock pressing between my legs, bodyweight resting on his forearms each side of my chest, my arms suddenly pinned to my sides.

"You like?" He raised himself on an elbow so as to grip one breast in one hand, then lowered his mouth to the other nipple to lick it, not suck it.

Tantalising, wonderful, not enough.

"Suck, can't you?" I muttered.

He did. On the delicate skin under my nipple.

"I can't go around with love bites!"

"I know." In the tone used to explain to the very dim, he added, "That's why I put it on the underside of your breast. Where no-one will see." He gave me another mischievous glance. "Or -- will they? Andy's been eyeing up your tits, when you've been looking the other way."

I gasped, indignantly.

"Can't blame the poor sod; they're great tits. Let him have some enjoyment. I think he's got a thing for that Ali, but she's not been in a state to notice him."

"Andy and Ali?" I queried.

"Mm. Have a look, see if you think I'm right. It might work."

I'd heard of worse couplings. They'd worked together for over a year, now. But I bet neither would risk trying anything until after the summer camp.

I said nothing. Richie was holding my breasts firmly and sucking more red splotches along them -- nowhere where even my swimsuit would reveal them. I tried to squirm to get a suddenly-cold nipple in his mouth, but he wasn't having it. I couldn't move under his heavy warm body, not unless I wanted to throw him aside completely.

Which I really, really didn't.

I tried bucking my hips against him, in a vain hope it would shift him a couple vital inches up towards my head.

Of course, it didn't. The bastard could reach my nipple just fine, if he wanted.

What it did do, though, was rub my crotch over his suddenly rock-hard cock, only two thin layers of fabric separating them.

That cloth-covered protrusion felt very good indeed, there, so I did it again. And again.

The fact that it extracted a muffled groan from Richie's mouth made it even better. Finally, he was losing his impassive control! His grip on my arms slackened. I took my chance, wrestling away so I could get a hand under his bulge.

Yes, that felt like a fine substantial cock, weighing down my palm! I squeezed, gently. Then I pulled it, less gently, bearing in mind there was still cotton between me and his skin.

"You wanting something?" he murmured in my ear.

"Yeah. Can I have it?"

"Maybe." The bloody tease. "What did you want to do with it?"

He wasn't the only one who could hold someone down. I grabbed his hair with my other hand and pulled his head down so my mouth was to his ear. Overcoming every message from my nice-girl conditioning, don't be too forward, don't act like a slapper, I hissed, "I want this nice big cock inside me!"

He spoke quietly, unruffled. "Where, precisely? I mean, there's three main options..."

That took me a moment. I wanted more than just using my mouth, but I'd never seriously considered the third one. Not been in a serious enough relationship, I'd thought, until now. Casual sex was one thing, anal sex something I wouldn't rule out one day, but I certainly wasn't going to start with anything this size!

I used the word he had, which I'd never uttered before. "Your cock, my cunt. You got a problem with that?"

"Ah, a fine Yorkshire lass. Subtle as a fucking sledgehammer."

The stunning hypocrite!

"D'you want it, or not?" It occurred to me, maybe he didn't? It was only last week he'd gone home twice with unknown girls -- with a 75% chance of getting his leg over, hadn't he said?

He looked into my eyes. "Course I do. Just winding you up, first."

"Knock it off. Come on. I want it, now." I couldn't believe I'd said anything so demanding, but having told him, having such clear conversation about sex seemed only sensible.

I rummaged in my supplies box and chucked a couple condoms at him.

"You put it on me. I need to concentrate," he told me.

"Qué? To stay hard, or to avoid coming too quick?"

"Both. Come on, I'm only nineteen! Don't worry, the second time round will last way longer, no matter what. 'Sides, it's hot, having someone dressing you. About as hot as fucking rubbers get. No, fret not, I'm not going to try to weasel out of it -- you don't know where I've been, and all."

I was about to lower the condom over the top of his cock, but what he said gave me a better idea. I shoved the rubber back in its packet and put my face down instead.

"Hey! You don't have to!"

"Are you objecting?"

"No."

"Right, then. First time, you come quickly, while I look forward to the second erection, the one with stamina."

Richie nodded slowly, approving of the plan.

Enough talking. I took the tiniest edge of his foreskin into my mouth, confirmed he really had no problem with that, slurped on a delightful mouthful of pancake-soft skin, then let it retract back to show off the pale rounded head of his cock, on a long smooth shaft. Probably the biggest cock I'd ever seen.

Not that I'd seen that many. I really wasn't a complete slut, even if the idea was becoming much more attractive in my mind. Who defined 'slut', anyway? I licked round the underside of his head, which in my limited experience of half-a-dozen prior dicks usually went down well. Richie proved no exception, gasping happily.

He was a little different; he was still sitting up so as to watch me, rather than giving up and lying comfortably on his back. Richie liked looking and watching, I realised.

Nothing wrong with that. Not the way he did it, not hiding it nor being creepy. He wouldn't be able to see much as I sank my head down, managing to take his whole head into my mouth. I never liked trying to take much more -- and with a cock this size I wouldn't be able to, anyway -- but a swallow round a guy's head generally worked.

I managed to negotiate the head of his thick dick carefully between my teeth. And there: the salty sour flood in my mouth.

I couldn't swallow if I'd wanted to -- his cock was in the way. I let his come run out onto our bed. His sleeping bag, rather. Water-resistant. Handy.

"Aaah..." A single, quiet sound of satisfaction, mindful of how his sound carried through the air.

I let his cock fall, applying a single flirtatious kiss to his tip. and lay down beside him, rubbing my jaw.

"I'll let you recuperate," I said.

He nodded. "Thanks. I'll make it worth your while."

It was only a moment before he could put a couple fingers inside me.

"You like that, right." Richie confirmed his theory.

"Aye, I do."

"Good. What else do you like?"

"Mm?"

Richie rolled his eyes. "With your body. Not interested in your dark chocolate obsession, nor Kiefer Sutherland movies or This Life."

Not interested, yet observant enough to know all that about me. The chocolate he'd brought with him had been an excellent couple bars of 70% cocoa-solids. I struggled to answer the question.

"This is good. I liked you going down on me. Especially when you held me still." I took a breath. "I like being fucked..."

It was true. I did like being fucked. Fucking. I could even call it a hobby. I idly wondered if I could set up a society for it at college. There were clubs for every other hobby, after all. I'd just need to find a Fellow to agree to be Senior Treasurer, to claim all the funding and other perks...

"Well, that's a relief!"

I laughed at his joke, my fantasy vanishing. He continued, "What positions do you like? Or, what's your favourite?"

I blushed. The position that turned me on the most was the one I'd only done a couple times. Deep and animalistic. "Any, but I really like being taken from behind."

"Doggy style? Aw, who's a good girl, then?"

It was another joke, I knew, but something about being a 'good girl' caught me in the heart. The thought sent a sudden shiver through my pussy, too; I trembled where he was holding me open with his fingers.

Of course, he noticed.

"You'd like to be good, for me? Get off by letting someone else take control? Interesting..."

"Maybe. I don't know. Why? You want to try controlling me?"

"For certain, sexy, lengths of time? Hell, yeah!"

I exhaled. "Like, you taking the lead, telling me what to do? We're not talking 'getting bound and gagged and abused in public' hardcore gimp shit?"

"Wouldn't dream of tying you up in public. I'd need to learn appropriate knots. Safety issues. Same for gagging, I imagine. I'm no expert in that kind of stuff."

"Huh. Sounds like you've been thinking about it, you dirty bastard! But just here, in private, right?"

"Just you and me. Yeah. Watching how you react to being told you're a 'good, sexy girl' -- yeah. That. Or a 'slut'. 'Filthy bitch'? Seeing how you respond to all sorts of ideas."

"Hm. Just talking about the ideas, not dumping me straight into you doing them, right?"

"Yeah! There's this thing called consent, for fuck's sake."

"Playing with words? Like... 'slut'?"

"Mm. Do you like the idea of being a slut? You look equivocal, when I say it. I suppose you were brought up not to be one, right?"

"Right."

"But actually, even though you don't want to admit it, you are, aren't you?" I couldn't bring myself to respond, so he continued, "See? The power of words. I wonder what it might take to get you to admit you're a slut who likes doing sexy stuff? Or to beg for sex?"

I exhaled, all too aware that by that definition, I actually was a sex-obsessed slut. And that I could probably be made to beg for sex horribly easily, certainly if he didn't indulge me in the next ten minutes. "Mm," I equivocated.

"Don't worry. I like sluts! Especially ones begging to get off. I won't judge... only in a good way..."

"No judging. Good." I relaxed, realising that had been my fear. "And no being told I'm a worthless ugly bitch, or such, OK?"

Richie eyed me with curiosity. "But you're not. Not any of those."

"Thanks. But some people role-play like that."

"I don't think I role-play at all."

"No?" I figured it out. "Just take control, for a while?"

"That's all I was thinking. You could say 'stop' at any time. Just, it might be really hot if you didn't..."

I gave him my best sexy smile as I replied, "Depends what you're asking me, doesn't it? Let's see."

His smile matched mine. "First, get me ready. Condom, please. Check I'm hard. Put it on. Oh, yeah..."

He was definitely hard enough. He stayed that way as I rolled the latex over him, no problem.

"Good. Thank you, Laura." The intonation implied I was his servant. A handmaiden.

He tugged his hair loose. He shook it about, then lay back, one hand stuck behind his head, slightly on his side, reclining like a Roman emperor. Richie clearly felt the resemblance too, gesturing imperiously for me to come closer.

"Straddle my legs. Good. Come this way. Lean forward. Put your hands behind your head. Oh, man. Lovely tits! Now, it should be obvious what to do next..."

"But, sir -- I don't want to get anything wrong! You'd better tell me what to do so I know for sure!" I put on a simpering high-pitched voice.

"Don't be fucking stupid. I'll tell you once, and only once --" he grimaced, noting the 'Allo 'Allo reference -- "sit, on my fucking cock." His face relaxed into a grin again. "Calling me sir, though. That works. I like that."

His cock was certainly still rock-hard. I moved a hand to lean on while I manoeuvred myself into position, getting myself right over his tip, all ready to lower myself slowly and be stretched open by his thick, long, cock.

"Hands back up, now."

"Yes, sir." It wasn't just him aroused by the phrase.

"Good girl. Sink yourself down. Now."

He flickered his gaze between my face and my breasts. Tits, he called them. Yeah, if I was doing this kind of thing, making my chest wobble as I bobbed up and down, stretching my vagina round the head of his dick, then 'tits' was more appropriate.