Student and Teacher Ch. 06

What he did surprised her a little. He did indeed grasp them ever so gently with both hands, feeling transported by their exquisite melding of firmness and softness; but then, unexpectedly, he bent his head down and placed his lips tenderly around one nipple, rolling it around with his tongue and sucking on it as if he were an enormous baby seeking nourishment from his alma mater.

A shiver of pleasure ran through her, proceeding directly from that nipple to her clitoris. She inadvertently let out a little "Oh!" Brad, ever worried that he was doing something wrong, looked up and said, "Did I hurt you?"

"Good Lord no," she said unsteadily. "But maybe you can finish undressing me before you get down to, um, business."

Brad reluctantly stood straight up and looked down at the skirt Iris was wearing. He was momentarily baffled at how to get it off. Iris helped him.

"There's a button on the side. Once you undo that, you'll see a zipper."

He was quick on the uptake, and in seconds the skirt slipped silently to the floor. The only thing that was covering Iris's body was a pair of pink panties.

"You can take them off," she said softly.

It was with a full awareness of the significance of the moment that Brad knelt down in front of his goddess, took the hem of the panties with the fingers of each hand, and slowly pulled them down to her feet. She daintily stepped out of them and stood naked in front of him. He remained in a kneeling position, thereby gaining a close-up view of Iris's crevice, now directly in front of his face. He suddenly felt unworthy to clap his eyes on the thick fur of her mons and the delicate labia that he could see parting slowly and even dripping a little with her own juices. A little whimper came from his throat.

He abruptly stood up and said, "You're so beautiful, ma'am."

"Thank you, dear," she said, smiling amiably. "Let's see what you've got."

She started unbuckling his wide belt, and then struggled to undo the tight button over the fly of his jeans. Like Damon, Brad seemed intent on getting naked as quickly as possible, and he hastily removed his shirt while Iris fell to her knees and pulled his jeans and his underwear down in a single swift motion.

When she saw what was revealed, she could only say, "Oh, my goodness!"

He was huge. Damon sported a member of about eight inches, but Brad's was at least two inches larger, and a bit thicker also. It was already so erect that it was hanging straight up against his groin, quivering involuntarily.

"What's the matter?" he said, in an agony of alarm.

"It's just—I've never seen one quite so big," she said. Not that I've seen very many—but surely most men don't have equipment quite like this, do they?

"Is it too big?" he said, deeply concerned.

"I guess I'll manage," she said.

Frowning with concentration, she took the thing in her hands and expended quite a bit of effort in pulling it down to a horizontal position. She slipped the tip of it into her mouth, but there was still room to keep both hands wrapped firmly around it.

As Brad looked down at the spectacle, he suddenly felt he had been whisked away into some kind of dream-fantasy. To a man there is something deeply moving when a woman places his organ in her mouth: even if it is just foreplay, it establishes a link between the two of them that remains unbreakable no matter what happens in their subsequent relationship. The vision of a woman's lips around his member, as if she is sucking a delicious lollipop, fills him with a sense of his own worth—and of her devotion, however fleeting it may be—that he will never forget.

For Brad, inexperienced as he was, it was almost too much to endure.

Initially he had placed his hands on either side of Iris's head, to hold her in place and perhaps get a bit more of his cock into her mouth. But she expressed displeasure at that, signalling that no woman wants to be forced to take in more of a man's member than she is comfortable with. So he released her, standing with parted legs and just gazing as she licked and sucked and tickled the immense sac of his balls.

The sensation got the better of him. In only minutes he began making guttural noises from deep in his throat. Iris, alert to a man's reactions from her experience with Damon, pulled the cock out of her mouth but kept holding on to it with both hands; she looked up and gave him an inquiring glance.

"Brad, are you—?"

That's all she managed to say before his spurts began.

When the first hot dollops of his emission landed forcefully on her cheek, she gave out another cry and turned her head away. But she was sensitive enough to his need for release that she began tugging at his member to allow more of his discharge to flow out of him, even if it meant spattering her nose, forehead, and even her hair with his come. And there was so much of it! It just kept pouring out of him, raining down on her face and dripping thickly off of her chin and onto her breasts.

At last he seemed to finish, although a final tug sent one more dollop out of him and landed on her lips.

"Omigod, Brad!" she exclaimed, laughing delightedly.

"I'm so sorry!" he cried, thinking he had offended her by the mess he made. "I didn't mean to—"

"That's okay," she said. "I just wasn't expecting it, that's all."

She at last let go of his cock, stood up, and stalked off to the little half-bathroom nearby. "I'll just clean up a little."

In seconds she had returned—and saw Brad staring down at his softening member, still dripping a little. (Do come stains come out of a carpet? she wondered irreverently.) Looking him up and down, she said:

"Do you think you can revive in a little bit?"

"I'm sure I can," he said, cracking a smile.

"Good. Meanwhile, maybe you can, um, do something for me."

He wasn't absolutely certain what she meant, but he allowed her to lead him up to the bedroom. She had fleetingly considered the super-naughty idea of taking him upstairs by his cock, but instead she just took his hand and guided him to the bedroom. Once again Brad, taking in the surroundings, was filled with awe at the momentousness of the occasion.

"Let's lie down, shall we?" she said.

As she pulled the sheets back and reclined on the bed, she patted the space next to her encouragingly. He all but leaped into the bed, lying at full length on his side and gazing at her like a rapt little boy expecting a bedtime story from his beloved mother. (But mother and son wouldn't be naked, would they?) She was on her back, and she saw him devouring every inch of her body with his eyes.

"Do you know," she said, "how to make a girl happy?"

Brad wasn't quite so dense as not to understand the implications of her words. But a lugubrious expression fell over his face as he slowly shook his head.

"That's okay," she said. "A lot of guys are pretty clueless at first. I'll show you—it's not hard."

She took his hand in hers and guided it toward her sex.

"These are my labia," she said, returning unconsciously into teacher mode. "See how wet I am? That means I'm pretty excited, and I'm ready to have my own release. Girls like climaxes as much as guys do."

He touched the moist labia so gently that she hardly felt it. "You can be a little firmer, Brad."

He tried to do as she asked, but the whole idea of stroking this most delicate part of a woman's body was overwhelming him.

She continued her lesson. "See this little thing right at the top of the labia?" At his nod she said, "That's my clitoris. That's where a lot of my sensation is. You want to rub that. Try a circular motion—that works best."

She saw his face gain a frown of concentration, as if he were focusing intensely on a particularly difficult exam. He couldn't help noticing that, as he rubbed and stroked, Iris not only got wetter but started to arch her back like a cat and utter little moans of pleasure. For a time he couldn't believe that it was he who was causing that pleasure, and he grinned broadly as he now began stroking her in earnest.

In the midst of all her cries—moans, groans, mews, squeals—he found it amusing and delightful that her tongue would sometimes be forced out of her mouth, only to withdraw suddenly. Other times, she grimaced—almost as if she were in pain—and bit her lower lip so hard that it turned almost white. As the minutes passed, he seemed to be getting into a rhythm, and with his other hand he seized a breast and even twirled the nipple around with two fingers. That motion caught Iris off guard, and she let out a scream as the initial waves of her orgasm washed over her.

Brad, in her inexperience, felt that his work was done and stopped what he was doing.

"Omigod!" she cried in a choked voice. "Don't stop!"

At once he resumed his work—and gained the satisfaction of witnessing a female orgasm that seemed to last for minutes on end. Iris continued to arch her back and actually pounded the bed with her fists as she continued to moan. At last she collapsed bonelessly, gazing sightlessly at the ceiling as her paroxysm subsided.

Brad took in the sight with amazement—and pride. It thrilled and gratified him that he could be the source of so much pleasure for a woman—especially, as he saw it, a woman so smart, beautiful, and sophisticated as Iris. Abstractly, he had long been aware that women do have climaxes, but the reality of the thing had never struck him before. He came to sense dimly that perhaps their ability to feel sexual ecstasy was even greater than a man's.

But his actions had had their predictable effect on himself; and as Iris gained a grip on herself, she took notice of what was happening in the direction of his groin. She looked up at him and said:

"Are you, um, ready?" Ready for the main event?

He understood her words at once. "Yes," he barely managed to croak.

"You haven't done this before, have you?"

"No." He sounded ashamed and humiliated.

"But you know what to do, don't you?"

"I—I think so."

"Well," she said encouragingly, "Go ahead." Go ahead and mount me.

Brad clumsily got into position as Iris spread her legs to accommodate his large frame. She had to confess, as she gazed upon his immense member, to a bit of trepidation. For all the practice she had gotten over the past few months with Damon's fairly substantial organ, this one intimidated and even frightened her a little. She had felt some discomfort when Damon, in the throes of his passion, had tried to cram his cock as far into her as he could; and she hoped Brad wouldn't make a similar attempt.

For a time, in fact, it seemed he wasn't going to go in at all. As he took his own member in his hand, he seemed to have difficulty figuring out exactly where Iris's orifice actually was. He let out a groan of frustration until she took pity on him and said:

"Here, let me put it in."

She directed it into the right place, and it slipped in easily.

They both let out huge gasps—he from the utterly unprecedented and delightful sensation of his first penetration, and she from the novel feeling of being filled by such a big implement, even though he had gone in only about halfway. In no time, he had gotten into the rhythm of things, pumping with vigor while also pasting her face with kisses and using his hands to stroke and squeeze her breasts, bottom, and back. Iris relished his weight and girth, glorying in her complete possession by this big bear of a man. She had difficulty wrapping her legs around his, so she simply splayed her legs as wide as she could and let him do his business unhindered.

In spite of his earlier emission, he wasn't able to last long, and in minutes she was feeling the volcanic eruption of his member and the flooding of her vagina with his seed. His cries, muffled by the fact that he had buried his face in the crook of her neck, sounded almost painful as he continued to pump his fluids into her, then all but crushed her with his dead weight.

Damon, she knew, liked to remain in her as long as he could after his climax, and she suspected that Brad was no different. But after several minutes she began to have trouble breathing, so she said:

"Please come out of me, dear."

Brad jerked to attention, quickly slipping out of her and rolling over to his side of the bed. He was breathing heavily and, as she had done earlier, staring blankly at the ceiling with a look of astonishment on his face.

"Was that nice?" she said.

Brad didn't answer immediately. Then his face suddenly crumpled with overwhelming emotion, and he flung himself back onto her, burying his face between her breasts and seizing them with both hands while crying:

"That was the most wonderful thing that's ever happened to me!"

Then he burst into tears.

She merely stroked his head like an indulgent mother tending to a son who had been through an indescribable experience. He was really gripping her breasts a bit painfully, but she didn't have the heart to chastise him: he clearly needed some kind of catharsis, as his tears poured out of his eyes and onto her chest. She hugged him tight, silently pleased that he didn't feel embarrassment at the expression of his feelings.

Gradually he calmed down, and she urged him to talk a little more about his past. He revealed surprising self-awareness when doing so. He mentioned that he had two older sisters who had mercilessly teased him when he was a boy—the more so because his doting parents had obviously wanted a son and had spoiled him terribly, something that his sisters quickly noticed and resented. And yet, in spite of his living in a house full of females, he had developed an intense shyness in dealing with girls and women, always feeling that he was somehow deficient.

But Iris hoped she could change that. I need to see if I can make him more self-confident and sure of himself. If any woman ever catches sight of his member, she's the one who's going to feel apprehensive.

As if to follow up on her thought, Brad said, "Can I ask you something, ma'am?"

"Sure, what is it," Iris said.

"Could I . . .?" He trailed off.

"Could you what?" she prompted. But she suspected—from his vigorous rubbing of her posterior—what was on his mind.

"Damon says you like it, um, the back way."

Iris fell silent for a few moments. "He told you that, did he?"

She sounded annoyed, and Brad looked up guiltily.

"Maybe he shouldn't have—but you know him, he's kind of a blabbermouth. Anyway, he thinks you're really swell, so—"

"I know what he thinks of me, but he really shouldn't have kissed and told like that."

"You're right," he said lugubriously. "Just forget I ever said anything."

"I didn't say," she said quietly, "I didn't want to do it."

He looked up at her in wonder, as if she'd just said he could have that electric train set he'd been wanting for years.

"You mean . . .?" he began.

"It's just that you're so big, dear," she said. "You'd better not go in very far. Even so, it's going to be painful. And we're going to need some lube."

"What lube?"

"There's some cold cream in the top drawer of the nightstand."

"That's what you use?"

"Yes, that's what we use."

With surprising alacrity Brad fished out the blue jar from the nightstand. He gazed at it with awe and wonder and made as if to hand it to her.

"Why don't you put it on?" she said.

His eyes widened at the thought. But he carefully unscrewed the cap, scooped out a fair quantity of the stuff with his fingers, and, as Iris flipped herself over onto her stomach, began applying it to her bottom. She always wriggled at the feel of the cool substance on her butt, and this time she laughed nervously at the prospect of accommodating such a large object into that small space.

Brad maneuvered into position, and this time he was able to direct his cock into the aperture without fuss. But he went in a little too fast.

"Oh!" she cried. "Easy there! Take your time—and don't go in too far."

He cursed himself for his clumsiness and proceeded more slowly. By the time he had gotten about halfway in, Iris was already feeling the effects of the unusual sensation, letting out little choking cries and sticking her tongue far out of her mouth.

Brad was suffused with guilt at her evident discomfort. "Should I stop, ma'am?"

"No, no," she said between gasps. "It's all right. Just go slow."

Presently he got into an acceptable rhythm, even though this new experience was so transcendent that he could hardly contain himself. He instinctively fastened his hands on her breasts as he ground his hips into her, and with the passing of the minutes he probed that nether orifice almost to his full length. As for Iris, she was entering a physical and spiritual state so ineffable that she simply buried her face in the pillow and allowed this man of barely an hour's acquaintance to have his way with her. She lapsed into complete passivity as she waited for him to finish.

And he did finish—with his usual copious emission, thrusting immense quantities of his seed deep into her while pressing his flesh against hers and giving her breasts a final, spasmodic squeeze.

It was just at this point that Damon burst into the room.

As he saw Brad achieving his climax, he approached the bed with a broad grin and gave his friend's bottom a hearty slap.

"Way to go, guy!" he enthused. "You really rung the bell that time!"

Brad let out a squawk of horror and embarrassment and, pulling quickly (and painfully) out of Iris's bottom, stumbled away to the bathroom to do a quick wash. Then he thundered down the stairs to fetch his discarded clothing.

Iris, roused out of her near-comatose state, struggled to cover herself with the bedsheets that had been thrown aside.

"Good Lord, Damon!" she cried. "Give us a little privacy, please!"

"Sorry," Damon said, abashed. "I guess you didn't hear me come in."

"No, we didn't."

"Well, you've been at this for quite a while, and I got tired of walking around the block and sitting in a coffee shop."

"You need to respect people's feelings, dear," she said, still angry at her young lover's thoughtlessness.

"I know, I know. So," he said as if exchanging secret information with a fellow spy, "was he a virgin?"

"Yes, he was a virgin," she said wearily.

"But not anymore!" There was a bit of triumph in his voice.

"No, not anymore."

"I'm sure you were really sweet to him."

"I did my best."

"There's nothing better than your best."

With that, Damon walked out of the room and sauntered downstairs.

Brad had apparently dressed in record time. He was sitting, fully clothed, on the sofa, gazing off into space; but clearly he was in another world.

Damon was well aware that something profound had happened to his friend. He sat down quietly next to Brad and said:

"She's pretty fabulous, isn't she?"

Brad, still staring sightlessly ahead, said with deep fervour, "She's the most incredible woman I've ever met."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," he said, clapping a hand on Brad's shoulder. "It's so much more than sex, isn't it?"

Brad just nodded. His eyes were glistening.

"Would you . . . like to see her again?" Damon asked.

"God, yes!" Brad burst out, then stopped short. "But—that's her decision."

"Of course it is."

"Maybe she didn't like me." The thought seemed to petrify Brad.

"Guy, she wouldn't have let you do what you obviously did"—front and back and maybe more—"if she didn't think you were pretty special too."

"Really?" Brad said in a tight voice. The tears were flowing down his face.

"Yeah, really." Damon was a little taken aback at Brad's reaction, but he only had to remember his own first encounter with Iris to know exactly what his buddy was feeling.