The Schoolteacher and the Marine

This is going to turn into the worst vacation of my life, thought Carol Livingston as she rubbed suntan lotion on her body. First, Frank cancels out at the last minute because of that crummy trial. That's the third time in twelve years of marriage he does this, the third damn time, Mr. Big Time Prosecutor. Then the damn airlines losses my luggage and I am forced to borrow Rita's clothing and she's one or two sizes smaller than I am. I'm embarrassed to wear this white mesh string bikini. This outfit barely covers my nipples and crotch. I'm exposing my tits to the world and the beach waiter was staring directly at my breasts while he took the order. It was embarrassing to be ogled.

"Carol you look tense," Rita said, interrupting her thoughts, "Relax. Have another margarita. Enjoy the beach. "

"It's such crap," Carol answered, "I spend nine months teaching history to thirty-two high school students and my vacation starts with Frank canceling and my luggage getting lost."

"Don't worry about it," Rita answered as she waved to a passing waiter, "The insurance will pay for the loss and you can have a fling. I'll get you a date."

Rita, a television editor, was twice divorced. The two thirty-four year old women had been good friends since high school, although their personalities and physical appearances contrasted. Rita had chestnut hair and green eyes with a body to match her wild side. Carol was taller, heavier and better endowed with more orthodox moral views. She wore her black hair in a mane of curls that dripped halfway down her neck.

"A date?" Carol remarked, "I'm a married lady."

"Several hundred miles from home."

"I didn't leave my morals at home."

"Morality is the most flexible word in the dictionary."

"Really, Rita..."

"Yes. Think about it. What's moral for Christians is not necessarily moral for Muslims or Mormons or for some tribe in the Amazon. Morality is flexible. Everywhere you turn the corner the rules change."

"I'm sure," Carol answered, "but not for me. I can't be unfaithful to Frank."

"You mean to tell me you haven't cheated in twelve years of marriage?"

"No," she answered, "once almost."

"Really. When?"

"Earlier this year. I went to a charity party without Frank and I was angry and had a few drinks and ended up in the parking lot with Charlie, who's an English teacher. We just made out like high school kids and he felt me up, but that was all."

"That's it?"

"Yeah. I would not cheat on Frank. I didn't initiate the thing with Charlie. He didn't ask for permission, he just told me he was going to kiss me and I let him do it. Then he started to feel me up and I began to protest and he hushed me softly. His hands went into my blouse and up my skirt and I played with him through his pants, without taking it out. A security car entering the parking lot interrupted us. Perhaps I would have continued but I don't think so. Anyway, I don't want to cheat on Frank."

"Okay, relax. Check out the view and imagine a fantasy."

"What are you talking about?"

"You silly girl. Either the first margarita hit you hard or the sun has fried your brain. Over there, on the left, near the palm tree."

Carol looked, seeing two well-muscled young men in swim trunks setting up a beach umbrella.

"U.S. Marines," Rita sighed, "government inspected prime meat."

"How do you know they are marines?"

"One guy just removed a red T-shirt with the emblem and they are both wearing dogtags."

"You are a regular detective, Rita."

"Enjoy the view. Wouldn't one of them be better than Frank?"

Carol did not answer. Her sex life with Frank, she pondered, had been narrowed down to unimaginative quickies sandwiched in between trials and depositions. Frank had turned into a flabby workaholic and the last two years of their marriage had been frustrating. Over the last few months she had occasionally imagined a sexual situation with a stranger. The incident with Charlie had excited her, as she had not been in years. Carol had not pursued the relationship but had often masturbated to the memory of her only sexual adventure as a married woman.

"Oh my God, Carol, check out the new arrival," Rita whispered, "he's bigger than a truck."

A third man joined the two marines. The new arrival was dressed in sandals, black swim shorts, a watch, a pair of dark shades and his dogtag insignia. He was six-three, two hundred and forty pounds of solid muscle with a washboard stomach. His blonde hair was cut an inch long on the top and shaved on the sides. The marine had a well-trimmed mustache.

"Wouldn't you like to spend a weekend with him?"

"I am married."

"I am not discussing reality, honey. Can you imagine being in bed under that man?"

"Yes," Carol said, "just as a fantasy, of course."

"Honey, he's huge, two pounds short of a horse."

"You are a slut, Rita," Carol said laughing.

"Look at him. Tell me you would not want to spend a couple of hours in a foxhole with him. Compare him to normal men and it's like a truck and compact cars."

Carol looked at the muscled leatherneck, noticing that even from a few hundred feet away she could see his tanned skin glistening in the sunlight, the muscles rippling as he moved, bending over to pick up a beer from the cooler, then straightening and stretching his body like a jungle animal. He swigged the cold beer tipping his head back, his thick biceps shining in the sunlight.

Rita is on the money, Carol thought, he is a prime slab of beef. I've never in my life been to bed with any man resembling this guy.

"He's looking this way and smiling at us," Rita said, "We could be dating the proud, the few, this very afternoon."

"Not interested."

"He's coming this way," Rita said, "let me do the talking. You are married but I am not and he is just what I need."

The big marine approached them, swigging his beer as he walked.

"Well," he said as he came near, "You are a long way from Dayton, Mrs. Livingston."

"Whaaat?" Carol was stunned; "Who are you?"

"Mike Williams. Second seat, first row, third hour American History."

"That's...Oh, my God!"

She remembered him as a shy, rawboned eighteen-year old with unkempt butter hair worn long, nothing like this mountain of human flesh and muscle in front of her. He sat across from Rita and Carol, in one of the empty wood lounge chairs. Carol suddenly felt vulnerable, aware of her half-exposed breasts. Was he ogling her tits?

"I haven't seen you in years. You have changed, Mike."

"In more ways than one. Five years in the marines and I'm seventy pounds heavier than when I left high school."

"None of it fat, I bet," Rita said, cutting into the conversation.

"Oh...excuse me. This is my friend Rita. Mike. Rita."

"Pleasure," Rita said, "are you stationed around here?"

"Yes," he answered, "I'm a sergeant in a heavy-weapons platoon at Pensacola."

They talked as Carol finished her second margarita and started on her third, feeling slightly buzzed. The conversation centered on their high school, the football and track teams and news gossip about former students. Carol was feeling at ease. As they talked she could not see his eyes hidden behind dark shades, but wondered if Mike was staring at her breasts. In her drunken buzz her eyes wandered once or twice towards the large bulge in his shorts.

This is wrong, she thought, it's wrong to be aroused by my former student. I'm at least ten years older than he is, maybe more, but he is soooo fine. His legs are massive, like tree trunks and he has that six-pack stomach, a huge muscled rear end and a prominent bulge between his legs. He is a hunk and he knows it. Mike doesn't seem to be a shy boy anymore. I've never had a man that big and strong.

Halfway through the third margarita, Rita excused herself "for a few minutes," leaving them alone.

"Is Mr. Livingston here?" Mike asked as soon as Rita left.

"No, he could not come," she answered, "he was delayed by a trial."

"Excellent," he answered, "Let's get together tonight."

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"Let's get together. You and I."

"You are not serious," she retorted, a touch of nervous anxiety in her voice, "I mean...it would not be proper."

"Maybe not," he answered, shrugging, "But it would be great for both of us."

"I don't think so...Mike, I am married," she said, looking down, embarrassed, avoiding his gaze."

"It doesn't matter."

"Of course it does."

"I've wanted you since high school."

"Well," she said, nervously, "I am very flattered..."

"Do you know how many times I beat my meat thinking about you?"

"What! Mike, this conversation..."

"Probably twenty or thirty times in two semesters."

"This conversation is over," Carol said angrily as she started to rise from her chair, "I can't believe..."

"Sit down," he said, his voice a stern command, "and listen to me."

Carol Livingston sat down at once, a little surprised at her own reaction of obeying her former student. She was embarrassed, momentarily speechless at the inability to cope with the situation, looking away from Mike, eyes downward on the warm sand, avoiding his stare. The big marine read her body language, understanding that somewhere in Carol Livingston there was a submissive streak, a desire to be ordered.

"Listen to me until I'm finished," he said, "first look at me."

"Mike, I..."

"Carol," he said using her first name for the first time, "Listen to me. You have a terrific body. I spent the better part of two semesters staring at your ass and tits and I played with myself as did most other males and probably a few females in our class, thinking about fucking you..."

Carol gasped but did not move. The young man in front of her had transfixed her with his command to sit and stunned her speechless with his raw language. Frank had never ordered her around in such a manner or even talked in such a vulgar way. She was both repelled and attracted to his brutal crudeness ...Mike was twenty-three but his physical presence exuded power.

"Every high school boy has a fantasy about a teacher. You were mine and my choice was a good one. You look great in that swim suit."

"I...look..."

"Hear me out. You do look good. Very nice tits. Now answer me and don't lie: have you ever been unfaithful to Mr. Livingston?"

"No," she answered, her voice tinged with anxiety, "never..."

"So now we have the opportunity to satisfy each other's fantasies. You are a married woman but I doubt if you are really sexually satisfied. Most married women are unsatisfied; they just won't admit it to themselves. So here's your chance. We are both adults and I will satisfy you beyond sanity. Don't look at the ground, look at me. Yes, I can see it in your eyes, you are curious. You wonder what it would be like and now you have a chance. If you don't try it then you will wonder for the rest of your life what my meat tastes like or what it would feel like to be entered, fucked deeply..."

"You are rude," she said using her tough-teacher act, "I resent your vulgarity..."

"Bullshit, you love it," he interrupted her, "look at how hard your nipples are. You love dirty, raw language. You are wet down there, aren't you?"

Carol Livingston stared at the young sergeant, dumbstruck.

"It turns you on doesn't it? Would you like me to continue talking to you crudely?"

The schoolteacher did not answer, shifting nervously in her lounge chair.

"Answer me," he said softly, "do you want me to talk dirty, Mrs. Livingston?"

Carol nodded slowly.

"Tell me."

"Yes," she said, her voice cracking slightly.

"I am staying at this hotel in Room 412," he said looking at his watch, "It's now two o'clock. I will go to my room now and I expect you there in ten minutes. What's my room number?"

"Room 412, but I...I can't. Mike, I am a teacher, not a slut."

"You want to be a slut," he answered smiling, "your nipples are hard and your face is flushed. You are hungry for my cock and you know it. No one is forcing you here, but you know you want it."

"I don't."

"Yes, you do and I'll prove it. Remove your top."

"Here? Are you crazy?"

"It's a beach. Others are topless. Take it off."

Carol grimaced but obeyed, wincing as she saw his head nod slightly as her nipples were exposed.

"I told you to do it," he said with a wicked smile, "but I did not force you. You are the one who wants it. Room 412. Be there. My cock will be inside you very soon, Mrs. Livingston."

Mike walked towards the hotel leaving Carol sitting alone, her naked breasts exposed to the sunlight and the eyes of a passing waiter.

What's happening here? she wondered. Why did I obey him like that? It's not just that he looks like he's carved out of granite, it's also his attitude. It's true that he is not forcing me and I did whatever he said and I am soaked between the legs. Oh, my God, I have a chance at adultery with a former student and I don't want to be unfaithful to my husband but on the other hand Mike is right. I would grow old wondering what it would be like...should I go? Do I want to be a slut with my former student?

She tied the top back up, stood up and searched for Rita, who was nowhere to be seen. Trembling with anticipation she walked towards the hotel. A passing bellhop stared at her as she walked, flesh jiggling around the white mesh bikini, moons of her ass glistening with suntan oil. The ogling did not bother her this time, for she was warm with desire, bursting with nervous anticipation, trying to convince herself to turn back, but walking on.

She knocked on the door, with anxious hesitation.

"Come in."

Mike was sitting in the king-sized bed, wearing only his dark shorts.

"Stand there by the table and don't move," he said, "you will answer my questions. Why did you come here? Don't look at the floor, look at me."

"I...look, Mike. It's not right...and I am married..."

"You can leave anytime you want, Mrs. Livingston. You are not forced to do anything, but you are here because you want to fuck, don't you, Carol?" . "No...I mean... yes," she answered in a voice that was a soft whimper.

"Good. Now take off the swim suit and stand there naked."

She was turned on by the way he was treating her, the total control off her actions. Carol was used to being in control in her classroom, but here she was totally dominated by his animal attraction. She could smell his beach oil, saltwater skin from the ten feet that separated them. He was the first man other than her husband to see her naked in a dozen years. She was nervous; wondering what the twenty-three year old slab of muscles was going to demand next.

"You have a sweet ass, Mrs. Livingston. I am going to enjoy you."

He stood up and walked behind her. She could not see him but could feel his presence, his breath and body heat. He did not touch her but was breathing on the nape of her neck as he talked.

"A student always wonders about a teacher. When did you lose your cherry, Carol?"

"That's... rather personal."

"Fucking you is rather personal, Carol. Do you want to leave?"

"I...no."

"No, what?"

"I...I want to stay."

"So answer the question, Mrs. Livingston," he said as he removed his shorts while standing behind her, so she could not see him yet, anticipating his nakedness.

"I...his name was Jeff and it was in my senior year in high school.."

"Go on."

"His parents were away for the day and he took my virginity on the living room couch. One minute we were making out and then we were naked. He...straddled my face and put...you know, in my mouth...and then afterwards, he opened my legs and entered me. It was over fast."

"And what is the best fuck you've ever had, Mrs. Livingston?"

"Mmm...many....I..."

"You can't remember? You can't remember the one that was perfect?"

"I...I don't know...I'm so confused."

"Be quiet. Enjoy, but do not move."

She felt his hands around her waist and gasped as they moved upwards, playing with her nipples, teasing softly or pinching harder, sending shivers through her body. She felt his meat rubbing against the crack of her ass as his tongue licked her neck and earlobe.

Carol Livingston felt Mike's left hand sliding down her belly, three fingers playing lightly with her slit as she could feel his massive body behind her, his meat rubbing against her ass cheeks.

"Do you want to be fucked, Mrs. Livingston?"

"Yes," she moaned, "yes, please."

"Not yet. On your knees."

She kneeled, the hotel carpet rug rough against her skin. He continued to stand behind her, this time using his cock to caress the back and sides of her neck, or curling his meat tube into her dark hair.

"Did you ever fuck one of your students?"

"Not yet. "

"Do you suck your husband's cock a lot?"

"Not enough...oh, please do something. You are driving me crazy."

"What does my favorite teacher want? Tell me all about it."

"Oh, I...the teacher wants cock." She blurted out the words.

"Where?"

"Please, Mike..."

"Do you want to leave?"

"No..."

"Then tell me what and where?"

"I want cock...anywhere. In my mouth."

He walked around her and his cock was suddenly inches from her face, a long and thick tube with a large purple mushroom head.

"Take it, Mrs. Livingston. Suck my cock like a Bangkok whore."

Her arms encircled his legs; her fingernails raking his massive ass as she opened her mouth to receive him, his head sliding on her tongue. He ran his hands through her hair, guiding her head as he fucked her mouth.

"Oh, Carol, " he said as his cock moved back and forth upon her lips, "If your students could see you now...Carol Livingston, slut teacher naked on her knees, sucking dick. That's it. Lick the underside."

The schoolteacher had lost her inhibitions. While husband Frank was in a Dayton courthouse prosecuting a case, wife Carol was on her knees, naked in a hotel room, stuffing a thick cock in her mouth. The anxiety had vanished as the young marine clasped her mane of dark hair pushing her forward against his hard belly.

"Put one hand between your legs and play with yourself," he said and she obeyed, her fingers caressing her clit. She was intensely aroused, ready to orgasm, thrilled by the wickedness of the moment.

"Are you ready to come?" he asked and she mumbled an affirmative while sucking on his meat.

"Then let's come together," he said, "go ahead. Enjoy it."

He exploded in her mouth and she contracted with orgasmic spasm even as she swallowed him, his thick load coating her mouth, making her almost gag as she came again, her fingers buried between her legs.

She felt woozy and weak but Mike helped her to the bed, placing her on all fours on the bed. One of his hands caressed the globes of her ass, moving down, fingers playing with her mound.

"What do you want, Mrs. Livingston?" he asked.

"I..can't believe this is happening..."

"It is. What do you want?"

"I...want you to fuck me." Her voice was cracking with anxiety for his fingers moving softly up and down her slit were driving her mad with desire.

"On one condition."

"What? Mike, please don't play games with me."

"I'm not," he said, the tips of his fingers caressing her wet gash, "I am not forcing you to do anything you don't want to do."

"What is it? Oh...please, Mike, you are driving me crazy."

"My two buddies and I are like the three musketeers. One for all and all for one. So after I fuck you, they will have you also."

She turned around in bed, moving away from Mike.

"Are you insane?"

"Probably. You have to be a little out of your mind to be a good marine. So what do you say?"

"Forget it. You are an animal."

He stood up and reached for his shorts.

"That's fine. I'll guess you will be leaving now."

"Mike...I...it's not fair..."

"Sure it is. I'm not forcing you to do anything. It's your own choice and you make your decision. You want to skip the fuck, go ahead and leave."