Girl-Talk: My Priest, Your Teacher

They rested there for minutes: his cock stayed embedded, never really softened much. She could feel it actively twitch every few seconds, a gentle, "Remember me? I'm still here!" sort of a wiggle. She experimented, discovered that she could clamp her butt muscles around her penetrator in response, felt Henry's appreciation of each squeeze. Why in the world wasn't she SORE? And what was it about this odd penetration and joining that made her feel so content?

Then, way too soon, Henry was pulling slowly and luxuriously out of her body, through her finger-net. He was hard, slippery, and actually HOT, hot with the soaked-up heat of her own bowels, hot in a way she'd never noticed in a cock sliding out of her pussy: she wondered if it were really so different up there inside her butt for him, but said nothing. Omerta, the law of silence, was still in force.

Thinking about that odd heat-sensation quickly made her incredibly horny again. As he slipped from her, she slithered sideways, took control, felt him acquiesce to her being in the lead, felt his come dribble from her loosened sphincter and drizzle hotly down her inner thigh, pushed him down in front of her on the table, spread his legs for him, nice and wide, glistening cock upstanding. He reached sideway to the sink beside them, he knew the territory blind, collected a handful of paper-towels, warm-wetted them, did a quick wash-down of his cock and her crotch, then leaned back on his arms, silent, waiting, perfectly disposed to her pleasure. Their combined smells now filled the room, her nose, her whole being, the known universe... the little room was going to need a thorough airing, preferably before the next morning's first class. In fact, the whole of creation was rank with their primal fucking, and it was glorious!

She dipped her head, licked long and lovingly up the length of his shaft, tasting traces of their mingled juices. Nice. Wild. Dirty-sexy-loving-crazy and unfathomably exciting. She inhaled the rigid cock-shaft, pressing the head, the plum, hard up against the roof of her mouth, fondling, teasing, putting all of her being into the task. She felt as if her consciousness was flowing forward and down, concentrating itself around this exquisite mouth-toy. Mouth-candy: sex-candy. Lollipop, jawbreaker, popsicle, candy-cane, banana. Whee! Deeper, deeper, deeper yet with each stroke.

The roof of her mouth itched, physically itched, and this cock-end was the perfect tool for relieving it. Nature's own sexual Swiss-army-knife. His helmet was banging on the back of her throat now, new territory again for her, what other newnesses might she be going to discover with this man, anyway? Why didn't the pressure back there make her gag? It always had before, when other men had urgently striven to be deep inside her mouth. Maybe this was just exactly the right cock for a change? Or maybe it was because Henry wasn't trying to drive himself into her, but was letting her be totally in command, taking the pleasure she was giving as a gift rather than demanding something else, something of his own design?

Wordlessly, she coordinated her breathing and throat muscles, feeling Henry's cock swell now as the head actually went down beyond her starting reach, ever so deep down into the virgin back-passage of her throat, how wonderfully erotic to be able to slide this piece of him into her body in yet another way! Then out all the way, saliva strings glistening in the moonlight, and she was wondering why this particular cockhead differed from all others, seemed to impact directly on her clit and nipples with each stroke, particularly as her nose flattened against his pubes. "Deep Throat" she thought to herself: "It really EXISTS! Real people can do it! Even ME!"

With Henry's cock slithering in and out of the depths of her throat, she took the phone company's advice. Her fingers did the walking, down to her clit, she could feel the urgency of Henry's drive towards orgasm rising with each thrust, he was actually groaning now, she hoped there was no late-night janitor on the other side of the door, then her wet fingers left her pussy to cup his balls, pulled up all tight and hot and hard up against his crotch, he was straining upwards deep into her following the lead of the pressure of her hand under his butt, his musky crotch-odors now filling her sinuses, he was gasping and it sounded so NICE to know she was affecting him just as he had her!

Her balance was precarious and she didn't care a whit, as her independent, adventurous fingertip sought the pucker of his ass, pressed against it, she wondering how he would respond, wondering also just what it might feel like to be inside him, whether he would let her in, whether he would even consider keeping her out... and then, so abruptly, he was coming, she could feel the final surge in his penis, the sudden swelling against her lips and tongue.

She took a deep breath and simultaneously swallowed him full length and slipped her fingertip just through the pucker and into his butt. His body seemed to flow around her, welcoming her finger, he heaved towards this new sensation and almost sucked her finger up inside himself. It was insanely sexy to be inside him - hot, juicy, supremely intimate. Nice indeed. Not to mention completely new and certainly in ways that society at least superficially condemned. What would people think of her if they knew, Ms Joan here, in the dark, in a schoolroom, with a man she hardly knew, her finger up his ass, his cock all the way down her throat, left-over come dribbling from her anus as her insides contracted and squeezed with yet another climax?

An amusing speculation: could she possibly care less about it at the moment?

Time stood still. Deep in her very being she could feel the slow swelling of the tip of his cock as hot, thick sperm flowed in galloping spurts from his balls up past her embedded finger, then down the length of her throat and out into her waiting, welcoming gullet. Her finger soaked up the sensations of heat and slipperiness inside Henry's rectum, the consciousness-capable corner of her brain wondered if her finger felt as good to him as his cock had to her, wondered too if her pussy perhaps felt this receptive and wonderful to his fingers and his cock, wondered why other men had never invited this connection. Amidst all the sensations, she slipped into pure enjoyment and awe as his inner butt and belly muscles contracted with loving violence around her digit.

With his second or third spurt, her other hand's fingers found her clit, squeezed, and her own climax arrived blindingly fast and soaring, her contractions timed to perfectly match Henry's. For long seconds, ages, eons, time without measure or end they hung there together, throbbing in synchrony, until finally Henry's hips began to sink down and her throat released its hold on the long shaft, let it slide out all drooling with spit and cum. She swallowed a great gulp of air, relieving the sudden burning in her lungs from not breathing for so long.

Joan pulled herself up atop him and they lay there, just hugging. She analyzed herself briefly: what in the WORLD had happened to her, to set her this completely free? She couldn't figure it out, and finally just lay there, folded in Henry's arms, listening to his heartbeat, feeling their stickiness and sweat, wondering what she (or HE!?) was going to say when they finally broke their silence.

But breaking it didn't seem either appropriate or necessary: she was awfully comfortable, despite the strangeness of all this. Not to mention totally satisfied: her whole belly, her whole BODY, seemed to be full and smooth and content. Tres nice indeed! Sometimes, for sure, speech was superfluous.

Finally, Henry stirred, and they stood up together. He once again placed a finger over her lips, put a hand over her eyes, then she heard the rustle of Venetian blinds closing, and the lights came on. How nice of him to protect her eyes from the sudden glare, she thought. Gradually, he removed the hand, and suddenly they were staring at one another. Both had the silliest grins on their faces, and simultaneously they leaned together to kiss. It was most satisfying, especially the tips of her breasts brushing his chest.

Joan wondered where in the world they could be going from here?

Much to her sudden disappointment, Henry shushed her again even before she could begin, picked up her clothes, and rather carefully, very sensually, dressed her, taking lots of time, and wildly un-necessary touches, to be sure he'd gotten everything right. He opened the door as she stood there wondering and confused, she fully dressed again, him butt-naked. She liked what she saw, remembered clearly that Henry's eyes had told her HE like what he'd seen when she was there before him nude. He quickly dragged his clothes into their room and dressed, then reached behind Joan, took a pad of paper and a pencil from the desk, and scribbled, handed it to her.

She read: "Magnificent! If you can be free tomorrow night, come over to my place. I think we should continue. Agreeable?"

She looked at him. Why this silence business? They'd been talking, in class, for weeks! Part of the game they were in? She pondered: her body really, really wanted to scream out "HELL YES!" but some strong residual inner timidity held her back, until she heard Marcy saying "Carpe carpe carpe!" and recalled her own "In for a nickel..."

She grinned at Henry, nodded happily.

His slightly worried face broke into a wide smile. He scribbled down the address and a couple of further instructions. "Be there at 8 PM, and when you get into the house, just come find me. I'll be there - alone, of course!" He reached into his pocket, took a house key from his collection and handed it to her, then, bowing, ushered her out the door, through the classroom and outside. His quizzical look implied "Where?" and she pointed towards her car. He slipped his arm into hers, and they walked arm in arm through the pools of streetlight to the vehicle. It certainly felt good: Joan wondered if any passerby could possibly guess what they'd been up to? She giggled to herself as she thought of her next dinner with Marcy. By GOD, now she had an adventure of her own under her belt.

She was still mystified at the silence, almost spoke, thought better of it, and started the car.

Henry motioned for her to roll down the window, then leaned in, kissed her hard (whew! She was instantly wet again!) and murmured aloud (FINALLY! she thought) "By the way, tonight, when you shower, I'd like you to shave your crotch for us. The whole thing, every hair. Baby-naked." He stopped, looked at her: she was flushed beet red. After a long pause she nodded, he grinned, and then waved her into motion. The last she saw of him, in the mirror, he was standing there in the puddle of light staring after her.

In the shower at home she pondered her pussy-hair, considering. It took several minutes, but finally she decided to go ahead. She'd never done this, either, although she knew that lots of men apparently found a naked pussy to be supremely sexy. She proceeded carefully: it took a lot more work than she had thought, lots of rinsing of her little underarm razor, and an awful lot of tugging and re-covering the same skin, but finally it was done. She looked at herself in the mirror: interesting indeed! She hadn't been this clean and smooth and hairless since she was a pre-teen. Rinsing felt pretty sexy, too. She stared at her swollen lips: no doubt about it, she was once again (already!) thoroughly aroused. She briefly ran the back edge of the cold razor over her clit, soaking up the tingles, then decided. Soap in her hands, worked up a lather, bent forward with her face against the shower wall, legs spread, slipped her middle finger deep into her ass. She expected it to be sore from her adventure, but it wasn't. The memory of Henry's cock in there, plus her arousal, conspired to make the whole insertion more than just easy, it was exquisite! In moments she was holding the shower-spray against her naked clit with her other hand. Her climax was fast, extraordinarily deep and very, very long.

When her shudders subsided, she took out a hand mirror and carefully examined every millimeter of her entire crotch: she hadn't done this since her first fuck - she'd just HAD to check and see if anything had changed down there after it, and been vaguely disappointed that it hadn't! There were scattered little dark hairs around her anus and between her buttocks: she hadn't finished the job yet. With a dry razor, she delicately scraped until she could neither see nor feel any remaining stubble. "No wild hairs on MY butthole!" she giggled silently to herself.

The night was awful: she tossed and turned seemingly forever, her hands playing nifty games with her startlingly smooth mound. It was becoming very acceptable to the touch; lots of new nerves to diddle with. Maybe Henry was onto something here? The next day at work was even worse: nothing got done. She was totally preoccupied. At five, she left for home in a flurry, stripped, and showered again, took the time to re-do her crotch shave, did the same for pits and legs. Every square inch. If this man wanted naked skin, well, by golly she'd give it to him! What she didn't let herself do was touch herself very much. She wanted to save that for later. At 7:30 she left, wearing short shorts, no underpants, and no bra beneath her see-through blouse. She was actually shivering with anticipation, mixed with a strong dose of anxiety. Being together with Henry (FUCKING! Not "being together! She scolded herself for weaseling!!) in the back room was one thing, but walking into his personal territory was entirely different.

Having parked in front of his place, she took a deep breath, and decided. Strode up to the door, key in hand. There was an envelope taped over the lock, her name on the front. Inside, a brief note. "Knock three times, then come in at once. Lights are low, poke about. Come find me upstairs. Silence is golden: we'll talk a lot later. A LOT!"

That was good.

She knocked hard three times, let herself in. Yes, the lights were low. She looked about: nice house, clean, simple, good stuff, not too much of it.

Stairs: she ascended.

Three doors, two open, one shut.

Light from under the closed one: Henry must be in there.

She took a deep breath, turned the knob, and took a step inside.