Student and Teacher Ch. 01

"So you really live here all by yourself?" he repeated, determined to get to the bottom of the matter.

"Yes," she admitted. Thank heaven for that!

Iris, for her part, seemed determined to get off of personal matters and back to the purported subject of this unexpected colloquy. "In terms of what you need to do for your major—" she began.

But Damon was so transported by her one-word answer to his burning question that he felt himself unable to control his actions.

"Oh, God, ma'am!" he cried, falling to his knees in front of her and pushing the coffee table out of the way with a quick motion of his hips. As she looked down at him, aghast, he wrapped his arms around her hips and flung his face into her lap. "Ma'am, you're just so wonderful—the most heavenly creature I've ever seen! I want you so much, ma'am, really I do!"

And he began to cry.

Iris was so taken aback that she momentarily felt as if this was a dream. All manner of emotions—surprise, alarm, bafflement, and perhaps even a touch of pride—filtered through her mind, rendering her unable to act. All she could do was to place a hand gently on the back of the poor boy's head, muttering, "Damon, you mustn't . . ."

But Damon was now completely giving way to his pent-up emotions, almost wailing in agony and tightening his grip on Iris's midsection. His arms had encircled her waist, and he buried his face more deeply into the thick fabric of her skirt. His actions had caused her legs to separate, and his head and torso now prevented them from closing. The skirt was riding up even more, up to the middle of her thighs.

Iris was one of these women—and there are many of them—who can't bring themselves to take forceful action even when the circumstances warrant it. She knew she should get this boy to release his hold on her body, and especially to pry his face away from where it was. Why, it's almost as if he is . . . But she didn't allow herself to finish the thought.

Instead, she tried to lift his head with both hands, but her innate delicacy prevented her from doing much toward that end. Anyway, he was now rubbing his face back and forth over the surface of the skirt, and she could even feel some of his teardrops clinging to the fabric.

Damon, for his part, was in no way ashamed at his emotional outburst. He didn't subscribe to the ridiculous view that only women are allowed the relief of tears, and he also felt that men needed to be more open in the expression of their emotions. But his outburst did have the effect of making all his senses more acute—and one sense in particular.

For, as he continued to bury his head in Iris's lap, he detected the distinct aroma—which some might consider acrid, but which he always thought was heady and inspiring—of her sex.

Without being fully aware of what he was doing, he pulled his arms away from around her waist and, with a deft motion, pushed her skirt further up her thighs. He could now see her beige cotton panties, and it took little effort to sense the wetness that bedewed them.

And so it was the most natural thing in the world to pull them away from Iris's crotch, exposing the ever-moistening crevice, surrounded by delicate black hairs that were themselves dripping with her juices. And when Damon extended his tongue and for the first time touched her rose-petal labia, he heard a deep moan from Iris that encouraged him to lick the whole area, including the swelling clitoris.

He knew he was taking shocking liberties, but he was prepared to continue until Iris forced his head away. But she did something very different. As she let out a succession of moans, mews, groans, and other sounds of pleasure, she took the hem of the skirt in her hands and covered Damon's entire head, as if her inability to see what he was doing might somehow translate into an inability to feel his various actions. But the only effect of her desperate act was to press his face more closely to her moist sex, and the sounds emanating from her throat only became more agitated.

Damon wished he could seize Iris's bottom, for there were few things he liked better than kneading a woman's posterior while stimulating her; but her seated position made that nearly impossible. In fact, Iris's hips were writhing uncontrollably as Damon carried on, and a particularly sharp groan came when he boldly inserted his tongue as far as it would go into her pussy.

Then, sooner than he expected, Iris burst forth with a long-extended, guttural cry that signaled her achieving the pinnacle of ecstasy. But Damon wasn't finished yet; as Iris spasmodically clutched his head over the skirt, holding it in place, he continued with his licking and sucking until at last she seemed unable to bear it any longer. Only then did she finally push him away from her groin, and he landed a bit awkwardly on his bottom as he gazed up at her.

Her face was a bright crimson, almost as if she had a fever, and the usual melancholy look had given way to a kind of dazed bafflement—eyes wide open and staring off into space, lips wet and slightly parted, and her body still shuddering from her unexpected orgasm. Her breasts were heaving, and it took her some minutes to regain something close to composure.

She looked down at Damon, licked her lips, and said, "You shouldn't have done that. That was very naughty."

Damon cracked a smile. That was the second time someone had used the word "naughty" in his presence today. "You mean you didn't like it?" he teased.

She shook her head, both in denial and as a way of shaking the cobwebs out. "That's not the point. It was—it wasn't right."

"I'm sorry," he said, genuinely concerned that he had displeased his beloved. He now stood up in front of her.

He was so tall that he now loomed over her. At first she craned her neck to peer up at his face, but then her head returned to its normal position and she was gazing fixed at his groin. He was wearing only a thin pair of Dockers, and the area she was looking at was a little distorted.

It was as if she'd never seen such a thing. A little frown covered her face, and without looking up at him she said in the most tentative of voices: "I suppose you'd like some—some reciprocation?"

That was all the incentive he needed. At once he began stripping naked, tossing off his T-shirt, unbuckling his pants and letting them drop to the floor, and stepping out of his underwear. He did leave his socks on, but that's all he now had on. It all happened in under a minute.

It has to be mentioned that Damon was something of an exhibitionist. Or rather, it should be said that he was proud of his body—his various bedmates had made it abundantly clear that he had every reason to be—and he also had no silly scruples about displaying himself when the opportunity arose. He clearly sensed that this was one of those times.

But Iris begged to differ. "You don't need to take all your clothes off!" she said in extreme alarm.

But he had already done the job. "Sure I do. Men make a mess, as you know."

It tickled him that Iris's jaw dropped as she stared up and down at his naked figure. There was a lot to admire, and her gaze not surprisingly focused on the rod of flesh, nerves, and gristle that was jutting out from his groin, already so hard that it was standing almost straight up.

It was a full eight inches in length. Damon had seen a few larger ones in the locker room, but he knew he had nothing to be ashamed of in regard to his own endowment. And he could sense that Iris was impressed—perhaps even a little awed—by the spectacle. As if in a dream, she extended her hand and took the member between her thumb and index finger, and had some trouble pulling it down to a horizontal position. At last she was compelled to wrap her entire small hand around the base.

"Wh-what do you want me to do?" she said in a little girl's voice.

He smiled indulgently. "Would you care to put it in your mouth?"

He silently congratulated himself on the elegance of his choice of words. He could have said, as so many other crude and uncivilized men might have done: "Lady, why don't you suck my cock?" But Iris was too precious to him to treat in that vulgar manner.

She pondered his query for a moment, then nodded absently to herself. He moved closer to the sofa, standing right in front of her and making her open her legs again. It amused him to see her shut her eyes tightly and open her mouth, taking in the first inch or two of his cock.

The first touch of her moist lips on his organ was so mesmerizing that he was forced to let out a moan of his own. Many other girls had done this before, but this was a woman—and, on top of that, a woman whose every aspect and feature he adored. And so he was in no way inclined to shove any more of his member into her mouth than she could manage, even though he did gently take her head in both of his hands to steady himself. He couldn't detect any lipstick on her lips, but they were redder than normal; and the mere sight of the perfect O they made as they wrapped around his cock was an uplifting spectacle. It did dawn upon him that this was the first time a female had done this while she herself was fully clothed.

Gradually she did take a little more of him into her mouth, and he could also feel her tongue flicking at the tip as her lips worked. He somehow sensed that this tongue action wasn't even deliberate on her part; it was just that she didn't know what to do with that tongue while her mouth was so filled. He could see faint traces of her saliva as she bobbed her head back and forth. Every now and then her eyes opened, as if she had to make sure that what she was feeling was actually happening; but then she shut them again, and her cheeks flamed still more redly.

Usually Damon could hold out for some time while being subjected to this procedure, but, even though it was clear that Iris really wasn't very adept at it, the overall sensation was such that he felt he wouldn't be able to restrain himself much longer. Iris was now in a kind of mechanical rhythm, moving her mouth back and forth over his organ while occasionally stroking his balls with one hand. With the other she had reached around to seize his bottom, and he could tell that, like so many women, she was irremediably fascinated with the tight muscles and firm rondure of the male butt.

"Iris," he said gently, relishing the feel of her name on his tongue, "you'd better stop . . ."

But she didn't seem to be paying any attention. The rapture of sucking his cock had overcome her, and she was fixated on nothing except the motion of her lips on the hard surface.

So Damon had to take matters into his own hands. With some effort he pulled his cock out of her mouth—and just in time. For it now began spurting his juices all over Iris's cheek, nose, chin, and even her hair. She shut her eyes even more tightly than before and held up one hand to ward off the continuing spray, with the result that that hand was also moistened with an extraordinary quantity of his come. His ejaculation seemed to be unending, and he himself watched his own cock as it continued to hurl its dollops of fluid in her direction.

"I'm so sorry!" he cried in between grunts of pleasure. "I didn't mean to—" But he figured it was better to have that stuff on her face than in her mouth. A fair number of his previous partners had told him in no uncertain terms that they didn't care for the taste of come, and he didn't want to make Iris undergo such a procedure if it was not to her liking.

But Iris was not displeased at the unexpected shower. In fact, she let out a nervous but infectious laugh—chiefly at the sheer quantity of his emission—that Damon echoed as his paroxysm finally ended.

She quickly got up and headed out of the room. He could see that she was making for a small half-bathroom that had been tucked into the very back of the kitchen. As he stood huffing and puffing in the aftermath of his orgasm, he could hear Iris opening the tap: no doubt she was washing off all the come on her face.

She now returned to the living room, but was apparently determined to pretend that none of this had ever happened. She actually shielded her eyes with her hand to blot out the spectacle of his nudity and said, "You really should put your clothes back on. I—I think it's time for you to go home."

But that was the last thing Damon wanted to do. This was only the beginning, he was convinced, and he needed to press his case at the earliest opportunity. So he strode up to her, noticing that she was—almost in spite of herself—peering at his cock as it dripped the final remnants of his climax on the floor, and took her in his arms. At first she resisted, holding her hands at her sides; but she seemed unable to help herself and returned his embrace while placing her head against his neck.

He took her chin in his hand and raised it up to his face. Her eyes were again wide and expectant, her mouth slightly open. He lowered his head and gave her a long, firm kiss, sensing that it would be the first of many. Her lips fluttered when coming into contact with his, and in fact he felt her whole body trembling even as he held it tightly around the back and waist.

When their moist lips parted, he said, "I'd like to stay for a bit."

She let out a tiny sound that was close to a whimper. She seemed on the verge of saying something, but remained silent.

"Can we . . .?" he said.

Iris looked up at Damon. There was an unreadable expression on her face: a strange mixture of confusion, regret, even fear, but also of excitement and anticipation. She broke from his grasp and headed toward the corridor leading to the front door. Damon was alarmed at the thought that her indulgence of his overtures had finally reached its limit and she was going to order him from the house. But instead she gave him a plangent look over her shoulder and then proceeded up the stairs.

Stunned, then energized, Damon picked up his clothes—no need to be untidy!—and hastened to follow her.