Student and Teacher Ch. 03

"So," Iris said, a tad nervously, "what would you like to do now?" She was resigned to spending at least that day with him: after their frenetic lovemaking, she couldn't just order him out of the house. And she realized that she didn't want to.

"Let's have a picnic!" he said at once, with infectious enthusiasm.

"Damon, after this big meal I'm not going to be hungry for quite a while."

"Me neither. But we could get some stuff, go to a park or someplace, wander all around, and then chow down sometime in the late afternoon. It would really be a kind of early supper. Then we'd come back here and—" He didn't need to finish.

Iris colored at that last thought. "We—we can't go anywhere where we'd be recognized. I told you that before."

"Sure, I know," he said genially. "How about Shenandoah National Park? Ever been there?"

This was a huge park northwest of Charlottesville.

"Well, of course I have, silly!" she exclaimed. "I've lived here practically my whole life, as you know. Sure, we can go there."

And so they got ready for their little expedition. They loaded up the car with a big beach towel, a couple of folding chairs, and other paraphernalia, then took off around mid-morning. There were all manner of entrances into the park, and they found a little town on the Rapidan River where they stocked up on provisions for their picnic (fried chicken, potato salad, a fruit salad, soda—even a little chocolate cake for dessert), then drove into the park.

They spent the next several hours wandering through the spectacular scenery—ancient woods, placid streams, and obscure trails that led who knows where. As time passed, Iris felt more and more comfortable in Damon's presence. She caught herself looking at him when he was otherwise occupied, and couldn't help liking what she saw. It wasn't merely that he looked like a young Greek god; it was that, through both his words and his manner he revealed a sensitivity, consideration, and (she blushed to think of it) intense interest in every aspect of her own life and mind that stirred feelings in her that she thought had died.

For quite some time she almost forgot that he was a student and she was a teacher, twelve years his senior.

But it was to be predicted that, in his boyish impulsiveness, he wasn't entirely able to keep his hands off of her.

They had managed to go off trail at one point, finding themselves almost lost in a part of the park neither had ever been in. The majestic trees loomed above them, with plants and ferns and shrubs all around them, as if they were a kind of Adam and Eve wandering in the untouched wilderness. At one point, while standing behind an immense tree, Damon suddenly pulled Iris to him and held her fast, kissing her mouth and neck as if he were a starving man devouring some welcome repast.

"Damon, really!" she protested. "Not in public!"

"There's nobody around," he said absently as he resumed his attentions—which now included extending a hand both to her breasts and to her bottom.

"Damon, stop this at once!" she said furiously.

But he paid no heed. She was wearing a blouse and slacks, and he peeled the slacks down to her knees, taking her panties with them. She squealed in outrage, but her cries turned to moans when he slid a hand between her legs and started stimulating her. In spite of herself she had become wet, and even as she wriggled in his grasp he continued his actions and in a matter of minutes brought her to climax.

By this time she was clinging desperately to his neck, actually enjoying (even though she knew she shouldn't) the sensation of the open air on her exposed bottom. After the trembling that always shook her entire body after orgasm subsided, she knew that Damon would expect some kind of recompense. And sure enough, he drew away from her and pulled down his pants to reveal an enormous and rampant erection.

"Damon," she said sharply, "you are not going to go into me. I don't care if no one is around; we're not doing this out here."

"Okay," he sulked, although in reality he knew that, given their difference in height, the act of performing sex standing up would be awkward.

"I—I'll take you in my mouth, okay?" she said, and he seemed reconciled.

She fell to her knees, his cock almost hitting her in the face as she did so. The feel of his member in her mouth was now becoming familiar, and she also found it pleasant to tickle his balls and give a good squeeze to his muscular bottom. For his part, he held her head in both of his hands, thrusting gently into her mouth but making sure not to go in so far that he would choke her. At that, she seemed to be able to take in more and more of his length, and she was becoming skilled at using her tongue to enhance the sensation.

As his culmination approached, Iris managed to convince herself that she would swallow his emission only to avoid any spatter or mess, either on his clothing or hers. She had little choice in the matter, since he held her head even more tightly as he sent his seed down her throat. Well, maybe come doesn't taste so bad after all. His come, anyway.

Afterwards, she gave him a severe look, pulled up her own panties and slacks, and ordered him to do the same with his clothing.

"That's all the funny business we're going to do here," she said. "Let's go back to the car and have our picnic. I'm starving!"

They devoured their food in a secluded clearing in the midst of ancient and majestic trees, feeling once again as if they were the only people in the entire world. Both of them felt like a nap after eating, and by instinct Iris settled herself next to Damon, nestling her head in the crook of his neck as he languidly wrapped an arm around her. They may have actually fallen asleep for a time.

It was getting chilly when Iris awoke with a start, and she urged her lover to help her pack up their things and head back to the car. The drive home was made in companionable silence, Damon occasionally toying with a strand of Iris's hair as she did her best to focus on driving. That evening Iris dug out a DVD of an old film noir, and they enjoyed it hugely before retreating to the bedroom.

This time their lovemaking was gentle and tender, and Iris in particular was amazed at how natural it seemed to have this young man in her bed. It seemed that he had been there for years and years, and they needed few words to convey their feelings. But, after probing Iris's pussy and bottom with quiet fervor, Damon did say something.

Placing Iris firmly on top of him as he rested on his back, he looked directly at her and said, "I love you, Iris."

She had actually heard him when, during their first session a few days ago, he had so unceremoniously invaded her posterior in the wee hours of the morning. But the repeated utterance still made her gasp, and her eyes filled with moisture.

But she wasn't quite ready to return his sentiment. Stroking his cheek with her hand, all she could say was, "You're so sweet, dear—the sweetest man I've ever met."

That was good enough for Damon—for now.

*

Sunday opened with another big breakfast, but afterward Iris looked sharply at Damon and said:

"Sweetie, I really have some work to do before the work week starts. Maybe you should—"

"So do I," he said cheerfully. "I brought it with me."

He sauntered over to his backpack, lying on the sofa, and started digging out books, a steno pad, and other items. "Is it okay if I stay here and study?"

Iris wasn't sure this was going to work, but she had already reached the stage where she didn't like to think of how empty the house would be without him in it. "All right," she said with a sigh. "I'm going to be in my study."

They both worked diligently through much of the day. Damon spread his stuff all over Iris's dining table, while Iris retreated to the little room off the main corridor and tapped away at the computer, occasionally referring to a book or an offprint of an academic article. The hours seemed to go in a flash, and late in the afternoon Iris took a break and brought a cup of peppermint tea and some cookies to Damon, which he consumed at once.

As she looked at him, strange sensations were going through her. Good Lord! Either it looks as if he's a really young husband or I'm the mother of a really old son! Is it even possible that he could be my son? I'd have to have had him at the age of twelve. Well, I guess I've known a fair number of seventh-grade girls who seemed to know all about boys and what to do with them, so I suppose it's barely conceivable. But I'm sure he doesn't think of me that way.

That night, mercifully, even Damon seemed a bit fatigued, and all they did was snuggle a bit before lapsing into a deep sleep.

That was how it started. The couple quickly fell into a pattern whereby Damon came over to Iris's house late afternoon on a Friday, staying until Monday morning, when they would (separately) go back to campus. He would also come over on Wednesday night for dinner, a little studying (both of them did, after all, have a lot of work to do), and an intense cuddling session that would usually lead to sex.

As the weeks passed, pretty much everyone in the History Department noticed a pronounced change in Iris. Her friend Betty Harper picked up on it immediately. Iris was now walking with a more sprightly step, her cheeks were rosy, and there was a twinkle in her eye that hadn't been there before. More to the point, her habitual air of gloom seemed to have been shrugged off, and she cast winsome smiles at all and sundry and even laughed—a high, trilling laugh that she did her best to suppress with a hand over her mouth—at every opportunity.

If I didn't know better, Betty pondered, I'd say she was getting regular . . . But no, that's impossible. She hasn't mentioned going on a date with anyone. Is she on drugs or something? But Betty knew that conjecture was absurd also. She was just happy her friend was in such good spirits.

By the beginning of November, Damon had become such a fixture in Iris's house that the days (and nights) he wasn't there were becoming acutely uncomfortable to her. In the innermost depths of her being she knew that this relationship wasn't really proper, and that it might end very badly; but the ache she felt at his absence was making her confused and distracted. So it was that, one Friday night, after a frenetic session that had covered both of them with a sheen of perspiration even in the chilly fall weather, Iris struggled to catch her breath while resting on Damon's body as usual.

"Damon," she gasped, "I was wondering . . ." She trailed off.

"Wondering what, my dear?" he said, his chest rising and falling while he kneaded Iris's bottom.

Somehow she couldn't look him in the face as she spoke the words. "Just wondering," she muttered, "whether you, um, wanted to move in here."

There was a cavernous silence.

Damon wasn't sure he had heard her correctly. He lifted her face up to his own and said: "You mean that?"

"Yes, of course I do," she said, a bit agitatedly and with a rising inflection.

Damon's eyes filled with tears. "You want me to live with you?" he said incredulously.

"That's what I said," she answered faux severely, as if talking to a slow-witted adolescent.

He tried to hold back his emotions. "Well, that's great. But I feel I should pay rent. It wouldn't be right otherwise."

"Oh, Damon," Iris said, "you don't need to pay rent."

"But—but—" Damon spluttered. "If I didn't, it would make me feel like—like a kept man!"

She gave out her trilling laugh. "That's just too silly!"

"It's not silly!" he cried hotly.

Iris clearly saw he was getting genuinely upset. "Okay, dear, maybe you can help with the groceries—and the utilities. But that's it. Anyway, it would just be until you graduate in about a year and a half. After that, who knows?"

He looked at her reproachfully—but gradually his expression changed, as a delighted grin overtook his features. He impulsively rolled her over so that she was on her back on he on top of her.

"Oh, Iris, you're the best!" his cried, his tears falling on her face.

In his enthusiasm Damon had already entered her, and she had to please her soon-to-be live-in lover while he did his best to coax more orgasms out of her while tending to his own pleasure.