Sweet Jonathan Pt. 01

"What?"

"That you're not gross. C'mon, say it. Say 'I am not gross'"

He looked annoyed, but eventually did as I'd bade, "I am not gross."

"Again."

"I am not gross." He rolled his eyes.

"I am a normal, healthy young man."

"I am a normal, healthy young man." He parroted.

"Do you feel any better?"

He gave me an exasperated look, "No."

"That's okay, that will come," I patted his hand, "Now, be honest with me, you're worried what happened right here on the couch that one time might happen with Isabel, aren't you?" I had donned my stern governess persona that I needed for troublemakers from time to time, and wasn't going to let him retreat from this now that I'd come so far. His self-worth had come a long way in the last couple of months with my constant care and feeding, and I judged that he was ready to be pushed a bit.

He nodded, looking defeated.

"I thought so." I gave a sharp nod. "Well. If you're telling me that whatever has you so afflicted isn't a medical problem, then I'm guessing I can get to the bottom of this and help you, but I need you to open up to me."

I'd come up with a risky way that I thought could help make him more at ease, and now was the moment of truth. Three months ago I would have called it career suicide, but if there was one thing I was sure of after all the time we'd spent together, it was that I could trust the boy not to intentionally hurt me.

"So, here's what we're going to do." I continued, looking him in the eye gravely, "I'm going to put myself in a very compromising situation so you'll open up and allow me to help you."

The cold pit of fear that had opened in my stomach felt ready to swallow me whole, but it was spiked with sexual excitement for what I was about to do.

Jonathan shook me out of my thoughts by tentatively laying a hand on my leg, shocking me even as it thrilled me. "Why, Miss Belsor? Why are you doing this for me? I don't know what you're going to do, but I can tell you're nervous about it, so why?"

Deep warmth suffused my core at his concern, filling the icy pit of distress.

"Because I care about you, Jonathan. You're a good person, and you've shown this old lady's damaged heart kindness. Not as a lover, of course ('if only!', cried my heart) but as a friend, and I want to do the same for you. You deserve to have the hurts that keep you from experiencing life fully taken away."

He grew a little watery-eyed at that, smiling warmly. It made me feel good inside too, knowing that I could reach the parts of him that he'd walled away to protect.

"Okay then," he nodded, with more certainty than I'd ever seen him possess, "I'm ready. What comes next?"

Mustering my courage, I told him. "For you, nothing. You're going to sit there, just as you are now, and I'm going to remove my blouse." He recoiled in shock, "but that's not all. I have here," I reached next to me and withdrew a piece of cloth from the end table, "a blindfold. I'm going to wear this blindfold while exposed to your eyes, and we're going to have a conversation. One in which you'll be completely honest with me."

"That's all?"

"That's all. But remember, I'm paying a dear price to get the truth out of you, so I do expect you to hold up your side of the bargain. Agreed?"

"Miss Belsor, please, you don't have to do this. I wouldn't... Is this about what I said earlier, about you being my dream woman? I'm not trying to get your clothes off Miss Belsor. I'd never disrespect you like that."

Smiling warmly, I looked into his eyes, "Shhh, I know that, Jonathan, but you'll just have to trust me. Now, are we agreed?" I reiterated with a serious look.

"A-alright, agreed."

Smiling, I started to unbutton my silk blouse slowly. First one button, then two; it didn't take long to reach the slopes of my breasts. He grew visibly uncomfortable, trying to make a show of looking away while pressing down on that pillow again.

Having prepared for this, I'd selected a lacy black bra that supported my massive chest perfectly. Due to my size, I couldn't wear off-the-rack bras, and as a result, many of my custom jobs were more utilitarian than sexy. But this one was different. Little butterflies embroidered into the satin and lace took flight from the field of flowers that formed the bottom half of the cups.

Onward I went, my finely manicured fingertips deftly unfastening button after button down over the shelf of my breasts until a yawning gap in the blouse had me mostly uncovered, my silky smooth skin and faintest hint of rounded belly exposed to his gaze. I peeked up at him and caught nervous darting glances regarding my flesh. Glances he tried powerfully to refuse before ultimately failing, to my intense pleasure as a woman. I grinned wickedly, enjoying this much, much more than I thought I would.

Before pulling up the substantial part of the blouse that remained tucked into my skirt (a fact of life when you had breasts like these), I looked down, lightly brushing the satin and lace atop my nipples as I lowered my hands to gather the blouse. Even that ghostly touch lit my mind on fire with pleasure.

Soon I had discarded it and found I felt no shame. On the contrary - instead, I burned for his gaze upon me, and would have physically tilted his head toward me had I not known it would make him uncomfortable.

"Now," I picked up the blindfold, pulling it over my eyes and watching as the world went dark, "look, or don't look, young Jonathan, what you do is entirely up to you. I won't know either way. That," I emphasized with a slinky smile, "is the point, after all."

"Miss Belsor," I heard him say in a tremulous voice. "I don't know if this," he gulped, "is something we should be doing."

"Jonathan, this is how much I trust you. We're both adults, right? If I'm okay with it, and you're okay with it, then what's the harm? I'm doing this for you, and I know you wouldn't hurt me."

Taking another moment to savor the feeling of exposure before him, I envisioned him discarding all pretense at reticence. His imagined gaze swept over my heaving breasts, tracing the curve of each magnificent mound, lingering on one nipple, then the other. His stare was tangible - a brushstroke of bliss across my near-naked skin. I found myself becoming wetter by the minute, my nipples responding to the way his deep blue eyes caressed their perimeter, pressing urgently into my bra.

I shook myself. Control, Mia...

The room was quiet save for the ever-present ticking of the clock, which sounded all the louder to my more sensitive ears. I heard his ragged breathing, and the shifting of cloth on cloth, no doubt his attempt to extract what feeling he could from the pillow on his caged cock.

"I've trusted you with my career as a teacher before, and now I'm trusting you with my shame. Please, won't you trust in me too?"

"Yes, Miss Belsor, I'll trust you. W-what would you like to know?"

Ever so gently, I told him. "I want you to describe what you believe your condition is."

I heard a loud intake of breath, and long minutes passed until I heard him reply: "It's my penis." His voice was low, quiet. I thrilled at the minor victory. "It causes me a lot of trouble."

"Good, Jonathan, I'm glad you told me. Can you describe the trouble for me?"

"It's always hard, and I have to...you know, all the time."

"Ejaculate?"

"Yeah.

"How much is 'all the time'?"

"It varies."

"But on an average day? Three times a day? Four?" I figured he was probably very hale given all the facts, even for a teenager.

"Sometimes..." he sounded like he was hedging, "but usually it's more. Maybe seven? Some days as many as ten."

TEN?! I sat in mute shock, stunned at this revelation while keeping my face placid. I didn't want to alarm him. Holy Lord, this kid was some kind of stud horse. When did he have time to do anything but clean himself up!? No wonder he was being troubled by this.

"Okay, Jonathan, that's good. I admit that this sounds like you might experience...that more often than some teenagers, but as long as everything is working when it happens, there's probably no cause for concern. Can we talk about that a little bit? When it happens, are you masturbating?"

"Sometimes. I do that to get it to go down, but sometimes it's like what happened here at your apartment, when I couldn't control it."

"And when it's erect, is it distracting? Does it make you think about sex?"

"Yes!!" he exclaimed, "It's so hard to control it, Miss Belsor, you don't know. I have to fight it to make sure it doesn't happen in class all the time."

My poor boy! It was a miracle he got any schoolwork done at all.

"Jonathan."

"Yes?"

"Are you fighting it right now?"

"Yes, Miss Belsor, I'm trying very hard."

"Do you need to relieve yourself now? I don't mind."

"I...I don't think I should, Miss Belsor. It's too embarrassing."

"You know I cannot see you, right? You could be doing it right now and I wouldn't even know it. But it's okay, Jonathan, no pressure. I won't judge you, but are you sure? I think you'd feel better."

"I'm sorry, Miss Belsor, I...I can't."

I sensed that I'd reached a dead end on that...for now.

"You poor thing." I gave him a sympathetic look, "You're doing great, Jonathan, really great. I'm very proud of how brave you're being. Doesn't it feel good to get these things off your chest?"

"Yes, Miss Belsor, it really does. Thank you so much, Miss Belsor."

"Jonathan, this is something of a special session, and we've become friends, haven't we?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"None of that, now. If you want to - just for today - you could call me Mia. If you want."

Silence, then, "Mia?"

The pleasure that ran up my spine at hearing my name on his lips was simply incredible.

"Yes, silly! Mia! It is my name."

He chuffed. "Okay then, Mia."

"There, that's nice." I gave him a beaming smile, "Nice and friendly. Wouldn't you be more comfortable if you didn't have to fight your urges right now?"

"I would, but I'm afraid."

"Good, Jonathan, I'm glad you told me!" I gushed, excited that he'd correctly identified his emotion, "what makes you afraid?"

"That you'll find out about...all of it."

There was more?

"There's more that you haven't told me?"

"Yes." He said cautiously.

"What else?"

"It...makes a big mess."

I smiled, "Jonathan, I'm sure Mr. Lerner, your health teacher, has taught you about the birds and the bees, hasn't he? All boys make a 'mess', as I recall." I put a hand up to my mouth and whispered conspiratorially, "that's the stuff that babies are made of."

He laughed, and I could feel his tension ease.

"I mean it, though, you know," I continued seriously, "Some girls even like it when it...makes a mess. Did you know that?"

This one sure did.

"Serious?" he said, shocked.

"Yes, serious. But let me ask you: did this only start happening recently, or has it been this way since you hit puberty?"

"Mmmm," he mused, "I'd say it's definitely increased, but it's not like it doubled overnight if that's what you mean."

"Okay, good. Because, if something had dramatically changed recently and gave you these troubles, then I'd suggest you talk to a doctor. Tell me, what has your Dad said about it? I imagine a man's perspective would be helpful in this matter."

"Oh, my Dad left us when I was four," he responded blithely.

How did I not know that? Regardless, now things were starting to fall into place. Dad left, Mom stuck with multiple kids to raise. I'm sure that was tough, but what she had done to poor Jonathan still made me want to throttle the woman.

"I'm sorry Jonathan," I frowned.

"No big deal. I remember him a little, but not much. But yeah, I don't have any male role models to talk about what normal is like."

"Normal? Let me tell you something: normal is overrated. Everyone's body is different, Jonathan, everyone's. Look at me, for example. Want to know something? I'll tell you a little secret."

"What?"

"Did you know that my left boob is a little larger than my right?"

"Really? It doesn't look like it..." I cracked a grin because I was 100% positive that he was using this excuse to studiously compare them, "I mean they're so big, but they look totally normal... Er, uh...sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

I laughed, thinking of how he was probably back to blushing furiously.

"Oh, Jonathan, don't be sorry!" I tittered through the words, "You're not wrong about that; they are big! But what I'm getting at is that it bothered me like crazy growing up. I used to worry about wearing bathing suits because I thought people would see it and think I'm a freak. But you know what? As I got older, they got a lot bigger - as you astutely pointed out - and when they did, I had to start shopping at specialty shops for bras. And let me tell you, the ladies that work in those places know everything there is to know about boobs. They are literally boob experts, and guess what they told me?"

"What?"

"They said that that it was almost more rare for a pair to be identical than to be slightly different! So you see? Being different is normal because when it comes to the human body, there's almost no such thing."

"Wow, I never thought of it like that," he said, clearly chewing on the thought.

"And Jonathan now is the time when you need to be comfortable with your body. That's what I want for you. You should be experimenting with girls. Trying to figure out what kind of a woman you might be compatible with."

"Well, okay, yeah, I get what you're saying. But I'm just worried I'm going to blow it - literally, if you know what I mean - when I get near girls." Again I chuckled at his juvenile double entendre.

"I understand, Jonathan, and this healing you need to do to be comfortable around women, it's going to be a process. But today I feel like we're taking a big step. After all, you were able to tell me all about what's been troubling you, and I'm willing to bet that no one else knows about that besides your Mom. Am I right?"

"You're right."

"Thank you," I emphasized the words, "for sharing all of this with me. See? Talking about sex and the human body doesn't have to be embarrassing. I bet you didn't think you had it in you."

"You're right, I didn't!" he laughed, "This was...nice."

I nodded. "But before we get on with your Calc work, there's one more thing I want to ask you."

"Yeah?"

"You told me earlier that you were struggling with your urges. Are you still?"

"Uh-" I could hear him starting to equivocate again, so I cut him off.

"Please, Jonathan, you've been staring at my breasts for ten minutes now. At least, I hope you have. I did this whole thing so you could look at me and feel at ease, after all, and I do have my womanly pride."

"Sorry, Miss Belsor, I mean Mia," he rushed on, "You're so gorgeous, even if you weren't... I mean, around you I'm never not... That is to say...ugh, yeah, I'm still struggling with it."

His stilted words - obvious in intent despite his inability to convey a complete thought - made me want to melt into a puddle of pleasure.

"Thank you. That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

"I guess not," he conceded.

"Jonathan, I'd like you to get this out of your system. I think it will help you focus. I told you before that I don't mind, and I meant it." I paused, uncertain how far I wanted to push this, then continued, "Would it help you to know that I want you to do it?"

I think I'd stunned him into silence, but he eventually replied, "W-why, Miss Belsor?"

"Mia. Remember?"

"Sorry."

If only I didn't have this damned blindfold on. I wanted to touch him!

"Because I'm trying to help you. Just think of this as a poison of the mind, and we need to suck it out of you. If I don't, you're going to be distracted all night, and I can't have you staring at my tits while I'm trying to teach you integrals, now can I?" My tone was light, but I'd chosen my dirtier words carefully. "So, in a way, I'm helping myself just as much as I am you."

My inner succubus, so long dormant, was surfacing. A confident smirk crept across my face, smug with the knowledge that each justification I piled on made it harder and harder to refuse.

My superego cried out within, yelling at me to stop this foolishness. But Mama ID needed this baaad, and she was determined to use every trick she knew to take it.

"I know you're in pain, Jonathan. I was married at one point, remember? I know more about the male body than you might realize, and I know this: you need relief."

I heard his ragged breathing getting deeper, more erratic.

"You know, my ex always told me I was the absolute best at giving hand jobs. He would know, the jerk..." I let a splinter of my bitterness slip into my tone, "I hadn't known it at the time, but he was much more experienced than I was."

I plowed on, knowing his brain was just about to short circuit with the amount of lust boiling in his veins.

"I'm just going to keep talking here, in case you change your mind. I know you might be embarrassed about the noise. In fact, I'm going to continue meeting you on an equal footing, Jonathan. I'm going to tell you some things I haven't told anyone since my ex-husband."

He was panting now like he'd run a marathon, and I heard the faint sound of him unbuttoning his fly, almost shocked that he hadn't already exploded in his pants. Maybe I'd caught him just after cleaning the pipes. Actually, that made a lot of sense given our past.

I heard him huff abruptly, and knew he was right on the edge of losing control. I was sick, but I couldn't stop myself. I was drenched down below with the thought of his huge cock ready to burst all over my living room floor. I felt my jaw convulse, dreaming of taking him into my mouth. Resisting the urge to frig myself right in front of him was one of the most challenging things I'd ever done. Oh, Jonathan, I know your plight!

"There's a box of tissues on the end table if you decide you need them." I hedged, acting as though I didn't know that he'd started to unzip himself.

"I never told you about him, did I?" I continued, "My ex-husband? Nick Cavallo; professional asshole. Now that was a man who could make a mess, if you know what I mean. So I can assure you that whatever you're experiencing is nothing I haven't seen before, Jonathan."

What was I doing? I felt drunk. Was I egging him on, or trying to bring him out of his shell? I'd lost all sight of my goal, but it just felt too good. I hadn't felt so liberated in a long time. I was probably making him uncomfortable, but I sensed that he might have been too deep in the grip of lust to care anymore.

"And he was big, down there. Huge even. But I liked that. I was young, only 24 when we met, and...and he felt good. The way he stretched me, made me feel full. Women like that, you know. They might say that size doesn't matter, but it does."

I breathed in, recalling the sublime feel of that powerful, vascular cock in my pussy, imagining that sweet Jonathan might pick up the torch that the asshole had dropped.

I smelled his masculine musk waft over to me as he released his python into the apartment air, bringing me from drenched to soaking down below. Oh, sweet boy, how I desire you!

"I have a confession, Jonathan, if you'll hear it." Pausing for a moment for effect, I continued, "I like boys that are different. Messy boys. It's the sign of a virile man you know, and what woman doesn't like her man virile?"