Sweet Jonathan Pt. 02

"No problem!" he said, cracking his knuckles in a show of confidence, "my mom says I'm pretty good at massages. She has me rub her shoulders sometimes when she has to work overtime."

"Ah, you're a lifesaver," I praised, "I just need to take off my stockings."

I left to do as I'd indicated and returned a moment later, smooth legs naked under my long, billowy skirt. I sat down at the opposite side of the couch and put my feet on the pillow he had in his lap. Sadly, the pillow was too thick to feel the steel shaft that I knew lay beneath.

"Thank you so much for this, Jonathan."

"Anytime," he chirped with a smile, rubbing his hands briskly to warm them up before taking my left foot in hand, "after all, it's the least I can do for you."

I was pretty sure that was meant differently than how I'd taken it, but I felt my cheeks color at his words. He set to work, pressing the pads of his thumbs into the deep tissue of my arch, inching upward toward the ball of my foot in little circular motions.

"Ohhhhh, Jonathan. That feels divine. My...goodness...your hands..." I commended as my aching muscles melted under the unyielding pressure of his iron grip, "...are magic," I winced as he pressed a little too hard, getting an immediate apology from the boy while he eased up a shade, "Good God, Jonathan, how are you so strong?"

He gave me a trace of a smile, responding, "Er, I'm not, really, but some of it's from rock climbing, I guess."

"Rock climbing? Well, aren't you full of surprises? No wonder those hands of yours feel so tough." I said, impressed.

He nodded, "A few years ago my mom's ex-boyfriend brought me with him one time. It was fun, and he said I took to it quickly. We would go up to Muscapatuck every week or so to free climb Eagle Rock. When he and my mom split up, I tried to keep up with it, but it's not the same doing it by yourself."

"I understand. Hey, what if...would you ever want to take me?"

"You mean like, the two of us?"

"Why not? You could show me a thing or two. Might be fun -- me being the student, and you the teacher," I smirked, "A little role reversal. What do you say?"

His small smile broadened as he paused his rubbing, looking up at me. "Yeah, that sounds awesome!"

The teenager expertly worked at the tissue and tendons of my heel, manipulating my foot this way and that with his other hand. I closed my eyes and surrendered to bliss, wondering what other delightful surprises this young man had in store for me.

"Um, I hope it doesn't make me sound creepy, but you have really pretty feet, Mia," he said, eyes downcast and still focused on his chore, "they're so...dainty. Sorry if that's sexist or something, but they just look so feminine. And your skin is so soft and silky, even your heels."

I flushed at his praise, "Why thank you, Jonathan. Please, feel free to pay me as many compliments as you wish. When it comes to praise, I'm just like the rest of womankind: a ravenous, bloodsucking monster, and too many is not enough. Remember that." I said, raising a finger to drive the point home. He chortled in response. "And in point of fact I've always prided myself on taking good care of my skin; it's nice to know my efforts haven't gone to waste." Subtly, I pulled up on the fabric of my skirt to raise the hemline, exposing the lower contours of my creamy calves.

"Now, where were we?" I continued, "Oh, yes, Isabel."

"Actually, can we talk about something else? We always talk about me, and it's a little depressing, really. How 'bout we talk about you? Why don't you tell me about your boyfriend."

"I'm...that is, I'm in-between boyfriends, at the moment."

His eyes got round, and he paused his massage in surprise, "Gosh, I'm kinda shocked. I bet you could have any guy you wanted. Not to sound like a jerk, but why don't you?"

"I don't know," I mused, "Lots of reasons, I suppose. Let's just say I'm holding out for someone special. Why, are you interested in filling the position?" I delivered the innuendo with my slinkiest smile.

His face turned scarlet, letting go of my foot with one hand to push down on the pillow, "S-stop, Miss Belsor."

"Stop what, Jonathan?" I said in a low, smoky voice, leaning closer to him and surreptitiously brushing the end of my shawl to one side to expose the deep cleavage that my low-cut shirt showcased.

"You-you like to tease me."

I felt the deep satisfaction of a lioness that had cornered her prey. Wanting nothing more than to pounce on him -- literally -- I stifled the impulse. "I'm sorry, Jonathan, I'm a wicked woman. I know it must be difficult for you, especially with your condition, but I can't tell you how good you make me feel when you look at me like that. It's awful, I know, but I see you sitting there like a frightened rabbit, and...it does things to this old woman's vanity. Will you forgive me, Jonathan?"

He looked down, saying nothing for a moment while he studied the pillow in his lap, and I felt tremendous remorse. I knew I had pushed too hard, but it just felt so good. I'd never felt so alive or desired. That power was addicting.

Throwing caution to the wind, I slid down the couch to sidle up to his timid form and embraced him tightly. The smell of him was intoxicating from so near, and I wanted more than anything to pull the pillow aside and kneel before him, apologizing with my breasts on his cock. Spend all night seeking his forgiveness by giving him pleasure as he'd never experienced. Show the sweet boy all the ways a woman could care for her man.

Whispering in his ear, I said, "I'm truly sorry, Jonathan, but I need to be honest with you." He hadn't looked up, and the feel of his trembling body in my arms was at once exciting and a reminder of my guilt. "I...care for you."

He looked up and met me with deep blue puppy dog eyes. Those round portals were so close I felt like I might be sucked into their depths, never to surface again.

Momentarily, I fought doubt. Terror filled me about how he might respond to the truth, but it was a splinter inside me, and I was determined to draw it out. I couldn't keep up the farce anymore, I just couldn't. I went on, "Some of it is teasing -- and for that, I'm deeply sorry -- but not all of it. And that, perhaps, is even worse. The truth is that I've come to care for you as...more than a student.

"To the woman in me, you are an attractive, sweet, caring man. One that I desperately hope might return my affections." I regarded him sheepishly, "But the mature adult and educator inside tell me that to pursue such feelings would be not only immoral but could be damaging to you as an adolescent trying to find love for the first time. And yet, I can't deny that this latter part of me is fighting a losing battle."

I paused, to let him reflect on what I'd said. It was a lot to absorb, and I still felt conflicted about it, but there was no taking it back now. After a pregnant minute, I released him from my embrace, sitting back to regard him.

"Miss Belsor, I...I'm flattered, but..." He struggled to find the words.

I patted his hand, "Shhh, it's okay, no need to speak now. But I would have you listen to one final confession: though I am profoundly afraid of what might come of this revelation, I do not regret having made it. And do you know why?"

He shook his head, finally looking up at me.

"I meant to lay my heart bare to you to help you understand that you are a person of merit." I enunciated these last words to drive the point home, "The fear and hesitation you feel when you are with Isabel are for the 'you' that you believe exists in her mind. That is NOT the real you. It is the 'you' that your mother has taught you to be ashamed of and to hide. But it is nothing but a warped facsimile; it is a lie. I am revealing a very damning truth about myself to show you that the real 'you' -- the one that exists in my head and likely other women like Isabel -- is beautiful, and desirable, and most importantly, worthy of love."

His head was bowed, and I caught a tear dropping to the pillow below him. The subtle shaking of his shoulders made my heart fracture into pieces. Sitting up on my knees with legs folded under me to gain some height, I gently drew his shaking head to my warm breast. For a time, I felt nothing but tension in his posture as he resisted me, but soon I felt his muscles unclench, and he sagged into my yielding bosom.

Stroking his head, I murmured sweet nothings to him, feeling each tear that fell upon my breast as a dagger chipping at my heart. Fervently I hoped that each quiet sniffle served as one more step on the path of healing for the beautiful adolescent.

Soon, his silent sobbing had abated, and he looked away, trying to conceal the wiping of his tears. He mastered himself, and sat apart from me, still unable to look at me.

With as much tenderness as I could summon, I asked, "Feel better, Jonathan?"

His wavy locks bounced with his nodding head.

"I am sorry," I continued, "please don't be mad at me. I want you to know, I am here for you anytime you need me. I mean that." Trying to inject some levity, I joked, "I know these huge things aren't good for much aside from giving me backaches, but I'm told they make some pretty fine pillows."

Ribbing him with an elbow, I goaded, "Eh? Eh?"

My heart jumped when I heard his explosive exhale signal a solitary laugh. I longed for him to comfort me in turn, assuring me that not only would he not report this to the authorities, but that he shared my feelings. But I knew better. He was a teenager, after all, and had no clue how to deal with these emotions.

Feeling compelled to fill the silence, I kept babbling, "Well, anyway, I really hope we can still be friends, and if you decide you want to do something with this information, then I'll understand." My words were deliberately vague.

Just then he turned and cracked a smile at me, and the frozen, shattered pieces of my heart melted into a warm, pounding whole once more.

"Thank you, Mia. I think I...needed that. You're the kindest and most wonderful woman I ever knew, and I'm never going to forget what you said to me." He looked up at the clock on the wall, "Looks like we still have a good hour or so, how 'bout we watch a movie or something?"

A massive swell of happiness surged up through my gut. "You're on! I'll get some snacks, you pick something out -- anything you want. The remote is right there; just hit the red button." I pointed to it while prancing to the kitchen. Once out of sight, I hugged myself and twisted back and forth in girlish glee.

Grabbing some drinks and popcorn, I returned, chirping, "Hope you like butter!"

"Definitely!" he responded. Having settled on one of those comic book hero movies, he pressed 'play', and I settled on the other side of the couch while the intro rolled, setting the bowl of popcorn between us. We each reached for it, bumping hands awkwardly.

"Sorry, this is..." I muttered.

He laughed sympathetically, "I know, right?" The next thing he did shocked me to my core -- jerking his head in his direction, he patted the couch next to him, "Sit here, we'll share it this way."

A huge grin bloomed on my face, and I slid down to snug up to him, pulling my legs up under me in the other direction. For the next ninety minutes, I sailed on an ocean of happy thoughts and dreaded only that the night should end.

At some point I laid my head on his broad shoulder, relishing the warmth of his body. To honor the progress that he'd made this evening, I chose to avoid teasing him further. Though I badly wanted to, there would be plenty of time for that later. Finally, as all things do, the evening ended. We had to stop the movie unfinished, as we'd already run nearly thirty minutes overtime and wanted to avoid trouble with his mother.

Making our way to the door, I grabbed his warm hand in both of mine, giving it a squeeze. "Thank you again, Jonathan, for your thoughtful gift. And remember what I told you. You're a good man, Jonathan Haddock. Own it."

His eyes crinkled in a smile. "I will, Mia, thank you." And he left.

I turned back into my apartment once more, cleaning up the dishes and letting the weight of what had transpired finally settle in. I'd put myself out there, and there was no taking that back. It was scary, but as before, I trusted Jonathan.

As I lie in bed that night, thinking of Jonathan and touching myself as I often did, my dreams of him were tender. I sat upon his hips, my sex impaled on his towering manhood, while I languorously writhed atop him. His hands kneaded the lush globes of my ass while I dangled my huge breasts over his chiseled torso, feeling each plane of his defined muscles with my sensitive nipples. His touch was gentle and yet sure as he explored my satiny skin, giving slow, subtle thrusts to feel the friction of our mating parts. I mewled with pleasure when he took my rigid nipples into his mouth, slavishly worshipping them. With a cry of pleasure, I reached my peak and bent down fully to embrace my lover tightly, feeling his warm spend pump into me over and over again, filling me up as I came down from my sublime high. Rolling over, I put my back to him, drew his arm around me, couched it between my mammoth breasts, and drifted off to sleep.

**********************

The next few weeks I recall as some of the best of my life as Jonathan and I became closer. I had promised the boy that I would stop teasing him sexually. And I kept my word. What I left unsaid -- but was readily evident in the ensuing weeks -- was that I would continue to make lewd promises with my body in ways that I would be glad to act upon, should he decide he wished.

When we sat together to study, I'd press him closely, absently squishing my large breasts into his arm and chest, providing a constant reminder of my lush abundance. When it came to couch time, I'd lay down, putting my feet in his lap to beg for foot massages. Even laying my head on his ever-present pillow while snaking the arm I lay on under his thigh to embrace it. Sitting next to him, I'd hold his hand as we listened to music or spoke, hooking his leg with mine and stroking his foot sensuously with my own. Or snuggle into his side, pulling his arm around my waist to draw his hand to my curvaceous hip, holding him there with my own.

My advances were strategic in intent -- all an endeavor to get him accustomed to human contact. To make him appreciate how fulfilling the feel of another's touch could be. At a subconscious level, to understand my body yearned to be close to his, and that he deserved such intimate contact. I knew the limits of his comfort, however, and did not force myself on him, keeping it from becoming blatantly sexual -- albeit highly suggestive -- regardless of how badly I desired to engage him in more indulgent ways.

He never resisted, but I could read the tension of his body in his hands, his rigid posture, his unceasingly restless leg. But in time, these telltales began to fade as he let me insinuate myself into his physical space.

I began thinking of these study sessions as dates, and looked forward to them as the highlights of my week, sure to prepare for each in such a way as to make it as perfect as possible. My makeup and hair were ever immaculate; soft and enticing. My attire, carefully selected to showcase my voluptuous body for him, offering it in ways that he might leer without fear of reproachment; to look away or close my eyes, begging him to boldness; to sate his inner carnivore on the visual feast of nubile flesh that I prepared for him. Though it was now winter, I ran the heat non-stop to encourage as much skin-on-skin contact as possible.

For his part, Jonathan began to laugh more readily, and speak more freely around me, encouraged as he was by my gentle persistence to erode the defensive barricades that he had erected after long years of mental maltreatment. We hadn't spoken again about the night I'd shared my secret with him, but I wore it openly, refusing to retreat to a more appropriate professional distance unless we were in public. Perhaps profoundly, that night marked the last time he had asked me for advice about Isabel, and when prompted for details of his exploits with the girl, he would equivocate, maintaining that they were 'just good friends'.

"Mmmm, thank you, Jonathan," I groaned my appreciation for yet another skillful foot massage, "I have no idea what I did before you came along."

He gave me a warm smile, his gorgeous eyes comfortably meeting my own, "Anytime, Mia." Just then, his expression changed, "Oh, shoot, I just remembered. I have bad news."

Sitting up in alarm, I asked, "What is it?"

"Uh, my mom said I can't tutor with you anymore."

Oh, no... What had she learned? I schooled my expression. "Oh? What do you mean?"

"She said I don't need the tutoring now that I was accepted to college, and she needs the money to go elsewhere." He looked uncomfortable, almost ashamed.

My tension released, and I squeezed his hand. "Ah, right. Well, I suppose that makes sense. But...I'd hoped that you might think of our time together as...more than just tutoring."

"I do! Very much so!" he said, "I love hanging out with you, Mia." I smiled, leaning into his shoulder to give him a one-armed hug. "But...I don't have a job right now. I might be able to...I do have some money in my savings account. That can probably cover it until the end of-"

"Stop, Jonathan, please!" I held up my hand, "I feel horrible enough as it is, taking your mother's money to hang out with you and get my feet rubbed. I'm just happy to hear that you enjoy our time together. I'd gladly continue our arrangement for free, but the question is: wouldn't your mother become suspicious if she said she could no longer pay and I just continued tutoring you for free? It would certainly make me wonder what was going on here if I were her."

He bit his lip in thought. "Hmm, you might be right. Well, I could just tell her the truth: that I like spending time with you and you've been giving me good advice."

"Ahh, regrettably, Jonathan, I'd like to avoid any implication of a personal relationship between us. It could...raise some eyebrows. At least until you graduate, anyway."

He nodded, "Alright. Well, what if I just lied to her? I could tell her I'm going to the library to use their computers. The only one we have at home is old and crappy, so it's not much of a stretch."

My brows furrowed, "Hmm, let me think on this. It doesn't sit right with me to let you carry this burden. I'm a grown woman, and I need to own this. Somehow."

"Well, if you insist..." he responded.

"Right then. A problem for another day." I nodded firmly, eyes filled with anticipation, "Now c'mon," I said, flipping the remote to him while I got up and skipped to the kitchen, "I want to see what Homelander does with Stormfront! Queue up the next episode, will you?"

From the living room, Jonathan called out a handful of seemingly mundane words that nevertheless made my heart sing: "Hey Mia, can you grab me a coke?" It probably doesn't sound like much, but I reeled at his casual request for a favor. He'd never asked me for anything. I felt glee at the deepening of our relationship, and I chirped a response, "You got it, Babe."