Hard Measures

—He's left-handed, said Denise sheepishly.

—Hey Double D, called out Quinn as she entered his room.

The soaring heat on her cheeks stopped her stride.

—Don't call me that!

—Why not? Those are your initials. Plus, it's accurate description of a significant part of you who are, he said wryly.

Denise crossed her arms and scowled.

—Relax! Nicknames are a sign of endearment.

She planted her hands on her hips and said:

—Then you won't mind if I call you slacker?

He shrugged.

—It lacks ingenuity and is defamatory, the latter in sharp contrast to a perky pair of natural 34DDs. But if that's the best you can do .  .  .

—Did you have the OED for lunch? said Denise gruffly as she took her seat next to Quinn; and before he got any chance to respond she said:

—Enough, let's get started!

He produced his text books and explained what his classes had covered the past few days. Denise elaborated on the finer points where his understanding seemed limited. Sue's comments occupied her mind as she watched Quinn bouncing a pencil between thumb and pointer finger of his left hand. She struggled hard to stifle a laugh.

—My friends rather liked your picture.

Denise froze, fear and a rising sense of panic gluing her to her seat.

—Doug thought the Bitch's tits were fantastic. Sam said beautiful. He isn't ingenious either. Matt, who deemed the Bitch boobalicious, asked me several times the size of her tits. I was a tad disappointed that none of them guessed the tits they adored belonged to you, but at five bucks a guess it's paid for my lunch for the past few days.

Anger consumed Denise's emotions.

—You are one obnoxious son of a bitch, she said, clenching her teeth.

Quinn threw his head back, laughing heartily, and clapped his hands together.

—Oh, Denny, he said, I like you more and more each session!

Crossing her arms under her chest and tapping her foot against the floor, she said:

—Get out your assignments so I can review them!

Quinn dug around in his bag before setting the papers down on the desk. His writing was hurried and sloppy. She would have to spend time on that in the future, for neatness was a trait that, once developed, always paid off. The exercise sheet Denise had given him last session was blank.

—A little lazy Quinn?

—No, he said. I tried but I didn't understand a bit.

Denise frowned and examined the questions closely. They were several weeks ahead, material-wise.

—It's my mistake, she said. I gave you the wrong one.

—Did you enjoy having your tits played with that much? asked Quinn, leaning into her until she sat pressed against the chair back. I'd be willing to let you enjoy it again. Just ask me for it, Double D.

With every fiber of her being she wanted to slap the smug grin off his face. She reached into her bag and carefully selected three assignments and placed them on the desk.

—Have these done by our next appointment, she said.

The resultant look of frustration on his face gave her a tingle of visceral felicity.

Denise thought of her other students (well-mannered and polite without exception) as she pulled into the spacious driveway: one was so shy he rarely spoke more than three consecutive words at a time; another only wanted to talk about boys as soon as their work was done. Yet dealing with this rude, obnoxious teenage boy caused a trickle of excitement to egress each time she approached the front door.

The sign above the desk displayed a zero in tiny red dots.

—I've outlasted your silly little countdown, she said. What do you have to say about that?

—Well, Double D, I'll give you credit, he said. You lasted longer than I thought.

She turned to reviewing his homework and pointing out any mistakes she found. Quinn made notes of the corrections. The extra assignments she had given him had been completed. Denise slipped her materials into her bag.

—Any questions?

—I want your panties, he said.

She arched an eyebrow.

—Maybe we better focus on English? That wasn't a question, she said.

—I'm telling you, Double D, for my next test I want your panties as my reward, said Quinn, fixing his eyes on her.

—Ah, . . . well, she stuttered, wondering why she had not left the room already (because, in fact, the deeper part of her mind was preoccupied formulating a counter-proposal of her own). I'll tell you what, Quinn: if you don't reach the mark I set, then I get both my bras back and you have to delete all the pictures of me.

He extended his hand straightway and said:

—Deal.

Quinn sat reclined with his feet up on his desk when she arrived. Denise felt nervous and excited, not unlike the way she felt prior to first dates (not that those were of regular occurrence in her life these days), but before she had the chance to say anything, he held out a stack of papers bound by a staple at the upper right corner. She could not but smile and relish the glee that blossomed within her: he was some ten points below the target score she had set. Thumbing through the pages she asked:

—So, Quinn, when did you know you were in trouble? Question ten . . . or maybe the true/false section?

The young man's eyes narrowed on Denise, but he said nothing. He tugged open a drawer, pulled out her bras and held them out to her. Once she had tucked her garments into her bag, he turned his phone towards her and let her watch him delete the photos.

Denise plopped down into her chair and put her arms above her head, stretching, and sighed with contentment.

—I just knew today was a good day, she said.

Quinn dropped his text book on the top of the desk to some clamorous effect and flipped it open. During their session he did not seem willing to say more than three consecutive words at a time. The sullen look on his face elicited a delicious tingling below her navel. She gave him an additional assignment just to add insult to injury.

The moment the front door closed behind her, Denise leaped into the air and shouted in joy: a solid victory over the little brat! His pawing her breasts had been mortifying but it had been merely a bump in the road to success. He had reached his achievable limit! She had the measure of him now and would use that knowledge as leverage on him.

Quinn sulked his way through three subsequent sessions. His penmanship was gradually improving, making his work more and more presentable. Denise rested her palm on the upcoming assignments.

—I looked at your syllabus, she said. You have a test coming up.

Driving home from their last lesson, she had been struck with the distressing notion that their educational time together had turned a tad boring. Thus, innocuously (or so she thought), she volunteered:

—Care to lose another wager?

Quinn crossed his arms over his chest and tucked in his chin.

—Your panties, he said with a stern look into her eyes.

Denise shook her head.

—No. You had your chance and missed it. You aren't getting another.

He lifted his jaw, poised.

—Fine, he said. I want a blowjob then!

—What? she said shocked.

— My dick in your mouth.

She blinked, and then she blinked again.

A familiar grin tugged the corner of his mouth.

—Oh, you've never sucked dick before?

—Of course I have, she blurted and instantly regretted it, whishing the heat on her face would abate. Why did she have to snap back at him without considering her words?

His grin grew wide.

—I'm not surprised, he said.

Denise flicked her hair back and leaned forward.

—You didn't come close last time. What makes you think you have a chance now?

Quinn leaned into her until their noses were close to touching.

—Try me, he taunted.

—When you fail, I want you on your knees kissing my feet and begging me to waste my talents on you so you can disgrace some unfortunate college with your presence, she said.

Next session the sign above the desk displayed a red five. Below it a slip of paper that legibly read: Days until DD BJ Day.

—Quinn!

She raised herself on tiptoes and pulled the paper off the wall.

—Relax, he said. My mother never comes into my room.

Denise took a piece of paper from her bag and tore off a strip. On it she wrote: Days until Quinn discovers disillusionment. With a Cheshire smile she taped the sign on the wall.

—Smile while you can, Double D.

Quinn's mood was indecipherable. Eyes glowering, he sat in his chair, mute as a maggot. Denise paused in the doorway after knocking. She had dressed in a pencil skirt, patent leather heels, and a satiny blouse with the intention to tease the young man out of his miserable mind. Her heels clicked against the floor as she approached her chair. She sat down and looked at Quinn: he was immobility incarnate. The longer the silence stretched, the more aware Denise became of the tingling deep down inside her. She was fairly certain that she had won and Quinn simply could not face defeat.

—OK, Mr. Ross, show me the result, she said. Let's get your shame out of the way so we can move on with our lesson.

As if by magic his graded test appeared in her hand. Emblazoned in red at the top stood the exact target score she had set. Suddenly she felt the icy coldness wash over her again that on a winter's day once submerged her in the waters of the lake by her grandparents' house in Maine. The snap of Quinn's phone hit her.

—Oh, Double D, that expression is priceless!

The papers slipped from her numb fingers and fluttered to the floor.

—Shall we get the business out of the way first? asked Quinn.

Denise bolted stiffly to her feet. Her body was numb to the core; her mind in panic-fuelled turmoil. Quinn dropped down on the edge of his bed. Her legs became unsteady. She could not bring herself to take even one step forward, so she remained an arms-length away from his parted knees.

—I'm sorry, I'm not that hung, said Quinn with a smirk, pulling her closer by the wrist.

Denise fell to her knees, essentially, her legs feeling like jelly. Fidgeting around, she tried to recover some composure by tucking her hair behind her ears.

—At least close the door, she said.

—Nuh-uh, it stays open.

She moved to stand, but Quinn put a hand on her shoulder and leaned in closer.

—It's more exciting this way, don't you think? he said. Imagine, at any moment my mother may come by and witness the professional tutor she pays sucking her son's cock like a good little slut.

With shaking hands she undid the button-fly on his jeans. Quinn leaned back and lifted his slim hips, allowing her to tug the denim down his dark-haired legs. He was wearing navy blue boxer briefs, sporting an eminent bulge. The moment of truth caught her off-guard: Denise glanced at the door, reckoning that she could still make a break for it and find a reasonable way to salvage the situation. With time she could find a way to explain away the bets, the bras, and even the touching, but once she took him into her mouth all that would be foreclosed.

Then Quinn turned her head.

—Alright, Double D, he said, show me what you can do with your mouth!

Denise steeled herself. A cocky teenage boy was not going to make her run away like a frightened little girl from a hairy spider. Curling her fingers, she slipped them into the waistband of his boxer briefs and pulled them off. He was semi-erect already but without a pubic trace of the dark hair on his thighs. For a second she thought of biting him, but then she reconsidered and stroked him once, coyly, feeling a seemingly reflexive response between her legs to the long-lost sight of an erection. It had been far too long, indeed, she realized, since her last time being intimate with a man; and, as far as she remembered, none of those intimate moments of the past had been as naughty as the present one. What would Sue think of her if she knew . . . ! Denise leaned forward and rubbed her tongue against the swollen head, trying desperately to expedite the end of her plight.

—Come on, do you want me to think you're a lousy cocksucker?

Denise frowned. Would she be teased about her performance for the remainder of their sessions? She focused on keeping her tongue active around the head and moving her hand up and down the lengthening shaft. Her eyes constantly drifted to the open door. Each sound echoing down the hallway sent a shiver up her spine. She imagined each creak or thump being a footstep that brought someone nearer the open door. A finger moved the stray hair from her forehead.

—Look at me, Denny. I want to see those pretty eyes.

She looked into the eyes of her student as his sex grew to its full size in her mouth and hand. It was impressive, both thicker and longer than what her ex-fiancé had been working with, squeezing past her lips and stretching her jaw to what felt like its limit. And to think that she had been maneuvered into this lewd act by a wet-behind-the-ears teenage boy! She knew what she was doing was inexcusable and wrong, but seldom before had she felt as excited as now. At last she had to admit to herself that she was performing this act not merely because it was demanded of her, but because it also aroused her. The ardent dampness of her panties proved that unmistakably.

—Yes, that's a good slut, said Quinn, pushing her head down on his hard sex. Take it deep. Take it down your throat.

To her great embarrassment (for wasn't she woman enough?) she could not stop the gurgling noises when the tip of his penis pushed against the back of her throat. She tried to pull back as her eyes moistened reflexively with tears, but he held her firmly in place, still more than her hand's width apart from the base. The appearance of Quinn's cell phone stopped neither him nor her. Denise caught the flash of this camera illuminating her stretched cheek from one side. She could not but glance toward the lens, only to be blinded as the camera fired again, capturing her startled, penis-stuffed expression in all its wanton and embarrassed glory. Then Quinn cupped the back of her head again and thrust his hips, pumping his fat head back and forth in her mouth. He was groaning; and in no time his warm and salty semen filled her mouth. Denise tried to keep it there, intend on spitting it out afterwards, but it was simply too much (when had this teenage boy last found release?), and fearing to choke on it, she swallowed once, then twice with closed eyes. A tear slid down her cheek as the glutinous globs sloshed down her gullet into her stomach. At last he finished and released her head. She sat back on her heels, gasping for breath and rubbing her stressed knees, feeling her entire mouth and throat radiate with the tart flavor of his essence.

Quinn tucked himself back into his briefs and jeans and stood. Mouth still agape, Denise—in shock and shame—looked at his room's open door, half expecting to find Quinn's mother or the housekeeper staring at her. Quinn squatted before her, cupping her chin and turning her face to him. With a tissue he carefully wiped excess strands of drool and semen from the corner of her mouth and her chin.

—You have a real talent for that, Denny, said Quinn, reaching down and pinching an erect nipple through her satiny blouse. I think you quite enjoyed it yourself.

Denise stood, desperate to restore some normalcy to their session. For the next quarter of an hour she sat at the desk alongside Quinn with her papers spread out, but it was no use: her thoughts were in total disarray. At least, she tried to comfort herself, the little brat did not know how wet she was under her skirt!

—Just give me the worksheets for next week, and we'll call it a session, said Quinn after a while.

Denise nodded and pulled the papers from her file, though not forgetting again to check them for the appropriate level of difficulty. For the first time Quinn walked her to his door.

—See you next week, he said and gave her a slap on the butt.

Mrs. Ross intercepted her on her way to the front door.

—Oh, Denise, I'm so glad I caught you before you left! I wanted to take a moment to thank you for your hard work. Sophie said, Quinn stayed in his room the whole last weekend, can you imagine? He even made his own flashcards and asked her to help him study!

Denise watched the middle-aged woman's lips move (all other parts of her unlined face at rest like a mask), but all she could think about was her client's son's potent seed in her stomach. Its taste still lingered on her palate.

—Sophie?

—Oh, she's our maid, said Mrs. Ross with a tight smile, pressing several bills into Denise's hand. Here, have a nice dinner on me. And thanks again!

Denise mumbled back some words of thanks and then bid Quinn's mother farewell and fled to her car. Once she was home, she retreated to the confines of her bedroom. Sitting on the floor at the side of her bed, she pulled the comforter over her head. Not only had oral sex always been something she did simply to please her partner, there had also always been the notion that her efforts would be reciprocated! Kneeling on the floor of Quinn's room, giving head had become an entirely new experience! Her nipples were stiff still, begging for attention. The bills Quinn's mother had given her lay on the floor in a ray of golden sunset light shining in from the hallway window. Benjamin's grey-green eyes looked at her accusingly. Denise closed her lids and slid her hand between her legs and into her still slimy panties, pressing down on her vulva's downy hair.

—Whore, she moaned.

The screech of her alarm clock sounded like Slut! Slut! to her ears. Denise slapped it into silence so hard her hand ached afterwards. What she had done the other day crept to the forefront of her mind during breakfast. What galled her most, aside from allowing herself to be put in that situation in the first place, was the fact that she had swallowed like a green girl eager to impress her worldly boyfriend. Why had she not just spit all over the floor? That would have taken the edge off her lewd humiliation! She sighed as she stirred her superfruit-enriched yogurt. If she ran away from Quinn now, after all that had happened, she would never be able to live it down. He could easily use those pictures (or might he even have dared to record her on video?) to end her career! No matter what, she needed to endure him and, eventually, emerge victorious—somehow.

Henceforth she stretched her malefactory teenage student's capabilities to the utmost limit, substantially increasing the number and difficulty of assignments until creeping fairly ahead of his classes' pace. Her reviews began to include elements from the entire previous chapters. It took Quinn several sessions to adapt, but to Denise's surprise he did not complain. Indeed, he seemed rather amused, not at all dead tired (as she had hoped).

Presently, in the midst of their latest session, Quinn leaned back in his chair and folded his hands behind his head, saying:

—You know, the last set of tests before finals is coming up.

—Uh-huh, she said, only half-listening.

—I think it's time I get to see that cute butt of yours.