The Zip Files Bk. 01: Zip Unzips Ch. 06

She had bought it for a date night that had ended up being canceled, and which had never been rescheduled. She had not worn it since trying it on in the dressing room. She had remembered her impression at that time being that it was 'a bit racy'. In the event, she spent the entire day walking around feeling like she already might as well have just come in naked. Every single time she bent over even a little bit, she had worried she was flashing someone behind her; or that her tits were about to spill out the front - or both.

But there was one thing she could say in the slutty little red dress's favor. She had not had a dry moment at any point, the entire fucking day.

Finally, after much circuitous driving, and having run through the above-recounted events in her head several times, Denise finally turned into Zip's neighborhood. She pulled over a couple blocks shy of where the GPS said his house was, since she didn't want anyone happening to take a picture of her car parked right outside.

Denise drove a sporty red convertible with a self-lowering top; which was appropriate since the exact same description could apply to what she was wearing, at least based on how often she had had to keep tugging her decolletage back up. She kept the top down as she parallel parked - mostly to help her see better, since the one thing she feared more than being seen down here was getting into a fender-bender and generating a police report. Having, after a couple tries, finally gotten her car securely into one of the few spaces available along the narrow older street, she finally climbed out, stood up next to her car, and looked around.

All around her were beautiful old buildings - most with bronze historical markers on them listing their dates of construction. The dates were mostly over a century old. The houses were generally small and narrow, set close together, on tiny lots. But they still had a stately quality, often towering close to the street, with ornate woodwork and vines growing up the sides. Big old trees grew among them, providing ample shade - yet still letting through the late sunlight, to keep the place warm.

Denise looked from gorgeous older home to gorgeous older home, and slowly shook her head.

"I'm almost certainly going to get fucking mugged," she said.

Old Town San Cajetan, as the name implied, was the oldest surviving neighborhood in the city. Not, it should be noted, the oldest neighborhood. That would be the waterfront, where the city had started its life as a fishing village. But, while they had few qualms about letting the old buildings along the beach get torn down to make way for large hotels and resorts, when redevelopment had started to extend further back into Old Town the city council had suddenly grown a conscience with regards to historical preservation.

This was not, of course, out of any actual sense of principle. Their main concern, so far as Denise knew, was to make sure that there were still some bits of 'historic San Cajetan' left that could have pictures taken of them for the tourism brochures. But, regardless: the bronze plaques all around her were a booby-prize, indicating that the building in question was subject to extremely strict limits on how it could be remodeled. In particular, you weren't allowed to touch the outer facade at all, or alter the footprint in any way.

The result was that the district was frozen as if in amber. The homes down here might be beautiful - but they were by and large far too small and cramped by modern standards for the current residents of San Cajetan to want to actually live there. With very few exceptions, they had all been converted into either short-term vacation rentals, or to businesses geared towards the tourists staying in them: bars, coffee houses, little shops full of twee tchotchkes, and the like.

Being older, further from the beach, and therefore cheaper, accommodations here attracted a particular kind of tourist: more adventurous, generally without kids but with tighter budgets. College students and other young adults, mostly, plus the occasional foreigner trying to stretch out their dollar. This was true of most of the district save for the far northern end, where it started to bleed into the UCSJ student ghetto; whose population was much the same and also mostly transient, just over slightly longer timescales.

The result was that Old Town had a reputation among the actual residents of San Cajetan as 'the bad part of town, where the crimes happened'. This would, to be clear, have caused almost anyone not from the city, especially anyone actually from a high-crime area, to keel over with laughter. The only actual crimes coming out of Old Town tended to be the occasional barfight, mostly between tourists; or rashes of petty theft targeting the same. Actual serious violent crime hadn't been a problem since the days when Iron John stalked the region.

But, regardless of their origins or accuracy the standards of San Cajetan's residents were the ones they judged by, and as she looked around, Denise shivered in a way that had nothing to do with the pure blue skies or the warm late-afternoon air.

Reaching into her car, she pulled out a leather jacket and threw it on over her bare shoulders. Then, grabbing up her purse, she turned and started to strut away. She hit the clicker on her key fob, which caused the top of her car to come up and then lock with a little beep behind her.

Slowly, she walked down the street. Having deliberately parked a little ways away, she had some distance to go. As she walked her high heels clacked over cracked and broken pavement, and she passed numerous dark narrow crevices between the close-spaced old buildings. Drawing her jacket in closer, she shivered again - and kept walking.

Finally, she turned a corner - and found Zip sitting on the steps of his house, two doors down. He stood up when he saw her.

"C'mon up," he said.

She nodded, and approached - still looking around warily. Mostly, she was just trying to make sure nobody was in eyesight that would recognize her. But, the one good thing about Old Town was that this was extremely unlikely. The only other people she saw out on the street were a group of four late-season tourists. Two girls and two boys, they sat several houses down on the front porch of their air bnb, and were sharing a post-beach bottle of wine. The girls both had the colorful ties of their string bikinis dangling down out of the T-shirts they were wearing over them, and unbeknownst to Denise it had taken all Zip's willpower not to untie the strings or lift the shirts as he waited for her.

Taking one last look around, Denise assured herself that there really was no-one watching. Then, and only then, did she obediently start ascending Zip's steps.

Zip's house, like almost all the houses in this area, had a little bronze 'historical marker' plaque on it. Most of these were complete bullshit, whatever excuse the city could find to freeze that building. But as she climbed the steps, Denise noticed that Zip's plaque was a lot longer than the others - not the first such thing she had noticed about him of course - and, curious, leaned her head over and scanned it. Moments after she did it, her jaw dropped open.

"Oh, my God!" she said. Arriving at the top step, she reared back, her hands clutching tight to her purse. Sweeping her eyes up, she blinked up at the moldering old two-story home looming over her in surprise. "This is... THAT house?" she asked, staring at it as if she thought it might suddenly open up a maw and bite her.

"Yep," Zip answered, not having to ask her what she meant. "You didn't realize it from the address?"

"I... I don't exactly have it memorized. I'm a biology teacher, not a history teacher!" she reminded him. At the reminder of exactly what 'biology' she was about to be tutoring him on, she squirmed, and then looked back down. Eager to get her mind on something else for the moment, she looked him up and down. "Then, it must have been..."

"My mother's grandfather," Zip confirmed, opening up the door. "The guide buses still occasionally point us out as they go by. Now are you going to come in, or stay outside here and play tourist?"

"Coming," she told him - for all her misgivings she didn't want to stay outside and visible for one second longer than necessary - and stepped through the offered door.

Once inside, holding her purse tight against the bottom front of her dress, she slowly looked around, while he closed and bolted the door behind her. The interior of the house was in relatively good repair, but did not look like it had been remodeled in several decades. Eyeing the place, she had a hard time keeping the look of disgust off her face.

"Hold on, we need to disarm my mom," he said. He guided her to the living room and stood in the entrance, and had her just peek her head in - keeping her body out of view. "Hey, mom," he said. "Mrs. Sablier is here to tutor me. We're going to be in the basement - I set up a study area down there."

Inside, Zack's mom lounged back in an old armchair. She was a handsome woman, and clearly had once been gorgeous, but time had not been kind to her. Her feet up on an old coffee table she was binge-watching an old sitcom on their television. There was a nearly-empty bottle of wine on the floor next to her. "That sounds wonderful dear," she said, reaching down for the bottle - not looking away from the screen.

"I've never actually seen your mother," Denise admitted, craning her head to get another look around the doorway. "She always skips all the parent-teacher meetings..."

"She'll be asleep soon," Zack said. Taking his teacher's hand he led her to the basement, and started guiding her down it. Stepping carefully down the rickety stairs in her short skirt, Denise swallowed.

"Zack," she said. "I'm starting to have second thoughts. C-can we do this some oth-"

Then she gasped, as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Her head swept around, and her eyes got wide, as she took it all in.

The basement, Zip's lair, ran the entire footprint of the house. The stairs came down in the middle, turning it into essentially a rectangular donut. At the very base of the stairs a large leather couch waited; set out some ways from the wall so that it lay in the center of the space. In one corner, past the stairs to her left, lay his bed. In the other corner, past the stairs to her right, lay his desk with a monitor and keyboard on top of it. A futon, currently folded up in seat form, ran along the wall next to the desk.

All of the furnishings were aged but looked like they had originally been of quite good quality. Sort of like they had mostly been acquired second-hand when richer neighbors moved away or renovated - as indeed they had been.

But it was not really the furnishings or the layout that attracted Denise's attention. Instead, it was the cameras. There were several of them. Three video cameras, on tripods, were arrayed around the leather couch - making it quite obvious that this was the 'study area' Zip had referred to. Unlike the furniture, not only were they very good quality, they looked brand new. Two of the video cameras even had cutting-edge Tempus-branded auto-lenses, which whirred softly - and tracked back and forth slightly on their integrated mounts - to maintain a good view of her tits and her ass, respectively. In one corner, a professional-grade DSLR whirred and clicked quietly as it took a programmed series of still images. There was still more, on his shelves. Staring at it all, Denise shook his head.

"Zip..." she gasped, staring at one lens and then another in horror.

"It's to help me study up and review later," he promptly explained. "Plus, I already have plenty of you, so it's not like more will hurt."

Denise licked her lips, and then shook her head.

"That's... that's not what I'm objecting to," she lied. Her stomach did churn at the thought of being filmed having more sex with him... but she had more or less come in expecting that, even if she had thought it would just be his phone up on a little stand. "Zip, you are poor as shit... how did you afford all of this?!"

"Estate sales," Zip said, defensively.

This was a lie. It was true, San Cajetan did have a tendency to attract rich old men moving there to retire in their twilight years. And rich old men did have a tendency to buy way more high-end camera gear than they could ever use, and then fall over dead while much of it was still brand new. A similar effect would have applied to golf clubs and fishing gear, had he been in the market for them.

Outside of lusting after anything lady-shaped in eyeshot, photography and videography were basically Zip's only other hobbies. Though the two were strongly connected, as the idea of eventually making smutty recordings of the numerous beautiful bodies in his vicinity, if he ever got the chance, had been pretty much the entirety of Zip's motivation for getting into the field.

However, though he had acquired some of his stuff that way, it was not the actual source for most of it. It was actually mostly embezzled. But that is a story for another time, if it ever comes up, and the lie was good enough to satisfy Mrs. Sablier, so we may move on. Staring at one giant lens facing her and then another, she shook her head, and sighed.

"It is true... the rich old men of San Cajetan do both covet and neglect their toys," she admitted. Her voluptuous bottom squirmed back and forth, slightly, within her clingy red dress, a moment later.

"Sit down," Zip said, motioning her towards the couch.

She nodded - and did so. Strutting across the short space between the stairs and the couch - the two Tempus-equipped cameras tracking her every wiggle like little digital perverts as she did so - she turned and sunk her buxom hips down into the center of the couch. She lay her purse down just beside her. Then she turned her head and looked back up at Zip.

"What do you want from me?" she asked him.

"I want you to teach me," Zip told her.

"I already knew that," she said. She cocked her head, her eyes fixed on him. "What, precisely, is it that you want me to teach you?"

"I want you to teach me how to tame you," he said. He motioned towards her curvaceous form. "Your body, I mean," he specified. "And others just like it..."

Denise's lovely jaw dropped open a minute, and she stared at him. It was, to say the least, not quite the answer she had been expecting.

"I... I see," she said, squirming. "And - to 'tame' my body. Can you elaborate on... on exactly what it is you mean by that?"

Zip didn't have to think very long on that one.

"I want you to teach me to fuck you, so that you love it no matter what," he said. He pointed down at her hips. "That stuff you were talking about yesterday? The g-spot and the a-spot and all that? I read a little bit more about that last night. That sounds great," he said. "I want you to teach me how to hit that stuff every time. I want you to teach me how to fuck any girl so well, she'll come crawling back and beg me for more."

Denise Sablier stared at him for a second, and then swallowed.

"Well... I can't say you lack for ambition," she admitted. She took a deep breath, and then launched into the words she had been rehearsing in her head for most of the day.

"Zip," she told him. "If I may be blunt - that is a very juvenile and frankly very silly attitude. That stuff I was talking about, that you mentioned? Yes, it's nice and all - but if you want to actually please a woman, that's not what you should focus on. If you do, you're going to learn a lot of very bad habits - and you'll never get your wish."

She took a deep breath, knowing how he would react to the next bit - but then said it anyways.

"In fact," she said up to him, "if you're really serious about this; if you want to really learn how to do things properly, then I think we need to have a rule." She waved a finger back and forth. "No more sex. At all. For at least the first month... maybe longer."

"What?" Zip asked, shocked. "What the fuck would you 'teach' me then?"

"The things you actually need to know to please a real woman," she told him. "If you want to make a woman cum, Zip, then you need to treat her like a goddess - not just go straight for sex, nor just fuck her and call it done. So, if I were to outline a course, the first week, maybe two, would be just how to emotionally please your partner. Then foreplay. Then kissing. Then fingering - and then oral. You providing oral, not her. Basically you need to train yourself to see sex as your reward for pleasing your partner with every part of you except your penis, rather than the main - or for that matter only - event."

Zip's brow furrowed, and he frowned. "I don't know about that..." he said.

Taking a deep breath, Denise sat up higher on the couch, and then gave him a stern look. She had hoped it wouldn't come to this, that he would see reason without it. But clearly, she needed to let him have it.

"Zip, I think I need to give you a little dose of reality," she said. "Now, I alluded to this earlier, back during our... encounter, in my classroom. But, just to repeat, Zip, I want to let you know... I have been with a very large number of men."

She shook her head, and then glared up at him.

"Ladies usually don't like to talk about this," she admitted. "But I feel we are past that now, you and I. And while I am married now, back when I was single? When I was in my twenties, and a model? And not just any model, Zip. I was in fact most of all a bikini and underwear model. Did you know that, Zip?"

She squirmed slightly. Whatever her one-time talents at posing and parading her body wearing very very little, they did not seem to have helped her much when she suddenly found herself in just her bra and a thong in her own classroom. Blushing slightly at the memory of this, Denise took a deep breath, gave her head a little shake to clear it, and then hastily moved on.

"In other words, I was every man's fantasy," she told him. "I could walk into any bar, anywhere, and every single straight guy in the entire place would want to fuck me. So, yes... I got around. I won't give you an exact number; I honestly don't remember it precisely," she lied, her hips wiggling against his couch. "But... dozens. Men of every race and creed, of every shape and size, of every description imaginable. And they all tried their very best, and their very hardest. And do you know what they all have in common?"

She lifted her head up and glared at him - as if she was seeing that succession of faces flashing by, one after another, overlaid onto his.

"They all failed," she said, bitterly.

She shook her head, and then lifted up a hand, and laid it upon her impressive breast.

"I have never had an orgasm during sex, Zip," she told him. "Not one. Not ever."

"You said I got you close yesterday," Zip pointed out, slyly.

"Close doesn't count!" she hissed, her eyes flashing. Her voluptuous hips squirmed upon the couch, while she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, briefly re-centering herself. Then she opened them up again.

"I am hardly alone," she said. She opened a hand and directed it in a circle, as if to encompass the whole world. "Many women - the vast majority according to some studies - are simply unable to orgasm upon phallic stimulation alone. It is impossible."

The look on his face finally made her smile, glad to see she was tamping down his rampant and oversized ego a bit. Undoing some of the inflated arrogance she had given him, she thought, when she had fallen to her knees, or smothered him in kisses during sex. Both of which had happened, obviously, due to sheer surprise rather than any actual superior prowess on his part.

"So if you want to get serious, then stop thinking with that big penis of yours, and start thinking about what it actually takes to please me," she said. She sat back, and smirked. "Which is worshiping me like a goddess, if you forgot," she cooed.