tagMind ControlTwo Sides Of The Coin

Two Sides Of The Coin


I had never been truly or expertly fucked by a man. I couldn't figure out why. I was attractive. I was smart and funny. I wasn't obnoxious or uninteresting. But the guys I had been with never put in the time, attention, or effort to pleasure my body. Maybe they were selfish. Maybe they just didn't know how. I was lucky if their fingers even brushed my clit; they acted as if this most erogenous place on my body was merely a passing stranger they were waving to in the dark. My tormented , frustrated pussy was always heavy with pent up desire - not surprisingly, I never had an orgasm from any of these lackluster encounters. I had almost given up on sex.

My problem had become so severe that I finally broke down and confided in Mr. Kushna, my art teacher. This intimate confession occurred under very unusual circumstances. He taught art at the local community college where I was taking a night course. I'm 27 but look 16, and he mistakenly thought I was a high school kid when I first walked into his classroom. He asked me where I went to school, which district. He looked disappointed when I told him how old I was. But it wasn't really his fault.

That night, I had run out of my favorite perfume so I spritzed on some strawberry body spray at the last minute before going to class. I was 27, looked 16, and smelled 13. He could hardly be blamed for his mistake, could he? I got a kick out of it when men made these "mistakes" about my age. I liked being a naughty tease, making guys feel foolish, stupid and used. It was so ridiculously easy, too. So very easy to lead men around by their cocks.

I signed up for his art class out of curiosity, a change of pace. I thought it might get my mind off my sexual problems and frustrations to funnel my "issues" into artistic expression. When Mr. Kushna introduced himself to the class, I was impressed right away. He was tall, in his 50's, and looked fairly fit and trim. He walked with a slight spring in his step, the way runners or athletes sometimes do. He was wearing a casual Hawaiian print shirt, which gave him an air of fun, as if he wasn't going to take himself too seriously. I liked that. A teacher didn't have to be a bore. Especially an art teacher. Art was all about freeing your mind, experiencing the world visually, not just intellectually. Connecting more with your heart than your head.

He spoke kindly, patiently to us little wannabe artists, some of whom probably couldn't draw a straight line. He seemed to want to encourage everyone to do their best, whatever that might be. Even the lost lambs like me, trying to figure out who we were and what we wanted from our empty lives, received his full and courteous attention.

I went home from the first session feeling uplifted and inspired. I couldn't get Mr. Kushna out of my mind for some reason. Maybe it was my own unfulfilled sexual needs, but I began fantasizing about him. My fantasies centered around his beautiful hands. That's the first thing I noticed about him. Actually, it's one of the first things I notice about any man. His hands were designed not only to make art, but love. He had great sex hands. That's my quirky nickname for it: "sex hands". Some men have them, but many don't.

I can spot hands like that a mile away. The hands of a male that are best suited for lovemaking , for me anyway, must be a combination of strength and gentleness. The hands and fingers shouldn't be too thin (like a sickly vampire), nor too chubby or muscular (like a bodybuilder on steroids). The hands must strike just the right balance between mastery and caressing vulnerability. The fingers, in particular, must look as if they belong in a woman's pussy, ready to probe and explore her deepest intimate regions. Mr. Kushna had hands that could have been on a Greek statue. I had an urge to kiss them.

At the next class, I tried to sit a bit closer to the front row. I wanted to be near this man I was starting to feel quite an attraction for. I had no designs on him. At least none that I'd admit to. I figured he was probably married. I got up close enough to spot the ring on his finger. Yep, he was married. Of course, why wouldn't he be? I had to fight the urge to linger after class, but felt it was safer to leave with the rest of the students, glancing quickly over my shoulder to see him gathering up his papers and rushing to his car.

I know it was wrong of me, but I followed him to the parking lot. I felt like a stalker. If I were a man following a female teacher to her car, I'd get busted for sexual harassment. But since I'm a young looking woman ( girl?) wearing strawberry perfume, I can get away it. Women can get away with certain sexual things that men can't. Like following a man in a dark parking lot.

I hung back behind a concrete pillar and waited until I saw him hop into his car, a non-descript compact. I figured he'd zoom off, rushing home to his wife and cozy home in the suburbs after a long day of teaching. But the car didn't move. I continued to wait, watch and observe. Still the car didn't move. What was he doing there, just sitting? Maybe looking at student's drawings? But we hadn't done any assignments yet. No papers to grade.

I carefully inched my way closer. As I cautiously walked near the driver side door, I glanced in and was simultaneously shocked and incredibly turned on by what I saw. There was Mr. Kushna, pants pulled down around his ankles, masturbating intensely. He hadn't taken his cock out of his pants yet, but was dry rubbing himself over his underwear, fondling, teasing, his beautiful sensuous hands pleasuring himself in the most luxurious way, his head back, lost in the sensations.

There was no time to look away before his eyes met mine in stark terror and embarrassment. It was too late to hide. He knew that I had seen him rubbing himself, risking exposing himself to any student who happened to pass by.

He quickly pulled his pants up in one rapid motion, hands trembling, and motioned to me through the window. I wanted to run, to get away, but it was hopeless. Our lives were on a collision course, and fate had decreed that I be

Mr. Kushna's confidante and special friend, keeping his secret and telling him my own inner desires and frustrations. I had known from the minute I laid eyes on him that it would be this way. We women have an uncanny knack for sensing the sexual future. We already have the script written in our heads. Or at least, we think we do.

He unlocked the passenger door and motioned for me to get in. My mind flashed back to his wedding ring. I figured if he was jerking off, alone in his car, things couldn't be that great at home. I got a little tingle in my crotch, hoping that maybe he'd view me as something more than just another student in his art class. I had him in my crosshairs. I wanted him. I liked the challenge and the chase.

But my female intuition warned me that Kushna might be a mystery I could never solve.

After I slid into his car, we sat in silence for several minutes, me staring straight ahead nervously. Finally, he spoke, apologetically.

"Stacy, I'm sorry you had to see that. I had no business doing that in the school parking lot. You won't tell anyone, will you?"

"Of course not, Mr. Kushna. We all do stupid things sometimes. I've done many things I shouldn't have. Your secret is safe with me."

He let out a long sigh. "Thanks, I really need my job. My boy's in college and there's been unexpected bills. My wife will kill me if I lose this job. I wish I could repay you somehow."

I thought for a moment. It didn't take me long to realize how he could do precisely that. "Well, Mr. Kushna, there is something you can do for me."

"Name it, Stacy, anything. Well, I won't rob a bank for you, hahaha, but maybe we can come to a meeting of the minds here."

"I need someone to talk to about a problem that's been upsetting me for quite awhile. For years, in fact. I'll be honest, Mr. Kushna - I do think we can be totally honest and open with each other now, right? I've never been fucked very well, not by anyone. I've been with several guys and I've never had an orgasm or even gotten close to it. It's driving me crazy. Every time I go to bed with a man, I dread it because it's the same thing every time. My pussy, my clit are in agony because I'm not stimulated properly. I end up having to give myself an orgasm with my fingers or a vibrator. I'm so embarrassed telling you this, but we seem to be on the same wavelength. What do you think?"

Mr. Kushna listened attentively, nodding his head appropriately at different times during my speech about all the bad sex I'd had.

"Well, Stacy, there's something I just don't understand. You're a cute, attractive girl, intelligent and upbeat. You have a very nice body. I can't imagine any man not wanting to love every inch of you."

As soon as I heard him say the words "love every inch of you" I felt like he'd taken a match and lit me up from head to foot. I shifted in the seat, trying to hide the building waves of arousal in my clit and pussy, which were now steadily throbbing. His remarks caught me off guard.

"Let me ask you some questions, Stacy, just so I know exactly what has gone on in the past between you and these other men, the ones who don't stimulate you. I'll ask you if they have done a certain sexual act with you, and you answer "Yes" or "No" if they did this to you, okay? That way I can get a better picture of what the problem might be."

As he spoke, I noticed that he took out a small booklet and a pen, perhaps to make notes, almost like a doctor with a prescription pad.

"Okay, Mr. Kushna, like a checklist? Yes, please ask whatever you need to know. And since we are talking so personally, can we be on a first name basis? "

"If you don't mind, I prefer we keep it MISTER Kushna, thanks."

He hadn't laid a hand on me or made any move in that direction. I was strangely aroused by how fast, how easily, he had stepped into the role of being my sexual counselor, mentor, and confidante. Of course, he was desperate to keep my mouth shut, away from the college administrators who paid his salary, but it was much more than that. I felt strongly that we were sexual soul mates, and that he would have done this for me, no matter what. I already trusted him implicitly.

But why? Maybe we'd been lovers in a past life. I actually felt as though I were falling in love with him. My clit was now pounding and pulsing hard in my jeans, with every beat of my heart.

"Stacy, has a man ever given you oral sex, licked your clitoris and pussy area?"


"Has a man ever given you an orgasm with his finger or probed deeply into your vagina with a finger?"


"Has a man ever put his tongue in your vagina?"


"Has a man ever licked your anus?"


"Has a man ever put his penis in your anus to perform anal sex?"


"Has a man ever talked dirty to you, using words like slut, whore or cunt?"

"No, never"

"Has a man ever used a sex toy on you, such as a dildo?"

"Uh, no, Mr. Kushna. It's always been missionary position, man on top, wham bam."

He jotted down my replies, obviously wanting to remember all my answers to his very specific questions.

"Well, Stacy, I could ask many more things about sexual issues, but it's obvious that your body has barely been touched by the men you've been with. At 27, as a single young woman in today's world, you should have had at least a few of these exciting things done to you by now. I have to say, it makes me deeply sad that you haven't experienced these pleasurable feelings. I'm not a swinger by any means, not a man of the world, I've been married to the same woman for over 20 years, but I have done most of these things at one time or another to a woman."

"I know you're married, I saw the ring and..........."

"Yes, I'm married, but you also saw what I was doing when you caught me.....my marriage is not the best for a number of reasons."

"I sort of figured that. I'm sorry."

"No need to be sorry about me. I made my bed, and now I have to lie in it, so to speak. When I got married, I wanted to do the family thing. So I looked for a woman who was centered around making a home for me and having children. Unfortunately, such a woman is not very sex oriented. But it's you I'm concerned about. Let's get back to you and what you'd like me to do for you in exchange for our confidential friendship. Stacy, would you like me to fuck you? I can provide you with an extremely satisfying sexual experience. To prove it, for

every item on my checklist that you answered "No" to? I will do every single one of those things to you, and much more, if you'd like."

I couldn't believe my luck. This guy was terrific, every woman's dream.

"My hands are rather skilled. We artists love the sense of touch, of feel. That's why many of us became artists, because of our manual dexterity. I am able to manipulate the clit very well, and unless you have some type of problem, physical or psychological, to prevent you from cuming, I'm sure I can give you an orgasm. "

I was ready to explode, just from his smooth, slick manner, his humming voice. He was good. Very good. His pleasant, calm demeanor was getting me so horny. If this was his idea of foreplay, it sure as hell was working. He didn't really seem to be aware of the outrageous sexual effect he was having on me, as if there were a disconnect between what he was doing and my reactions.

Or maybe he was aware and this was his game. Other guys I'd been with never talked to me before having sex. It was as if they all lost the power of speech when they wanted to fuck, but I longed to hear their dirty words, and what they wanted to do to my body. Kushna wasn't like the unskilled amateurs I'd known in the past. He was the real deal.

"Yes, Mr Kushna, I want you to fuck me, oh god yes, do all the things I've never had done to me. Let's go down the list, and make sure not to miss anything. I live with a roommate - maybe we can go to a motel somewhere next week. "

"Okay, Stacy. Let me tell you a bit more about why I was jerking off in the car instead of rushing home to my wife. You see, there's a number of sexual things she refuses to do for me. I'm not the type to go to a prostitute. I'm a romantic guy. The idea of being with someone like that is a turn off for me. I also would never risk having sex with any of my art students. You will be an exception for me, due to our special circumstances."

"What is it your wife won't do?"

"A number of things. Would you object to being rolled over on your tummy and receiving deep and penetrating anal sex? Perhaps a bit rough? My wife simply won't tolerate anything in her ass. Her hinie, as I call it. So, that's one thing I would ask you to do for me. I will be as gentle with you as possible and not hurt you. I'm a very considerate person in bed, you'll see. I just need it that way from time to time, you understand."

"Anal sex? I've never been fucked properly in my pussy, much less my asshole, but yes, if you can give me a good cum in my pussy, I would be more than happy to give you my anus for a fucking."

" Great. And you may find that you will cum with me in your ass. I know it sounds strange to you now, but you may enjoy it a great deal. Some women do.

Stacy, I just can't get over you being 27. I thought you were from the high school. Of course, not that it matters one way or another."

I laughed inside my head.

"The age thing happens to me a lot. I have to admit, secretly, I do get a kick out of men thinking I'm a teenager."

Kushna remained silent, allowing me to open up and speak. He was very good at sensing when a woman needed to unburden herself. The more I spoke, the more information flowed into his eager ears. Knowledge is power, and he was getting a lot of data from me. Maybe too much.

"You know, Mr. Kushna, I've never put men down for wanting certain things sexually. Society is so hypocritical. There's not a man out there who hasn't fantasized about being with a young girl. If they deny it, they're lying through their teeth. "

Unlike many women, I wasn't in to judging guys about their fantasies, no matter how far out or kinky. I'd been surfing the Net for years, reading the "dirty" stories that men wrote, getting an inside glimpse into their taboo desires. I hoped my liberal comments would turn Kushna on, making him proud to know a woman like me who accepted men as they are, not the fairytale version of men that women claim they want. The "nice" version. The "movie" version.

In a way, I was testing him. That's another thing we women like to do. We test. We prod. I was saying certain things that I assumed would impress him, make him want to focus on me and only me, fuck my brains out. I should have known better, because he was way ahead of me. I'd met my match.

"Well. Stacy, I appreciate your honesty. That's refreshing. You're a breath of fresh air to me. "

He continued to speak calmly, in a controlled way, using a tone similar to a hypnotist or therapist. I suspected that Kushna had studied some form of mind control. He obviously knew something about human manipulation. His voice lulled me into a state of passivity, as if I'd been drugged. I felt myself slipping into a sort of trance. Maybe that was my rationale. If I were in a trance, whatever I said to him was not my fault.

It was all Kushna's fault for accessing the innermost secret, sexual nooks and crannies of my brain, the parts I didn't want to admit even existed. Unleashing my personal demons. I'd blame him.

He was breaking me down with surgical precision, like a military maneuver, and he knew it. Little by little, deliberately, and quite easily , as a matter of fact.

"Oh God, Mr. Kushna. We're practically strangers, but I feel like we've known each other all our lives. "

"Yes, I know dear. I feel the same way. Exactly. "

I began to cry, tears pooling at the corners of my blue eyes, the small amount of mascara I wore running down my cheeks, stinging and burning me. I was crying because there was something on Kushna's sex checklist missing. Something I wanted very badly but until now, never had the guts to ask for.

It was now or never.

"FUCK ME DADDY! I want a fuck from my daddy! Take me, pull my panties down, be my daddy, rape my ass!"

It was too late to back out. I'd opened Pandora's Box.

"Stacy, Stacy, Stacy.....sweet, naive Stacy. I'm so very glad we've found each other. Something great is going to happen between us, even though it grew out of a rather unfortunate thing, you seeing me in the car. This is going to be so beneficial for us. But especially for you."

Kushna remained strangely calm, considering the emotion of my outburst.

"Tell me more, dear, go on."

I was so excited, I spoke in a hurried, anxious tone. I couldn't stop now.

"When we fuck, please, please lift my dress up and pull my panties down, like I'm your little girl. Pull my butt up, make me scream for my daddy's cock!"

I slumped in the seat, my intimate confession draining my body just as if I'd had a shattering cum.

"Stacy, the moment I laid eyes on you in class, I knew you wanted your father's penis. None of this is a surprise. We all have our secret, dark needs. I have no

problem at all with your request. I can take care of this for you quite easily. Please don't be worried or ashamed, honey. "

I broke down and wept openly.

"Oh God, Daddy Daddy Daddy, thank you, rape me , fuck me Daddy, do it hard!"

"I will, Stacy, I'll do it hard. Daddy will do it hard, baby."

My body was trembling, shivering, even though the night air was balmy, almost tropical. This man was unshockable. Nothing I said surprised him.

Kushna continued his analysis.

"Stacy, now that you've opened up to me about this secret problem of yours, if I agree to fuck you the way you want, this rather dirty, way, there's a price to be paid for the privilege of using my body to fulfill your personal fantasy. You didn't think our arrangement came with no strings attached, did you? You are using me to fulfill your need for a Daddy fucking, Just as women accuse men of using their pussies, tits, and other body parts for shallow sexual pleasures. you are doing the same thing to me."

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