Authors: A Good Student
Elliot Mabeuse (2 page)
I pushed my finger against her and felt the fabric give over her opening. Emma mewled, a piteous little sound that excited me. She was warm down there and a hot, sticky oil began to moisten the thin material. Emma leaned against the wall and pressed
the back of her head against the bricks, breathing fast and shallow, holding her skirt up as I'd ordered, exposing herself to my touch. She had no choice and we both knew it.
She had beautiful hands and elegant nails, and they squeezed the skirt so hard her knuckles turned white. It was very quiet. I could almost hear her clothes move as she breathed.
"What are you going to do?" she asked nervously. "What are you going to do to me?"
It was fairly obvious what I was going to do, standing there with my fingers on her pussy, but I knew she wanted to hear the words. That was no problem. Words were my specialty.
"I'm going to play with you, Emma. I'm going to play with your pussy and make you come, right here in this empty auditorium, just by touching you with my hand, just because you need it so incredibly fucking much and you feel so incredibly fucking good.
Do you understand?"
She swallowed as if her throat were very, very dry and nodded, eyes closed.
"Good, good." I slid my fingers up and down her slit, forcing the fabric against her. I found the bud of her clit and bore down on it, then eased up and let my fingertip flicker against it like a little flame, back and forth, closing my own eyes and letting the actuality of what I was doing wash over me for a moment, giving myself time to fully and entirely realize I was body-to-soul with this beautiful girl to whom I was a stranger, her skirt up, legs apart, making her give herself to me.
Emma moaned and then took a deep, shuddering gasp.
"Oh please!" she hissed. "There! Right there!"
"Who's giving the orders?" I pretended to be offended. I stopped flicking and started a slow, coaxing massage of her clit, as if beckoning her out, calling her to follow.
"This is between me and her, Emma," I said. "You're just along for the ride, because you happen to be attached. But me and her, we have an understanding. She likes what I'm doing and she knows I'm going to make her come, and she wants to come very much. She wants to come right in my hand as I play with her, and that's what we're going to do, right here, right in this classroom. I'm going to play with this little whore pussy and make her come, Emma—make you come, too. Understand?"
"Oh God!" She moaned and clenched her teeth against the pleasure as I touched her.
It was terribly lewd, just filthy, this beautiful young woman leaning against the wall of the darkened classroom with her legs apart, holding her skirt up for me as I masturbated her. I pushed the crotch band of her panties to the side and my fingers touched naked flesh, soft and wet and vulnerable. Emma was panting now, and I felt her buttocks flexing unconsciously in a reflexive fucking motion as I fingered her clit and teased the inside of her cunt.
"Take your right hand," I said, "and unbutton your blouse."
Her fingers were shaking as she did as I said.
"Another button."
The second button was at nipple level. The inner slopes of her breasts were visible now, full and ripe, encased in a smooth white bra. My fingers were still playing in
her pussy, holding the crotch of her panties aside with my ring finger while my middle finger played in her hole and my thumb and first finger slid around her clit. I leaned my head down so I could smell her perfume and began to lick the warm smoothness of her breasts.
Emma was perfect—perfect. She stood there and let me play in her soaking pussy and lick her tits, holding her skirt in her hands, either too afraid to move or too enraptured—too thrilled by the way I toyed with and manipulated her. I'd been right. My feelings about her had been totally right. She was a woman who needed to be used, pleasured, violated, one of those women who can only give when it's taken from her—
the kind of woman who drove me absolutely crazy.
"How is it, Emma? How is it?" I slid my fingers into her cunt. "You're going to come, aren't you, darling? You're going to come for me, right in my fucking hand."
"Oh God," she moaned. "No! No!"
But her hips were bucking up at me now as I fingered her and her thighs were flexing, pushing that soft hairless pussy onto my plundering fingers, giving it to me, a perfect whore for what I was doing.
"You love it, don’t you, Emma? You love it!"
She looked at me in panic and I saw she was losing it. The excitement of being fingered and played with like a hot little tramp was more than she could stand, and the hidden slut was coming out, wild, hungry and uninhibited.
It's magic when you have a woman like this—absolute magic. The hotter she gets, the more you want to do to her because you know it's turning her on, the shame,
the loss of control. I wanted to give her more, so I reached behind her with my other hand and lifted the back of her skirt, worked my hand under the back of her panties and pressed a finger against her tight and private anus.
"Oh, Mr. D! Don't!" Her eyes were wild, the whites showing like a frightened mare's. She gasped, pressing her head back against the wall, but I felt her buttocks clenching on my finger as she punched her pussy against me in helpless excitement.
"Give it to me, bitch!" I hissed as I leaned my weight against her. "Give it to me!
Look at what I'm doing to you. Go on, look!"
I moved back enough to give her room so she could look down and see the way her hips were pushed out and pumping obscenely while my fingers slid in and out of her cunt. "Oh God!" she moaned, shamed by the sheer lasciviousness of her own degradation.
I took my hand from her ass and grabbed her hair and pulled her head back, making her arch her back as my fingers stroked her cunt. I studied her, seeing her lose it, seeing the look of raw animal lust on her face.
"Hold onto me now, Emma! Hold onto me as you come!"
Her thighs trembled, her legs growing weak. She dropped her skirt and held onto my shoulders, one hand crushing the fabric of my shirt into a ball, the nails of her other hand digging into my muscles.
"Yes!" she screamed. "Yes! Yes! YES!"
I was afraid her screams would attract attention, so I kissed her, holding her head back by her hair and devouring her mouth with mine, muffling her cries as she shrieked
out her pleasure, her pussy pumping, her internal muscles pulling at me as she humped and jerked and came.—and came and came and came.
Chapter Two
For a long moment, Emma clung to me in the darkened auditorium, still shaking in the aftermath of orgasm, her eyes closed, reluctant to let it end. I was reluctant to let it end too, because I knew what was going to happen now and I really wished I could keep her from going through it. I felt her astonishment and her guilt and embarrassment, and stronger than those was her feeling of deep, deep relief, not only the sexual kind, though that was considerable and that's what had her leaning against the wall and panting, but the relief of having her secret revealed, of having her submissive side exposed and witnessed. I could almost feel it, this sense of being unburdened at last and the breathing space it gave her, and I knew it wouldn't last. Anything she took such pains to hide couldn't just be revealed so easily and she was bound to close up again.
She leaned against the wall as she caught her breath, and at last she put her hand to her head as if to check for a fever. I watched her.
When she opened her eyes, she just glanced at me, afraid of what she'd see.
Here came the guilt and the shame and I knew if at that moment I'd told her to lie down on one of the tables and I'd just fucked her blind, like my body was urging me to do, she probably would have accepted it, thinking she deserved no better. She looked like she was expecting it. And actually, if I hadn't been so shocked by what had just happened and so moved by the whole experience, I might have done some idiot thing just like that, because I was on fire for her. But had I done it, that would have been the end of things between us. She'd have seen the whole thing as nothing more than a seduction and semi-rape by a sexual predator looking for some easy ass, which, to be honest, is what I'd been when we started out, but it's not what I was any longer.
Something had happened between us that was more than mere sex, more than a little hand job in an empty classroom. Maybe she wasn't aware of it, but I was. In that battle of wills or drama of male push versus female pull we had struck some magic spot where ego had dissolved and, for a few moments, Emma and I were fused into one being and that's very rare and quite incredible, and I was just stunned. I mean, I didn't know her. We had nothing in common, and I certainly hadn't been expecting anything like this. How had it happened?
This one was too good to let get away. I had to have more of her, that was for sure.
"Are you all right?" I asked her.
She nodded uncertainly. Her hand was still clutching my shirt, and now she released me slowly. The fabric was crumpled and damp with her perspiration. I reached up and she flinched as I started to button her blouse, then she took over for me and finished it herself.
"Are you ashamed?"
She shook her head in denial, but I saw tears in her eyes.
To have said anything more at the time would have been wrong, would have seemed patronizing. To have held her against me and let her feel my erection and need would have been even worse, but to hold her protectively, to shield her from her own feelings—to at least try—that much I could do, and I put one arm around her and cradled her head against my chest.
She was stiff and brittle and I felt her heart racing against me.
"This isn't the casual thing you think, Emma," I said. "You don’t know how long I've been thinking about you, wondering if you might be like this. It's a gift."
"Gift?" Her voice was small and uncertain.
"Yes. Gift. What you gave me tonight was a gift, and it means a lot to me. It's not something I take lightly at all. I don’t want this to be a one time thing. I don’t want this to be the last time."
She lifted her head away from my chest and looked at the floor. "No," she said.
"It's wrong. There's something wrong with me and I know it. I shouldn’t be like this."
"Like what?"
"Liking what you did to me. Wanting it. I shouldn't want these things and I try not to. I try not to think about them because I know they're wrong."
"No." I grabbed her head and made her look at me. "It's not wrong. It's not wrong at all. You read my stories. They're real, Emma. Maybe not what happened in there, but the feelings are real. Like poetry. Is there something wrong with me too, then? Is there something wrong because we feel so deeply?"
"But no one else—"
"Fuck everyone else. What do they know? You've seen those zhlubs in class, how the words go right by their heads. What do they know? What do most of the people in the world know? You feel, Emma. You feel much more deeply than most of the people in the world do, and it's a gift. You think it's a sickness but it's a gift, and I want to show you how to use it. You don’t know what kind of treasure you have inside, but I do.
Look—grab your books and come with me. Come on…"
I picked up my briefcase and Emma took a moment to wipe her eyes and straighten her clothes, then she retrieved her books and I held the door for her. We walked out into the hallway where the lights were mostly off for the cleaning crew. Far down the corridor they were already vacuuming and emptying trash cans, small gray figures against the college's insistently optimistic blue carpet, and now that we were out in public, our recent intimacy seemed to tie us even more closely together.
I walked her over to one of the plate glass windows that looked out onto the woods beyond the parking lot and the glow of the suburbs, the strings of highway lights leading off into the darkness. The moon was up, looking pale and confused.
"You look at that and what do you feel?" I didn't wait for her to answer. "You feel the night inside you, something dark and delicious, full of secrets and beauty, something beyond words or your ability to express it, don't you, Emma? I know you do."
She stared out the window. I could see her reflection in the glass. "I don’t know. I see highways and houses. Malls. Traffic."
"No, Emma. Don’t give me that. And I suppose all that just happened is I shoved my finger inside you, huh? You see more than that."
She looked at me and I met her gaze, then she looked back out the window. Her eyes grew large and luminous. "I've always loved the night," she said. "But then, I've always been weird."
"Yeah. And I've always been weird too. But those feelings are real, and I can show you how to reach them, how to experience them. I can bring the night inside, Emma. All those things you've dreamed of? I can make them real, and you know what?
They're even better in reality than they are in your imagination. They're much, much better."
I took her arm and led her down to my office and unlocked the door. She stood in the corridor looking nervously inside, and I knew all I had to do was order her in and she'd follow. I'd lock the door and keep the lights off and tell her to lean over the desk and she would. Then I'd open my pants and take out my aching prick, push her skirt up over her hips and pull her panties to the side and thrust it into her. God, I'd go in so smooth! She'd still be wet and ready and she'd gasp. Her knuckles would grip the edge of the cheap metal desk and she'd start to rock back and forth as I fucked her, moaning softly, and she'd drop her head in female submission as I held her hips and guided her up and back, plundering her pussy with my thick tool before I threw my head back in rapture and shot my heavy load into her...