Training Allie

The next morning, Sunday, got going slowly. I was down in the kitchen working my way through a cup of coffee when Allison made her appearance, following her nipples into the room. Her posture was perfect. I wasn't sure, but I thought she looked a little flushed. In any case, she avoided my eyes.

"Allison." Finally she looked up. "Good morning, beautiful." I kissed her, at considerable length. If she wasn't flushed before, she was now.

"Good morning, dad." A shy smile.

I took her hands and brought them to my nose for a sniff. "Good girl." I'm sure she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her. "Now, none of that. You've done a beautiful thing. You had a lot to absorb yesterday, so nothing new today. Just keep up with the exercises in your homework list. We'll do a refresher this evening after dinner. Otherwise, go enjoy the day."

That evening, after dinner was cleared, we went up to the study. I had her bring her sheaf of stories, and make herself comfortable on the couch, with a good reading light. I said, "OK, peel off a story and go ahead and 'enjoy yourself.' I may coach from time to time, but otherwise I'm not here." This was a new situation for her. This morning, she had done the deed in the privacy of her room, and yesterday, it had been in the heat of the clinch. Now, she had to bring herself off, from a standing start, and with a watcher. I gave her a glass of sherry and went to my desk, pretending to work. The configuration of the room for this exercise was no accident: she was more-or-less facing me. I wanted her looking at me as she came. After a moment of hesitation her eyes dropped to the page and she submerged herself in the story, this one with a strong theme of dominance and submission. I had taken care to ensure that her pile of stories had that theme well represented. A few pages into the story, she dipped her hand into her shorts and began stroking, and a bit later she laid down the story, closed her eyes, and began to work herself in earnest.

"Allison. Eyes open. Try pinching your nipples." She was far enough gone that she didn't try to respond verbally. The fantasy and her own manipulations took over again, and though her eyes were glazed, seeing God knows what, they were open and pointed in my general direction. Good enough. A few minutes later she came, with something between a groan and a whimper. I let her recover, then said, "That was beautiful. Thank you." I gave her a thorough goodnight kiss, and sent her to her room with a "See you in the morning. Remember your exercises. And you have a date on Saturday. Some guy is going to take you to dinner and the Opera."

The next morning brought a new work week, and I did have to make a buck. I spent most of the day trying to nail down some training contracts with three potential clients. The bad news was that two of them took lower-priced bids from competitors, but hey, if you're never underbid, you're not charging enough. The good news was that the third one signed, and would give my small organization all the work it could handle for a month, at a premium rate. So I was feeling pretty good about the day as evening approached. It was then that I realized I hadn't seen Allison all day. As I was pouring myself a Scotch, and laying out things for dinner, she made her appearance in the kitchen, in a little wrap dress thing I hadn't seen before.

I'm slow, but two and two eventually got together. "Shopping day?"

She smiled, almost coquettishly, the first full, unembarrassed smile I'd seen from her for several days. She did a spin in the dress, which resulted in showing an improbable amount of thigh. "Yes. If I'm going to have a date at the Opera this weekend, I need to have the weapons and the warpaint." Good, she was getting into this.

I smiled back. "That wasn't the only purchase, then? Do I hear my credit cards whimpering? I think a sauvignon blanc with this fettuccini--would you drag one out of the cooler?" And we were off into the evening.

Later, we convened in the living room. I put on some quiet jazz, and turned down the lights.

"Let's review."

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, teacher." But she smiled when she said it.

"You've got the skills, and the body, to get a first date. You are starting to get some experience dealing with what it feels like when your hormones start pumping. And you're starting to get some practice with what to do to relieve yourself when aroused. But what about your date?"

"My date?"

"Come now, dear. Guys have needs, too. If you aren't thinking about where his hormones are taking him, if you aren't one step ahead, then you're hopelessly behind."

"Oh. Well, can't he go home and 'play with himself?' This cuts both ways, doesn't it?"

"Sure he can. And will, at first. But string that along too far, and he'll go elsewhere, or deliver an ultimatum along the lines of 'Put out or I'm gone.' You don't want that, because at this phase of things, you want to avoid intercourse, but you want to keep the relationship going. You don't want to have to choose between. So you want to take things gradually, as you sense the kind of relationship it's going to be, and whether you want that relationship, and with this guy. But the time will come when you need to do more than arouse and frustrate him, if you want to keep him. Think about the feelings you've been able to give yourself over the last few days. Imagine what a gift you'd give your lover to make him feel like that, and to have him give you those feelings in return. Whether you call it 'heavy petting' or 'mutual masturbation', it's a wonderful experience. And it's tonight's lesson."

She swallowed, hard, at that one. "Here we go again," she said.

I made a show of exasperation. "Dammit, I didn't come to you and say 'Please let me teach you about sex.'"

Actually, I'd said something more like, I'll teach you about sex or else.

I continued, "Look, if this isn't what you want, I've got other things to do." And, I didn't have to add, you will go to Saint Virginia in the fall.

"No, no, I'm sorry. You're right. How do we start?"

"I don't want to spoil that nice cocktail dress. Change into your robe and meet me here in fifteen minutes." I used the time to change into my own robe, pour us a couple of glasses of wine, and spread out some cushions on the living room floor.

"So, we meet again, my pretty," I said, twirling an imaginary moustache. She snickered. "OK, I get no respect. Join me here and let's neck." And we did. When things had warmed up sufficiently, I said, with as steady a voice as I was able, "The way this will work is, I will do for you what you've been doing for yourself the last several nights, and you will do for me what I've been doing for myself the last several nights."

Her fogged vision cleared for a moment, and she said, "Oh. Oh my" as the realization of what I'd said, and what it implied, hit home.

I continued, "Feel free to coach me, as I will coach you." And I reached for her. She flinched at my touch. I took it very slow, because after all this was to be a learning experience for her, so it wouldn't do to have her too worked up to think. I dialed my fingers to "simmer" and waited. She hesitantly opened my robe, and came face-to-face, or face-to-cock, with her first penis. I'm only average, but again, she didn't have anything for comparison, and I was gratified by her response.

"Go ahead and explore. If you're gentle you can't hurt me." She looked as though she'd rather touch a corpse, but my caresses had her going, and she reached out with her fingertips and made contact. Of course, I already was fully erect. I'd have had to be a corpse to be otherwise. "A little bit about the male anatomy that the good Sisters didn't tell you. That's the head, or crown, and the rim you see there is very sensitive. Run the tips of your fingers around it. Ahhhh....good. Wrap your fingers around the base, a little more firmly, and stroke upwards. Uhh. You're doing fine. Now relax your fingers until you're barely making contact, and stroke downwards. Ahh...nd repeat. Loose on the down stroke, firm on the upstroke. Yes."

I shut up at that point, because she was doing fine, and because I was finding it very hard to speak. And this was not the time to teach her the subtleties of the hand-job. So I concentrated on keeping her just below a boil, with pleasant results. Maybe she'd learn a thing or two about how to do herself. The hard part here was trying to achieve near-simultaneous orgasm. You know the old one: "To go together is blessed, to come together is divine." Not that it was indispensable, but at this stage of her training, the associations would help matters along.

"Baby, slow down for a minute, let me talk." I was on the edge, and while she was still hearing me, I sensed she was, too. "When girls come, it's usually rather tidy. The good Sisters have told you about semen. When men come, it makes a bit of a mess. I'm going to come about when you do, and it may get a trifle sloppy. Don't let it put you off. OK, here we go." I put my mouth back over hers and, as I felt that familiar almost-painful sensation begin to build in my crotch, I diddled her clit for all I was worth. She lost control of her body, yelling into my mouth as she came, and damned if she didn't try to rip my dick out of my groin in her convulsions. But that sent me over the edge, too. And she kept the soft-down, hard-up rhythm the whole time.

It took several minutes before either of us was aware of the outside world. I kissed the side of her neck and said, "Thank you."

She looked down at her hand, now aware of my goo on her fingers, which were still wrapped around my shrinking cock. "Did I do that?" she said with wonder in her tone.

"Yes, baby, and very well you did it, too."

She giggled. "Like you said, a bit of a mess. What do I do about it?"

"Very good" I said. "If not quite one step ahead, at least catching up fast. The answer is, whatever you want. Most men find it intensely sexy if you lick it up. You could clean it up with a washrag. Or leave it to be my problem. It's your call."

Though she didn't move a millimeter, physically, I could sense that she recoiled from the image, but she kept her hand around me. After a minute or so, she shivered a bit, looked back into my eyes, then bent around to clean up her hand, my dick, and my belly with her tongue. It was heavenly.

When she was done, she came back up and nestled in the crook of my arm. The expression on her face and the tension in her body told me that she was, as they say, 'deeply conflicted.' "Allison," I said. She looked up. "Thank you." And I kissed her deeply. I tasted myself on her tongue, not my favorite sensation, but this was all for the greater cause. The kiss went on. And on. After a while I felt her relax in my arms, as if she had come to terms with what she'd done with her hand and her mouth. Yet later she broke the kiss.

"Jack," she said. I looked at her. That was the first time she'd used my given name. "Thank you." And she put her head back on my chest. A long while later, I sent her to her room, and tidied up the living room.

Chapter 5: Celeste Aida

The rest of the week, I left her pretty much to her own devices. I didn't touch her, once.

We had the usual cursory chat at breakfast/coffee before I dove into work each day. Somebody had to pay those credit card bills. We had a pleasant dinner together, one or the other of us doing the cooking. Every evening, she would read a dirty story to herself and masturbate on the couch in the study in opposite me, her eyes on me. I would remind her to do her "exercises." And that would be that. Except that I would find her watching me from time to time. When I made eye contact, she would blush and vanish into her room. And we were back to "dad," not "Jack."

And we both knew we had a 'date' coming up on Saturday. I told her, "Look, forget if you can that this is some sort of 'test.' I'm going to treat you the way you should expect and demand to be treated on a date. Here's the scenario. Be dressed and ready at 5PM. I will drive up to the front curb. I will come to the front door, not honk the horn. I will come in to the house to greet you, not expect you to come out to the car. If I were going to do this really right, I'd have a discussion with your father about my 'honorable intentions,' but I don't feel right talking to myself." She laughed into her hand. "We'll do whatever the date is, in this case, dinner and the Opera. Relax and enjoy yourself--if you can't, one of us is doing something very wrong. If you don't feel like a princess at least at some time during the evening, ask yourself whether you want another date with this clown. But will you be 'one step ahead' of me? In this case, assume that we've been dating for a couple of months, progressed to necking and touchy-feely, but you've refused more. I've made it clear that I'm ready for more than a smooch and a grope, and I'm about out of patience. Otherwise, tonight is a 'last hurrah.' You've decided that the relationship has matured enough for the next step. Sometime during the evening you'll have an opportunity to show off the skills you've been learning. Let the situation develop. Play the role. Take the initiative if feels right. You're a high school girl being taken on a date by an 'older man' named 'Jack.' As an instructor, I'll be watching for your technical execution of the skills, but more importantly for your judgment on what's called for given the development of the relationship. As your date, I'll bring you home and walk you to the front doorstep. If the evening has gone well, I'll kiss you goodnight. Again, in the real world I'd turn you back over to your father, but too bad. I'll drive away. A few minutes later I'll park the car in the garage, and we can 'drop role' and do a post mortem of the evening over coffee or drinks. OK?"

And so it happened that in the fullness of time Saturday rolled around. I put on the suit that I kept in the closet for meetings with other 'suits', dragged the Lexus out of the garage, drove around the block, and pulled up to my own front door. Funny, I had to corral the butterflies in my gut as though I were a teenager again. Deep breath, Jack, and center. I walked up to the house and pushed the button. After making me wait just the right amount of time, the door opened, and there was my Allison. No, not my Allison. She stood, well, regally. A teenage incarnation of sex, in another dress I'd never seen, a maroon item that was classy, but too tight in too many places, too short in too many others. If I were acting as her father, I'd forbid her....

"Jack!" she squealed, and was in my arms. Instant erection. No wonder I was dizzy: all the blood in my brain had rushed to my dick. She twisted around in my arms to face the open front door. "Daddee!," she tossed over her shoulder into the hallway behind her, "byee!" Never mind that the house she was shouting into was empty, it was clear that she was into the role. She freed one arm from my embrace to close the door behind her and offered me that arm. "Shall we?"

I won't bore you with the most of the proceedings.

Dinner was at a small, quiet restaurant on the fringe of downtown. We were early enough that the dining room was mostly vacant. Service was instant without hovering, the scallops were perfectly done, and we begged off of dessert lest we fall asleep during the Opera. Allison glowed. Her spine never touched the back of the seat.

And then the Opera. Ah, yes. Verdi's "Aida," and not by accident. The next week would have been "Othello," which wouldn't have done at all. But here we have the queen enslaved, falling in love with her owner, who has fallen in love with her. Perfect. As we waited at the curb for the car afterward, Allison gushed about the lead soprano. I turned to her, wrapped my hand under her chin, kissed her, and said, "But who had the power in that relationship?" I might as well have spoken Swahili. But the question sank in, and I could almost hear the gears turning in her head on the silent drive home.

"OK," she finally said. "I think I get it. It's a kind of vicious circle, isn't it?" I glanced over her as I drove, her face illuminated by the instrument lights on the dashboard, and kept my mouth shut. "I mean, they owned her, she was property, like...I don't know...a pet rock, or a goldfish, or something." She shivered. "Aida was a slave, for chrissake! So he had the power. But he loved her. So she had the power. She betrayed him, and when he was punished for what he'd done for her, she found that she loved him, and he had the power. And then around it went until it blew up. And everybody died, of course, like all operas."

I said I thought that would do as a plot synopsis. As I got back to our suburb and pulled off at the usual exit, Allison turned to me and said, "Could we stop by Cornell Park, 'Jack,' just for a couple of minutes? I don't have to be home just yet." I said sure. Cornell Park was a small park in a nice neighborhood cut off by the way the freeways had cut through the town, and there wasn't a lot of traffic through that area. I pulled into a dark spot and cut the engine. The almost imperceptible grumble of the engine died away, and she was in my arms, her lips to mine, pressed to me as best she could over and around the center console of the Lexus. Damn, I hate making out in a car. I thought I got over that when I got my own place. One of us was going to need a chiropractor. I pushed her back. "Allison," I said, staying in role, "we need to talk about whether this relationship can continue like this. I really don't think I want to hurt you by...."

"Please?" she interrupted me. I played dumb. "Please," she said again, "touch me, there?" She had twisted around so that she was lying across the two seats, facing rearward, and therefore facing me, and her hand fell to open my fly and begin her own kneadings. Her position made it easier for me to put my right hand where it needed to go, to do what it needed to do. The whole thing was not quite anatomically impossible.

Never one to refuse a desperate woman, I ran my fingertips beneath the hem of her dress and up her thigh. "Imagine my surprise," as the saying goes, when I found, not pantyhose, not panties, but thigh-high stockings and moist flesh. "Well, what do we have here?" I said as I commenced exploratory manipulation. "Sluts dress like this. Are you a slut, or do you just dress like one?"

She began to squirm under my efforts. "Ah, 'Jack,' you know I want keep seeing you, but I've been raised to be a 'good girl.' I've held you off, I know you're fed up, but can you accept that I want to take it slow? Can I make it up to you a little, like...this?" A squeeze. "I've never...touched any man...like...this before." Academy Award stuff, this. And loose on the down stroke, firm on the upstroke. Where did she learn that little twist of the wrist? OJT? "Tonight felt special. I knew I was ready to give you more, at least a little more. At the intermission I knew I didn't want anything to get in the way, so visited the little girl's room to...clear the way. For you. I'm not a slut, ah, yes, there, but I'm beginning to think I might want to be your slut, if you'll...teach me? Am I, am I doing it right, for you?" Real desperation in her voice, or at least, really good acting of real desperation. I found that I didn't care which.

My efforts were being rewarded, as were hers. Both of us were standing on the cliff. I drew a ragged breath. "Baby, I'm going to make a mess on my suit if you do that any longer." Her eyes focused on my face as best she could, and she made a little smile without slacking the motions of her hand. Then the next thing I knew, her mouth was around the head of my cock and I was erupting into that hot cavern, and her thighs clenched around my hand as I pushed her off of her own cliff.