Mentor Ch. 03

The taxi pulled away, leaving me at the bottom of the long concrete stairway that led up to the majestic, Frank Lloyd Wright inspired house in the woods. Everything was green and beautiful -- a true writer's paradise. My heart was racing, but not at the prospect of staying here for an entire two weeks. No, it was the thought of who lived inside that house, who would the door and greet me, that was setting every nerve in my body on edge.

I set off up the concrete path, coming to the front door. I rapped on it twice, and barely had time to catch my breath before Simon was there, his mouth sinking down over mine, his arms wrapping around my waist as his tongue plunged deep into my mouth.

He pulled me inside, and somehow we managed to get the front door closed and locked. "I've missed you," he murmured.

"You too," I said, before he bent down to kiss me again.

It was spring, again. Over a year had passed since the first time we met. A year of friendly messages online and on the phone and, since that night in July, stolen evenings when we both happened to be in the same city, or near enough that traveling the distance didn't seem to count.

Over a year, and I found myself dreaming of those stolen moments with Simon, when his body touched mine, when we were in private and nobody could see us or know how wrong we both were. Those moments when nothing else in the world, not our writing, not the people around us, mattered.

I had been forced to admit to my friends that I was seeing somebody, without telling them who it was. After all, how could I explain something like this? He was twenty-eight years older than me. He was married. He had a daughter who was only a year younger than me. And Patrick...

How could I tell him that our idol, the one who we had bonded over on long, literary evenings during college, was now the person I dreamed about when I laid down to touch myself at night?

It was an impossible thing, and we were both people who didn't believe in impossibilities. I'm certain we both knew it couldn't last, not in secret, not the way it was. But we were doing our best to make it last as long as it could.

In Chicago we had met after a author's panel. He fucked me long and hard, throughout the night, and because we were both alone in the city it was the first time that he stayed with me until the morning, when he kissed me and told me goodbye for another month.

Then there was the book reading and signing Simon did in my hometown. I met him there and took him back to my place, where I cooked him dinner and, as dessert, got down on my knees and sucked him until he came, all before ever moving the plates away from the dinner table.

The thing about it was, I quickly realized that he was becoming my mentor in more than just the field of writing. As my star bloomed and begun to rise in the literary world, I was becoming less shy and more adventurous during our times together.

One time, in New York City, he took me to his room and revealed a set of metal nipple clamps that he had somehow managed to sneak through airport security. Either that or he somehow convinced his assistant to find a sex shop in the city and buy them for him.

Either way, I learned what it meant to scream in pain and ecstasy at the same time, as he rode me furiously while the clamps bit sharply at my tender flesh.

I also learned to take chances. During that same trip, in New York City, he pulled up the window that separated us from his driver and knelt down on the floor in front of me. He licked my pussy tenderly, furiously, and I came just before the driver stopped to let us off at the Manhattan Book Convention.

It was around that time that I realized, to my horror, that I had fallen in love with him.

Simon Whatley, the impossible man, was quickly becoming the person who I felt most strongly about in the entire world. I felt like my life was hollow -- absent -- in the moments that he wasn't there. It wasn't healthy, I told myself. Not that it mattered.

I had never been in love before. I think now that perhaps I loved him before I ever even met him. Either way, it was a frightening and intense experience, and I was determined not to do or say anything more about it.

Simon pulled me further into his house, his hands roving down my body, pushing my blouse and bra up and exposing my breasts. He bent down hungrily, tongue and teeth devouring first one nipple and then the other, back and forth. Then, pushing me into the kitchen, he lifted me up and pushed my skirt up to my waist. Quickly he unzipped his pants, and without even undressing his thrust himself deep inside me.

So often, our experiences together were about my pleasure. I realized with a gasp that this time it was all about his. He thrust deeply, pounding into me as I leaned back on the table. His hands were grasping at my breasts, fingers digging in. I cried out as he pumped, gasping my name as he did so.

My legs came up, wrapping around his waist. He used the new angle as leverage, pounding even harder now. I could feel him stretching me, pushing far deeper than he had ever gone. I moaned, my eyes fluttering closed as I let the sensations take over me. I didn't see his head come down, but all of a sudden I felt his tongue tracing lazily over my breast. Then all of a sudden he took my nipple between his teeth, biting it gently.

I was wracked with a sudden orgasm. Sweat was now dripping down my chest. He reluctantly released my nipple, moving up to kiss me hard and deep. His tongue thrust in and out of my mouth with the same rhythm of his cock.

Then he let go, and I whimpered in protest as he pulled out of my pussy. He pushed me back down, so I was laying back on the table, and came around the side. Grabbing a handful of my hair he pulled be back so my mouth was on level with his cock. "Relax," he sighed, just before he slid himself into my mouth and, still holding the back of my head, began to thrust in and out of me.

I had never been able to take him deeply before, but with the angle that I was at on the table I realized that with each subsequent thrust he was moving further down into the back of my throat. I did what he was told, thinking only of pleasuring him, as he finally managed to sleep his cock all the way inside me and down my throat.

He groaned, reaching forward so he could grab my breasts while the other hand continued to pull on my hair. I reached one hand up, stroking the muscles of his chest and abdomen as they tightened, signaling his imminent release.

Realizing he was about to come I managed to yank back, his cock falling from my mouth.

"I want it in me," I whispered.

Simon nodded, moving back around and pulling my legs up around him. He didn't miss a beat, thrusting his entire cock inside me in one move. He started pounding again, even harder than before though I'd thought that wasn't possible. He pushed my legs apart, spreading them as wide as he could get them, and slammed into me over and over again.

"You belong to me," he said hoarsely, still pumping his cock inside of me. "While you're here, this weekend, you are mine entirely."

"Your little...ugh...your little fuck slave," I managed.

That was enough for Simon. He groaned, and I felt warmth inside of me as he came. He kept his cock inside of me for a moment, leaning over. I felt it finally slide out as it grew flaccid, and finally he pulled away and zipped himself back up.

I gingerly got down, feeling his cum dripping out of my pussy and down my thigh. This was something new -- something we had only gotten to experience once before, since I had finally gotten to the doctor and had her put me on the pill.

"I need to go wash up," I said, reaching for my panties on the floor.

"No," he said. "Nobody is coming to the house today. I want you, just like this. Filled up with me, all day long. We can shower together tonight though, if you like."

Surprised, it took me a moment, but I finally nodded.

"And take the rest of your clothes off," he said, a wry smile coming over his face. He must have seen my shock this time, because he laughed.

"I promise, nobody else will see. This is just for you and me, Mona. I've been so long without you -- I just want to see you, every moment that I possibly can."

I laughed nervously, but trusting him I pulled my shirt and bra the rest of the way up over my head, pushing my skirt down my thighs and letting it fall to the floor. He looked at me appraisingly, smiling even more broadly.

"Ah yes," he murmured. He flicked a thumb across my left nipple. "This is my favorite," he said. "This freckle...this one right here..." He pressed his finger against a small brown spot just below the areola. "This freckle is magnificent."

His wife was going to be gone for the next month. On finding out that she would be spending so much time away from home, and that neither of us had any engagements lined up for the next two week stretch, Simon had immediately invited me to his house to stay.

To the rest of the world, I was simply a writer enjoying the company of another writer, making use of his lavish guest house. I had almost backed out when I realized that this trip wasn't going unnoticed by other writers, who now knew us both. To save face, and also because it would be fun for all involved, Simon had planned a dinner party for a handful of our contemporaries.

In the end, it had proved to be a smart move. He had been right in saying that I would soon be considered the "darling" of the literary world. Everybody wanted to meet me, to see the girl who had managed to break in where so many more seasoned professionals had failed.

This trip was also a celebration, in a way. My latest book had just been released, to critical acclaim, and like its predecessor it was slowly beginning to crawl up the bestseller charts.

So there I was; bestselling author, child

prodigy, and literary darling, sprawled out on Simon Whatley's couch completely naked, his cum drying against my skin and my hair plastered in sweaty disarray against my skin.

"Lemonade?" he offered, coming through the kitchen with a tall glass, perfectly garnished with mint.

"How perfect," I purred, taking it from him as he sat down across from me, watching in admiration.

We turned off our cell phones, shut down our computers, and spent that day dedicated to each other. It was a glorious experience. After lunch, Simon spent hours on his knees pleasuring me, bringing me to orgasm after orgasm. I followed suit by sucking his cock, letting his cum explode inside my mouth. And finally, late that evening, he led me up to his bed and laid me down.

In the many times that we had been together, we had been slow and cautious, and furious and eager. This time he fucked me with agonizing sweetness, thrusting his cock in and out of me deliberately and slowly. As he came, I finally understood everything. He collapsed on top of me, his weight pressing me into the soft mattress.

"You love me," I whispered.

Simon lifted up slightly, his face just inches above mine.

"You love me," he whispered back.

He rolled over, and I curled up beside him, falling into a deep and dreamless sleep.

We finally showered in the morning, and reluctantly I pulled a yellow dress out of my suitcase and slipped it on before climbing downstairs to find Simon in the kitchen. He was sitting at the table, holding aloft a newspaper and drinking coffee. When he heard me coming he looked up, grinning from ear to ear.

"Finally awake! I have a surprise for you!" he said.

"Oh?" I closed the distance, kissing him deeply. "What is it?"

"This." He laid the newspaper down on the table, pointing at a line of script near the very top of the page. It took me a moment to realize why he was showing me the Bestseller list -- then I realized that, firmly nestled in the number one spot, was my book.

"What?" I screeched, picking up the paper.

"I knew you could do it," he said.

"I'm number one?" I said. Then, overwhelmed, I sank down into a chair. Without realizing that it was coming I burst out crying, happy tears, sliding wetly down my cheeks. Simon came around and hugged me tight, kissing me hair.

"Are you all right?" he chuckled.

"I...I'm fine," I said. "It's just so...I just can't....it's everything I always dreamed of, coming true. And it's almost too much to bear."

Simon fixed his gaze on mine. His smile had faded a little, and sitting back down on his chair he shifted closer to me. "You always seem so sad, when the happiest things happen. The first time I saw you, that night at the awards ceremony, you were close to crying. Why is that?"

"It's just..." I paused, wondering if I should continue. "It's just that I always felt like such a failure, growing up. I don't think anybody ever expected much from me. I was the poor girl, from the broken home. Broken and battered. And now...now that I've actually done something, there's nobody here to see it. Nobody here to care."

He came round to me, resting his hand on the top of my head and leaning down to place his lips on mine. "I'm here to care. Always, Mona."

And then, without even thinking, I told him everything that I had held back during this entire year-long odyssey between the two of us. I told him about the mother who had left, just before my thirteenth birthday. I told him about my father, who died a year before my book was published. The rest of my family, who had been too involved in their own lives to give me a moment's time or make me feel loved.

I even told him about Sarah and Patrick -- my loving, devoted friends, whose only fault was in living their own lives, and not having the room to let me be a part of it.

Simon listened quietly, reaching out and taking my hand to give it a gentle squeeze. "Well, no matter what happens," he said, "You're a part of my life, Mona. And I'm not letting you go anywhere." Then, his face fell. "But you need to understand, me and Kate..."

"I've thought about that," I said, the tears now drying up as I tried to catch my breath. "And...I understand. The two of us...we don't fit into any neat little box. There's no real way for us to define what we are, and what we have. So I'd rather not define it."

"I do love you. In a way that I've never loved anyone before."

"And I love you," I said. "In a way that I'll never love anyone else again."

He kissed me sweetly. "Come on. Let's get a celebration breakfast," he said.

The town that surrounded Simon's house was incredibly small -- it was just the out of the way sort of place that every writer needed, I thought, to feel like they could get away from the world. He took me in his car to a small café and guided me right to the back. A middle-aged waitress came over, immediately filling up two cups of coffee and plunking them down on our table.

"Good to see you Simon. Is this Ramona Blackburn? You know the whole town is buzzing -- you hit the top of the bestseller list today."

"I saw," I said, smiling.

"You're lucky, to have a man like Simon take you under his wing," she said with a nod, getting out her notepad to take our orders. "Fine man, and a damned good writer. So what would you like?"

We ordered and she disappeared. While she was away he managed to give my hand an affectionate squeeze -- our last show of affection for the day, it turned out, because after that he was taking me to all his favorite haunts, introducing me to the friends that he had developed over years of living in the place.

Nobody seemed to think any more of our relationship than it appeared to be, at the surface -- a seasoned professional, taking a younger one under his wing.

Of course, all the distance that we put between ourselves only made us more ravenous for each other by the time we returned to his house.

We were both naked, him pressing me down on the bed, when I asked something that until that moment had been unthinkable. "Simon..." I said, as his cock began to trace its way along my slit.

"Mmm..." he murmured.

"I want...I need...Simon, fuck my ass," I managed, almost breaking down as I got the words out. He froze above me.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

I nodded, and he leaned over and kissed me. Then he got up off the bed. I sat up to see what he was doing, realizing that he was pulling a small container of lubrication from the bedside table. As he peeled the plastic away I saw that it had never been opened, wondering if he had bought it just for our weekend together.

"Hands and knees," he said, and I did as he told me to. Then he moved me around, positioning me so that he was standing behind me. I felt nothing for a long moment, and then there was the cold wetness of the lube as he smeared a dollop around the crease of my asshole. His finger slid in then, and like he had done with me our first night together he fucked me with it slowly. After a while he added a second finger, and then another.

I was moaning with pleasure, surprised and delighted that something I had always said I would never -- could never -- do was bringing me such overwhelming ecstasy. I whimpered when his fingers suddenly disappeared, but the emptiness in that hole disappeared suddenly at I felt his cock pressing against me.

He pushed slowly. I whimpered again, this time in pain. Then the head of his cock pushed in and I cried out, first in alarm and then in pleasure, as he pushed his way deep inside. He groaned. Even though he was still pushing he wasn't moving.

"You need to relax," he whispered, running his hand down my back. "This will be better for both of us if you do."

I nodded, and took several deep breaths. I felt his cock slip further in then, and finally he began to pull back and thrust in again. I had thought his cock filled me up before -- I hadn't even been able to imagine that it could be like this. He kept on thrusting, and I buried my face in the pillows as I cried out.

Starting out gentle, he slowly began to get rougher. Eventually his hips were slapping against my ass as he held on to me, pounding deeply. He came deep inside me, filling my ass with his hot cream. I fell forward onto the bed and he stepped back. With me laying on the bed, and him standing beside it, he reached forward and slid his fingers into my dripping pussy. Thrusting into me, and playing with my clit, he pushed me to my own orgasm, and when we had both cum he fell down beside me on the bed.