Past, Present and Future Ch. 02

The pool wasn't that big, but it had a diving board. It'd been a couple of years, but I felt confident.

Start with a hurdle, three steps to the end, swinging arms into a lunge, arms up, feel the board rising, hands down to toes, lifting legs, toes pointed and...

Yes! A perfect forward dive pike, barely a splash. I felt like cheering as my head surfaced.

Tony was applauding in front of me, a big grin on his face.

"Outstanding!" he shouted.

He pulled me in for a hug when I got out of the pool, kissed me and gave me a little nudge. "Do it again, please."

He pulled up a chair, sat down to watch.

I tried twice more. The second wasn't bad, but the third reminded me why the best divers are flat-chested. I don't think he noticed, but I did. All the same, I was happy. All those Saturday mornings hadn't been entirely wasted.

Tony was waiting by the side with a huge towel. He again hugged me, then, pulling away, wrapped me in it. The look in his eyes was electric.

"That was so beautiful"" he said excitedly, "I can't remember when I've seen anything so elegant."

"It was just a simple dive, Tony." I tried to shake water out of one ear.

"I couldn't do that, not in a million years. Where did you learn?"

I looked at him, slightly surprised that he could be so happy over such a simple thing.

"Anybody can learn, Tony. It only takes like a bazillion practices. Mom started taking me when I was, um, eight? Every week for about five years. It's nice to see I remembered some of it."

I stuck my head into the depths of the towel, rubbed hard. When I emerged, Tony's grey eyes were on mine.

"You can say that, Stephanie, but it was a treat for me, watching you." He thought for a moment. "Why'd you stop going?"

I blushed a little. "I grew boobs."

He ran his hands over them, squeezed tenderly. "Very nice ones," he smiled.

"There are lots of big-chested girls who dive, Tony, but it's one more complication, one more thing you have to focus on, one more thing to compensate for. If you look at the higher levels of competition, there aren't many women with D-cups."

"Oh. Well, despite that," and he again caressed the girls, "you're pretty good. You can do that anytime. I'll be happy to watch."

He kissed my forehead lightly. "Meanwhile, how about you dry your hair and come play for me while I make lunch?"

"Yes, boss."

I started to wrap the towel around me like everybody does when they get out of a pool and then remembered. I hung it up, put Tony's necklace on again and followed him inside.

After drying my hair, I took my place on the tall stool opposite the kitchen island where Tony was working. I could see it wouldn't take him long, so I started with the adagio from Beethoven's 4th. It's not very long, but it's quite pretty and I could see his smile grow. It got broader from time to time, when he looked up from his work and examined me.

I felt tingly inside every time he did that. When he'd first put me on the stool in front of him, it had been embarrassing and confusing — embarrassing because I was sitting starkers in front of a fully-dressed older man and confusing because he'd paid more attention to making dinner than to me.

I'd learned. I'd known I was cute before; now I knew the purpose behind that beauty, had accepted that being admired by somebody strong, somebody kind and polite, was a very good thing. Like I said, there's a reason girls are pretty. Why pretend otherwise?

Bottom line? It pleased Tony to look at me and I enjoyed pleasing him, enjoyed his pleasure.

"What was the first tune you learned on that?" he asked.

That was simple. I lifted the flute to my lips and began Au clair de la lune.

Tony looked up, began whistling it. Not only does every kid with a recorder or flute start off with the same one, just about everybody knows it, too.

He smiled, picked up two plates. "Thank you, Stephanie. Are you ready for a sandwich?"

+

We spent the afternoon studying. Tony helped me with our — my — lab report. His patience and focus always amazed me. He managed to ignore my boobs.

Most of the time. From time to time, his hand would slide over my skin, lighting fuses. I took the opportunity to reply whenever he did and once giggled at the sight of him typing on his laptop with his wood protruding over his lap.

Lab reports being done, we both had other things to do. I had to practice on my flute and took it outside so as not to distract him.

My Composition prof had also set us an assignment, writing a short themed piece, but hadn't specified what theme; selecting one was apparently part of the process. Sitting in the gazebo, I was again struck by the gentle beauty of the farmland in front of me.

I went inside, kissed the top of Tony's head and returned with a notebook. There are computer programs for composition, but I'm sort of old-fashioned and like a pencil. I'd transpose later.

Silence. Tranquility. Plenty. Peace. How to put those into notes? I put down a few ideas, crossed them out, tried again. I got a couple of bars, a basis, something to build on. They sounded OK in my head. Leaving the sheets where I could see them, I softly tried the tune on my flute. There was something there, but not quite. I closed my eyes, adjusted, tried again.

And again. I kept playing with it, expanded it some. It had promise, I thought. An hour passed. I made progress.

The doors opened behind me. Tony had put on some clothes, jeans and a linen shirt. He was always impeccable.

"Hi," he said,

"Hi, yourself. All done?"

"Yes," he replied. "What have you been working on? I keep hearing you play the same thing, or almost."

"A composition problem," I said. "I'm trying to write it based on, I don't know, how pleasant all this is." I waved my hand at the countryside.

"Play it for me," he said. "Please."

It didn't take me long. I lowered my flute, looked at him.

He smiled in pleasure. "It's very nice," he said. "Serene."

He sat down on a couch beside me. "Are you finished? Or, at least, finished enough?"

I nodded. "I think so. Probably time for a break."

"Stand up, will you, please?"

I complied.

"Turn around."

I did.

"Keep going. Don't stop."

I could see the pleasure in his eyes as they ran over me. Once or twice, his hand reached out, let fingertips trail over my moving skin, hips, thighs, waist, boobs. I tingled at his gentle touch.

Eventually he took me by the wrist, stopped my slow pirouette.

"Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?" he said, almost reverently.

I smiled. "You're rather good-looking yourself, you know."

"Not like you. Tall and sleek and..."

I squealed as he pulled me into his lap. A month or three of kisses later, he broke, handed me my flute.

"Play for me, please."

"What would you like?" I could see his eyes on my breasts.

"Anything. That new piece." He stroked my cheek, then, "Turn around. Face away from me."

I shifted, turned. His hands spread my legs to rest on his, then pulled me in, my back against his chest. I looked over my shoulder at him, a question on my face.

"Play for me, Stephanie. Play your new piece. Please."

I lifted the instrument, began.

I could see our reflection in a side window. Tony was looking off into the distance, a happy smile on his face. Hie eyes closed, his head moved with the music. It was clear he was enjoying himself. That was comforting; I hoped the prof would be as happy.

I finished. His eyes opened. "Again, please."

"It needs work."

"Please."

I restarted. This time, Tony did more than listen. His hands lifted to my boobs; his thumbs almost keeping time time with the music. I found it difficult to stay on track. His long fingers on the girls were a serious distraction, squeezing, stroking, moulding my soft flesh. I kept faltering, missing. His teasing went nuclear when a gentle forefinger brushed my inner thigh, slid in further, found my pearl.

I shuddered. The flute came away from my lips.

"Keep playing," he said.

"Jeez, Tony," I whimpered, "give me a break."

"Our deal, Stephanie..." he started.

"...is that I'll do whatever pleases you until you or I decide it's time for me to go home. I know that. But I can't concentrate when you..."

My breath caught as his finger traced its way through my slippery sex. I looked over my shoulder at him.

His eyes were anything but hard now, but they were firm, insistent.

"Tony," I whispered.

"Play."

I tried. I really did. But Tony was an absolute master at feeding my fire. Breath control is critical for a flute and mine was becoming about as uncontrolled as a residence dodgeball game.

I moaned, softly.

"Hush," he whispered. "Keep playing."

Mt rhythm became sloppy, ragged. Tony's fingers were becoming better coordinated than mine. They rubbed, pinched gently, stroked, pulled on my slippery labia, slid inside me to swirl over my G-spot. His other hand moved from boob to boob, fondling, teasing.

I stopped playing; my head fell to my chest. I felt one of Tony's hands gently take the flute from me, lay it down safely beside us before returning to a nipple hard as cement.

Somebody was shouting at us, words I couldn't understand, then Tony's finger pulled on my G-spot at the same time as his thumb pressed firmly on my clit and I knew who it was.

The orgasm seared through me, hot, penetrating. I stopped shouting, could only force out rough gasps broken by low moans, again and again, fading slowly.

His hand left my sex, hugged me against his hard body.

"Thank you," he said softly, petting my flank gently. Thank me?   I was too tired to respond.

In a few minutes, I was able to move. I curled up in his lap, put my arm around his neck.

"That was amazing, Tony, but what can I do for you?"

"You just did, Stephanie. Take some time for yourself now. Work on your tan. Read a book."

"Is that what would please you?"

"Relax, Stephanie. We have all the time in the world."

I took him at his word. There were some things I needed to read, notes to tidy up, a sun to relax under. Later in the afternoon, Tony came out to watch me diving again. I tried to teach him how. He was right. Not in a million years...

"It's a good thing you're a good cook," I said, kissing his cheek. "You'd starve on the diving circuit."

"Don't I know it!" he laughed. "If you're done, I'm about to make dinner."

He watched, smiling, as I rinsed myself off under the outdoor shower, smiled more as I settled myself on the stool. "Anything in particular you'd like?" I asked.

"No, thank you. You choose."

I thought, opened with Disney's 'Colours of the Wind', simple but pretty. He smiled, bent to the kitchen island.

"What are you making?" I asked when I finished the piece.

"Chicken Cacciatori. Trite, but tasty." His head came up to examine me, lingered on my ankles and legs this time.

He seemed to be happy with Disney, so I started another, 'Can You Feel the Wind Tonight?' from Lion King.

"Oh," he added. "Are you ok with anchovies?"

I kept playing, nodded.

The smell of the peppers and onions filled the kitchen. Tony came around from behind the island, put a glass of wine on a stool beside me. He stepped behind me, kissed one shoulder, then the other, returned to his cooking.

+

The chicken was, as always, superb.

As we were cleaning up afterwards, I asked him if he would teach me to cook.

"I don't get much chance, not the way you have this arranged," I said.

"You earn your keep, Stephanie." I smiled as he patted me on the bum. "But, ok, I'll think on it." The pat turned into a fond caress.

He was good at that, too.

He poured us each another glass of wine and led us out onto the deck, a perfect place to view a country sunset. I went to sit down, but he took my hand.

"Indulge me," he said.

Instead of holding a chair for me to sit on, he instead shifted a table to beside his chair, found a cushion and placed it on top.

"You want me to sit on that?" I giggled.

"No," he replied, his voice soft but compelling. "Bend over it."

"Tony!" I had thought I was beyond blushing.

His hand rose, stroked my face. His eyes seemed to take over my world.

"Yes, Tony," I whispered.

I bent forward, felt my boobs flatten under me, lifted myself on my elbows. He shifted his chair so that he was behind and to one side of me. I wiggled my behind at him.

"Like the view, Mr. diRossi?"

His hand slid up my thigh, long fingers cupped one cheek.

"Very much," he said softly.

He took a sip of wine as his fingers flowed over my skin, gently stroking me, in no apparent hurry. His gaze wandered back and forth between the fields, the sun sinking on its course and my bottom, my exposed sex. I got the feeling he would reach out and caress the sun, too, if he had the chance.

"Such beauty," he said softly.

I giggled. I knew he was being deliberately vague. The giggle turned to a happy gulp when a fingertip slipped gently along my ladybits.

"It is," he said, repeating the caress.

The sunset was beginning to come together. I was comfortable enough, could see well, but his slow, soft touches were... well, I won't call it distracting, but my attention was definitely divided.

I moaned a little as he leaned forward, reached under me to caress my boobs, then resumed his gentle fondling of my bum and sex. I could feel my clit and lower lips swell.

"Nice sunset," he laughed, very softly.

A finger began to circle my button and I gave a louder groan.

It was  a nice sunset, too. The colours promised to be spectacular. I could see it, right in front of me. It was a question of focusing.

I bit my lip as his fingers moved through wetness now, sliding my juice over my sex in a slow, deliberate fashion.

Again he slid his hands under me to tease my begging nipples. He patted my bottom gently, resumed his casual playing with my pussy. I felt a fire building inside me.

Tony got to his feet, stripped off his clothes. His cock was hard, erect; it twitched as I looked at him over my shoulder. He again moved to stand between my legs and I gasped as he found my entrance and slid smoothly into me with one long, gentle push.

I waited for him to continue, but he just stood behind me, his hand running gently over my back and bum. I squeezed his length with my internal muscles and he laughed, gave me a gentle slap on one cheek.

"Down, girl."

I waited, filled and happy. I was not in a position to do much anyway; any action was going to be from Tony.

He began to withdraw, slowly, very slowly. Just short of falling out, he paused before beginning to push back into me, again very slowly. All the while, his hands continued to pet me, stroke my skin, caress me.

"Tony?" I whispered.

"How're you doing, Stephanie?" he said, slowly pulling out.

"I want you," I moaned. I was enjoying this, but it was hardly what I'd been expecting.

"I know," he said, then slowly began to push forward. "Enjoy the sunset, Stephanie." He continued his slow, gentle thrusts.

The colours were at their peak when it started. Gentle as a kitten, light as down, a mini-cum drifted through me. There was none of the thunderous, riotous orgasmic bliss Tony had given me before. This was almost weightless, barely there, pleasant, very pleasant — extremely pleasant — but anything but overwhelming.

I smiled happily, waited for it to blossom further, but his slow stroke hadn't the horsepower and it gradually faded away, only to immediately restart, growing again, slowly, delicately. I again caught my breath, felt shivers run up and down my body, felt it subside, felt it restart.

Twenty minutes later, the man was still moving in and out of me, maybe one stroke every five seconds. I was in the middle of a continuous, unending series of mini-cums, rising up on one as he pushed forward, only to slide back down as his cock eased out. I'd never experienced anything like it, a continual string of mini-orgasms rolling into and over one another, each one quiet, tender, but endless, almost continuous.

He leisurely withdrew, leisurely re-entered. Another mini-cum drifted through me.

And another.

Again, another.

Again.

+

I slept late. Very late.

I opened my eyes to see Tony staring at me from the other pillow. I had once thought his eyes stern, fearsome, but this morning there was gentleness, kindness and warmth in his gaze.

"Good morning," I whispered.

"Good morning to you, Stephanie." I felt his hand slide over my hip under the bedcovers. "How are you doing?"

I couldn't help myself, yawned.

"I'm sorry," I said, yawning again.

He laughed, leaned in for a soft kiss.

"How long have you been awake?" I asked.

"A while," he smiled. "You are so pretty when you're sleeping."

"What time is it?"

"About eleven, I think."

"Oh." I smiled, leaned forward, kissed him. "You're so sweet, Tony. I can't remember the last time I've slept in this long."

His hand brushed my cheek and my heart jumped.

+

His bathtub was huge, but his shower was no bigger than any other. It was still warm and sunny outside, despite black clouds on the far horizon, so Tony walked me to the poolside shower. I treasured the way his arm felt around my waist.

There's something deeply satisfying about washing your lover with your bare hands - and being washed by him in your turn. The shower turned into a soapy tickle game, then into slippery hugs and lingering kisses before he turned the water off and, towel around his waist, went in to make us a late breakfast.

+

It started to drizzle soon after; it would in any case soon be time to take me back to the residence. I wondered what I would say to Marcy; she would no doubt be waiting for a debrief.

Tony was standing by the big west-facing windows, staring out at the fields. I could see he was thinking. Was he going to ask me to return? Maybe he'd had all that he'd wanted this weekend...

I went up to him, put my arm around his waist. I could feel the wool of his trousers against my bare hip.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I asked.

"Tuition is going up," he said, out of nowhere.

I knew that. It had been hard to get that out of my mind lately.

He turned and looked at me, his face expressionless. "Be honest, Stephanie, please. How are you doing? Financially, I mean."

I was about to answer, hesitated, replied very softly, "Why? Where is this going, Tony?"

It was his turn to hesitate.

Uncertain as always, my heart sank a little. I couldn't stop myself. "Has this just been a sugar-daddy trial run, Tony?"

He sagged a little, was silent for a minute. Then I didn't have to see his smile, I could feel  it.

"If it has been, Stephanie, how am I doing so far?" He chuckled a little, paused. It was a lengthy pause, which was odd for him. Tony was almost always direct, to the point. This time, he was almost shy when he spoke.

"Hypothetically, Stephanie, just hypothetically, if I was to offer, oh, let's call it a 'personal bursary', how much would a young lady need to survive, with living in residence, with tuition and such? If, I mean, she didn't have to work?"

There it was. The cards were on the table.

"Tony," I said, choosing my words as carefully as I could, "what is it that you're expecting of me?"

He smiled, brushed my cheek with his hand, kissed the top of my head.

"Only what's happened this weekend. Your presence here has been delightful, Stephanie, more so than I could ever have hoped or dreamed. You are young and fit and lovely — your being here is a joy just for that. Your smiles, your company, your charm have turned out to be a real bonus, something far greater than I'd expected."

My breath caught as his hand cupped my breast, his thumb sweeping gently over my nipple. I felt it harden, felt my desire come surging back, saw his awareness of it in his grey eyes.