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The Education of Lisa Ch. 01

By: Christian Black



My first real sex was anal intercourse. I know that's the sexual equivalent to running a marathon before you even know how to walk, but that's what happened.

I was eighteen and just out of high school. For the past two years, I had been seeing the same guy, Jerry. We both came from fairly strict Mormon families, and this explained why we had not progressed much beyond the heavy petting stage. Jerry was a true believer that sex outside of marriage was a terrible sin. But, and this was important, he wanted to be a lawyer when he got out of school. This gave him an innate sense for loopholes. Pre-marital sex was certainly sinful, but the term "sex" was loosely defined. 

At first, he claimed that it wouldn't be a sin if we kept our clothes on. So we petted and pawed and made ourselves silly with horniness. This was great fun for a while, but always left us wanting more.

"Well," Jerry said one day. "I guess it wouldn't be a sin if touched just your boobs under your shirt."

I received quite a bit of breast attention for the next few weeks until Jerry again revised his definition of acceptable behavior. Now it was OK to touch each other's genitals, but he wasn't allowed to climax. Needless to say, that one didn't last long. The devoutly religious aren't any more immune to "blue balls" than anyone else. And, in Jerry's slightly warped view, masturbation was a way bigger sin than anything you could do with another person. So hand-jobs became the name of the game for over a year. We went through three jumbo bottles of Jergen's hand lotion.

Then, world events actually gave us the impetus to move to the next level. No less an authority than the President of the United States had declared that oral stimulation was not, strictly speaking, really sex. Jerry, being legal-minded, could not quarrel with the President's definitions. Blow-jobs were now "in." Somehow, however, cunnilingus was still forbidden. I never really followed the logic behind this, though Jerry explained it to me in great detail. It seemed unfair to me, so I limited my cocksucking to Jerry's birthday and major religious holidays.

It seemed as though we had reached a plateau. We had gone as far as we could go without going too far, and Jerry was very determined not to cross that line until we were lawfully wed. We became officially engaged the day after graduation, but his parents wouldn't allow us to marry until Jerry had finished at least two years of college. This seemed like an eternity to us. We seriously discussed elopement, our only motive being a desperate desire to get laid.

Then, one day, Jerry came to me with what he saw as a solution to our dilemma. Anal sex.

"You're still a virgin as long as you have your hymen," he assured me. 

I wasn't convinced. My theology was a bit shaky, I'll admit, but it seemed to me that sodomy ranked a bit higher then mere fornication on the sin-o-meter. We debated the matter endlessly. I was no match for Jerry's argumentative skills, and I was naturally a little curious. I finally agreed. We even set a date.

Ever resourceful, Jerry had downloaded instructional material off the internet.

"You need to, uh, you know, go to the bathroom first," he stammered. "Not number one, number two."

The guy wanted to fuck me in the ass, but he couldn't even bring himself to say the word "poop."

So I went into the bathroom and did my business. When I was done, I found to my surprise that Jerry had decked his bedroom out with candles and flowers. Incense was burning and Van Morrison played on his stereo (very sexy.) I had to give the guy points for setting the mood, and I'll admit that at this point I was pretty aroused.

We got into bed and started making out. With the anticipation of what was to come, it was hotter and sexier than it had been in a long time. We peeled each other's clothes off and got each other worked up with our hands and mouths. Jerry even went down on me, for the second time in the two years we had been together. I was red-hot, ready to try anything.

"Roll over," Jerry said, his voice quivering.

I got on my hands and knees. Jerry's hands spread my buttocks and I felt something cold and wet squirt down my crack.

"Yow!" I yelped. "What's that?"

"K-Y Jelly," he said. "It's the best thing to use."

"Do you keep it in the refrigerator? It's cold!"

"Sorry," Jerry said.

He started rubbing it around, and it warmed up quickly. Jerry massaged my asshole with the tips of his fingers. This was a strange new sensation, to say the least. It made me shiver with excitement.

"OK," Jerry said. "I'm going to slide my finger in, OK?"

I nodded. Jerry poked his finger in slowly as I gasped with pleasure and surprise.

"Did that hurt?" he asked.

"No. It feels good."

Jerry slid his finger in and out, very slowly, working more of the jelly up into my hole. I felt the tight muscles begin to relax.

"OK, I'm going to try two fingers," Jerry warned.

That stung a bit at first, until Jerry got enough lube going. Then he was fucking my ass with two fingers as I moaned and pressed my ass against his hand.

"OK," Jerry said, removing his fingers. "I'm going to do it now. Are you ready?"

"Yeah," I gasped, trying not to tighten up.

"You sure?"

"Yes."

"OK, because here I come."

"Yes!"

Then I felt . . . warm sticky fluid bathing my butt. Jerry had come before he could even get it in.

"Jerry!" I cried.

"Sorry," he said.

I wanted to try again that very night, but Jerry's sex drive drops to zero after he gets off. He promised that we could try again the next night. But of course, his parents stayed home instead of playing bridge like they usually do on Thursdays. It was a whole week before we got another chance.

Same program. Bathroom, bedroom, foreplay, one finger, then two.

"Are you ready?" Jerry asked.

"Yes."

"All right, I'm going to do it. You sure you're ready?"

"Damn it, Jerry, fuck my ass!"

The head of his cock slid into my asshole.

"Oh," I moaned.

"Does that hurt?"

It did and it didn't. It was unlike any sensation I had ever felt in my life, like a heaviness inside me.

"I'm hurting you, aren't I?" Jerry sounded miserable.

"No," I said finally. "Don't stop."

Jerry moved in and out slowly, picking up a little speed as he grew more excited. His penis slid deeper and deeper into my ass with each thrust. Weird vibrations shimmered through my entire body, like little electric shocks. It was good, but I needed something more. I reached a hand between my legs and started playing with my clit.

"What are you doing?" Jerry gasped with horror. Masturbation was up there with murder and taking the Lord's name in vain in Jerry's mind. Plus, I don't think he even knew that women had orgasms like men did. In fact, at that point, neither did I.

"Shut up, Jerry," I said. "Just fuck my ass. Harder, Jerry. Fuck it harder."

Jerry did as he was told, buried to the hilt now in my bowels. He drove it in faster and harder and I frigged myself mercilessly. Then he came. I felt it inside me, Jerry pumping my ass full of cum. The load was heavy and hot, burning me inside. It made me come, too. For the first time in my life, I went screaming over the top. My asshole went crazy, spasming around Jerry's spurting prick. Each involuntary squeeze of my anus made it tighter back there. It hurt but I never wanted it to stop. I had Jerry's prick in a vice grip. We were locked together like dogs.

Finally, after Jerry had pumped a few gallons into me, he slid out shriveled and damp. My butt was dripping wet with a combination of bodily substances I dared not ponder. I went to the bathroom and cleaned myself up. When I came back, Jerry had pulled his boxer shorts on and was laying on his bed, looking up at me thoughtfully.

"You know," he said with a straight face. "My parents go bowling on Saturday."

The Education of Lisa Ch. 02



Having decided that anal intercourse wasn't, by literal definition, sex, my boyfriend Jerry (free of sin) fucked me up the butt at least twice a week. This was fun at first, but like all of the sex performed within the bounds of Jerry's arbitrary pre-marital guidelines, it finally left me unfulfilled. 

It seemed that Jerry considered anything that might involve my clitoris to be dreadfully sinful. Actual vaginal intercourse, of course, spelled instant damnation. Fellatio was perfectly acceptable (the President himself had said so) but cunnilingus was the first step on the road to hell. Jerry didn't even like to stroke me off with his hand. If he so much as touched my pussy, he would go into the bathroom and wash his hands with anti-bacterial soap.

At first, I would use my own hand to bring myself off while Jerry banged my back door, but Jerry had told me very seriously that I wasn't to do that. Masturbation, you see, was the worst sin of all. So all I could do was wait for him to get off up my ass, then go home and masturbate in private. Not very satisfying.

The sex wasn't the only problem. Jerry's self-righteousness and egotistical nature extended to all areas of his life. He was fastidious and stingy. A shameless bootlicker towards people whom he perceived as socially superior, and a raging terror towards those he felt to be beneath him. He enjoyed bullying waitresses and sales clerks.

"I'm going to be a lawyer," he would tell me. "I might even run for office one day. I have to spend every moment of my life in preparation for that possibility. If you want to be my wife, that means you have to live that way, too." This was when I wore clothes he didn't approve of, or acted publicly in an "immature" fashion.

But Jerry sure did love his butt-fucking. I'm not sure how he worked this into his immaculate Young Republican self-image. After all, he didn't seem all that dignified or conservative when he begged me to "Squeeze it! Oh God, Lisa, squeeze your asshole!" Or when he wiped the shit off his dick afterwards.

It was during his umpteenth trip down my Hershey Highway when I finally reached the end of my tether. I was in a bad mood already, Jerry having humiliated me in front of my own mother that day by saying that I had some growing up to do before I would make a good lawyer's wife. ("But," he conceded as I gnashed my teeth, "I do see potential.") Then he had dragged me to a boring party at the house of the lawyer in whose office he interned, practically ignoring me for three hours while he brown-nosed. After the party, he had the nerve to say that he felt that my dress showed too much cleavage and that I had embarrassed him. Then, after all this, he took me back to his house and whined until I got down on all fours and let him lube me up and stick it in. In his enthusiastic plunging, he stuck me at a bad angle and I felt a sharp pain deep inside.

"Ow!" I cried, pulling away. "God damn it, be careful Jerry."

"Hey," he said. "Watch your language. You know I don't like it when you talk like that."

I just stared at him, jaw open in disbelief. He stared back, nonplused.

"You could at least let me finish," he said.

That was when I lost it. Three years worth of resentments came pouring out of me all at once. I screamed and raged against him for hours, tears pouring my face. If he would have apologized, or even gotten angry back at me, I might have found it in my heart to forgive him. But Jerry, instead, countered my every point with his infuriating lawyer's logic. He never raised his voice or lost control, and in Jerry's mind I knew that meant he had won the battle.

I left his place in a boil, the literal pain in my ass serving as a reminder of how little I was getting out of this relationship. 

I had no intention of ever seeing him again, and every day apart cemented my decision. had been with Jerry for so long that it was at first difficult to picture life without him. But, away from his constant influence, life without Jerry seemed more and more like a glorious new world of possibilities.

Then the roses began to arrive. A dozen every day, delivered promptly at noon, until the smell made me want to gag. Every bouquet contained a tiny note, a handwritten apology of appalling insincerity. I knew he charged them to the platinum Visa card his father had given him as a graduation present, and this fact angered me almost as much as the knowledge that he fully expected me to relent. In Jerry's world, angry girlfriends were always won over by a constant onslaught of roses.

After a week of this, my anger cooled and finally froze over. In this chilly state of mind, I was able to plan and orchestrate a scheme to get that jerk out of my life forever. Revenge. It would be cold and it would be sweet.

I called Jerry on the phone one night, putting on my little girl voice, the one he could never resist. He apologized and admitted being wrong, but I could tell from the smug tone of his voice that he thought he had won again. Yet another victory for the junior lawyer. This only strengthened my resolve.

I told him that I forgave him, but that he owed me. What did he owe me? Anything I wanted. In bed.

"Now, Lisa," he said seriously. "You know we can't have intercourse until we're married."

"That's not what I want," I said coyly.

"Well, OK," Jerry said, intrigued despite himself. "I guess we can really do anything except that."

Just you wait, asshole, I thought. He invited me over that night. It was Bridge night for his parents, and we would have the place to ourselves. Perfect. I grabbed the bag of toys I had prepared and drove over to Jerry's to begin my night of fun.

He kissed me as I arrived, and I kissed him back even though he repulsed me now. I didn't want him to get suspicious. 

"What's in the bag?" he asked.

"You'll see," I teased. "Let's go into your room."

Grinning, Jerry led me into his bedroom.

"Now you have to whatever I tell you to," I said. "I'm the master and you are the slave."

"Sure, babe," he winked and went to kiss me again. I pulled away.

"Did I tell you to kiss me?" I snarled. "Keep your shitty lips off me until I tell you otherwise."

Jerry's grin faltered a little, but I smiled at him to show it was all part of the game.

"Take off your clothes," I commanded. Jerry stripped down. He was already hard.

"Now lay on the bed."

Jerry did so. From my bag I pulled out a pair of handcuffs. Jerry's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. 

"I don't know, Lisa," he said doubtfully.

"Shut the fuck up!" I yelled. "I didn't tell you to say anything, shithead. Now put your hands over your head."

Jerry eyed me strangely, but obeyed. I fastened his wrists to his headboard and then pulled a second item from my bag. A single red rose. Jerry seemed apprehensive, but this dissolved as I began to lightly trace the soft petals all up and down his cock and balls. Jerry shivered with pleasure as I brushed slowly from the base of his scrotum to the tip of his penis. A tiny drop of semen stained the flower petal and this sight aroused me even further.

"Oh, yeah," Jerry whispered.

"Shhh," I hissed.

My tongue followed the path already blazed by the rose. I licked his scrotum, then took his cock into my mouth and proceeded to give him the slowest, wettest blowjob he had ever received. Jerry moaned out loud, and I paid careful attention. The last thing I wanted was for him to come. When I sensed that he was getting close, I withdrew my mouth.

"Don't stop," Jerry begged.

"Did I tell you to talk?"

I stood and hitched up my skirt. I wasn't wearing panties.

Jerry was aghast. "You went out like that?" he said. "What if somebody saw you?"

To shut him up, I straddled his face and buried his mouth under my cunt, very wet by now. From Jerry, I heard a muffled protest.

"What was that?" I said. "Sorry, can't hear you. You shouldn't talk with your mouth full, anyway."

I wriggled against his tightly pursed lips, but couldn't get him to give me even a little bit of help.

"Lick it, you moron," I said, then I remembered that Jerry was an ass man. I leaned back slightly until I felt Jerry's nose in my puss and his lips against my butt-hole. "Lick my ass, Jerry, or I swear to God I'll smother you."

Jerry was in fact gasping for breath. I had all his airways very effectively blocked. Finally, I felt a meek little lick on my ass. 

"You can do better than that," I said. "Come on, give me some real tongue and I'll let you breathe."

Jerry's tongue jutted out desperately, penetrating me. The feeling was oddly pleasant, but the real satisfaction came from knowing the disgust Jerry must surely be feeling. Sure enough, when I rolled, off him, Jerry was gagging, his face dripping with my juices. I had to laugh.

"I don't think it's very funny," Jerry said miserably.

"Oh trust me, it's hilarious," I giggled.

"All right, Lisa," he said firmly. "I've had enough of this. We're done."

"Not even close," I said. "Roll over."

"What?" Jerry barked. "No."

"What did you say?"

"I said no," Jerry was getting pissed now. Not even a trace of his lawyer cool.

"Really," I said. Into the bag again. Item number three, a Polaroid camera. This was when Jerry really started to freak, thrashing around and yelling. I snapped several good shots of Jerry pulling at the cuffs, with his limp cock flopping around comically. I showed him one of the better ones.

"I think I'll send this one to your boss," I said. "Or do you think your dad would like it better?"

"You cunt!" Jerry screamed.

"I know a place in town that makes real good color copies of pictures. I can send out dozens of them, to everyone you know."

"No, you fucking bitch!"

"Oh, be nice," I said mildly. "I'll let you burn them all if you just be a good boy and roll over."

"Fine! Fucking fine!"

"I'm going to undo the cuffs for a second, but don't get any ideas. If you try to get away, I'll fight you. I'm sure you could beat me up, but I don't think a domestic violence conviction would look good on your resume."

Jerry looked like he was about to cry. I undid the cuffs, let him roll over on his stomach, then re-did them. Jerry's ass, admittedly cute, was sticking up into the air. 

"Now the real fun begins," I said.

Items four and five from the bad black bag. A long thin candle and a tube of KY. Jerry couldn't see these articles, but he had a fairly good idea what was happening when I squirted a great glob of jelly into his butt crack and started rubbing it in.

"No!" he begged.

"Shut up, you big baby," I said. "And relax. It'll hurt a lot less if you relax."

Jerry whimpered, and before he could really tense up, I plunged the candle several inches into his slicked-up rear. He screamed out loud, and it was like music to my ears. I got a real charge out of butt-fucking the butt-fucker for a change. Eventually, though, he started moving with the motion of the candle and I started getting the feeling that he was enjoying this. Couldn't have that, now.

I pulled the candle out of his ass with a wet plop and threw it aside. I pulled the sixth and final item from the bag. A thin leather belt. I made a few practice cracks against the mattress, which got Jerry screaming again. Then I started to sincerely wail on his ass.

"That's for making me feel like a child." CRACK! "That's for embarrassing me in front of my friends." CRACK! "That's for being such a selfless prick in bed." CRACK!

I had a list of about twenty such charges, but I stopped after ten or so when the big red welts began to form on Jerry's ass. After all, I'm not really cruel by nature.

Jerry was practically sobbing, begging me to stop. 

"Almost done, Jerry," I soothed. Then I stuck two things up his ass. The second was the stem of the rose. Jerry yelped in pain as the thorn sliced his rectum.

"Pull it out, please," he cried.

"Pull it out?" I said. "That would HURT. Besides, you look really pretty with a rose sticking out of your ass. In fact . . ." I snapped another picture.

Jerry, tears pouring into his pillow, waved his butt around to try and work the rose out. He looked like a doggy wagging his tail, and this unexpected association got me laughing hard again. 

"Look at me, Jerry," I said. He shook his head, crying into the bed. "Look at me, you little bitch!"

Jerry looked up at me, face red from tears.

"Watch carefully," I said. I lifted my skirt and slid my fingers down into my dripping wet vagina. I tweaked my clitoris and in my jacked-up state, that was about all it took to bring myself to a thunderous orgasm.

"I guess I'm going to hell now," I said with a shrug when the shudders had subsided. "Can't be worse than dating you."

"Lisa," he moaned. "Please . . ."

"Too late," I said. "You should have treated me better."

I gathered my things and started out the door.

"Aren't you going to let me go?" Jerry begged.

"Uh . . ." I pretended to consider. "No, I don't think so. But I did leave you the key to the cuffs. It's up your ass."

When this sank in, Jerry really started to bellow.

"When your mom and dad come home, I'm sure one of them will reach up your butt and pull out the key for you. After all, I know how close you are."

"You're going to pay for this!" Jerry screamed. "You're going to jail, bitch."

"I kind of doubt that, Jerry," I said. "I don't think this is a story you're going to tell to too many people, even the police."

With that, I was gone. I got in my car and had to stroke myself off one more time before I drove home.

On the way, I felt bad about what I'd done to Jerry. That is, for about a minute until I remembered all the butt-fucking I'd been subjected to. Then I just felt happy about life without that loser. Priority number one in my post-Jerry life: lose my virginity to the first likely candidate. I couldn't believe I had been saving it for so long, for such an amazing jerk. The embarrassment of the fact made me want to fuck somebody, anybody. 

To that end I already had a plan. My very best girlfriend Carrie had won two tickets to a Tom Petty concert by calling in to a radio station, and she'd asked me to come along. Petty never failed to get me hot, and I knew there would be lots of guys there looking to get laid. The first even halfway cute guy who approached me would get more than he bargained for.

That was the plan, anyway. Little was I to know that I was the one in for a surprise.

To Be Continued...



The Education of Lisa Ch. 03



"Oh my my, oh hell yes, honey put on that party dress," my best friend Carrie said. She'd been quoting Tom Petty all day, and it was starting to get just the teensiest bit irritating. 

We were getting ready for the concert, and she was determined to dress me "slutty" from her own personal wardrobe. Because Carrie was about two sizes smaller than me, all her stuff looked even sluttier on me than it did on her. I stepped into a little black party dress with thin spaghetti straps, lots of fringe, and a total of about two square feet of very thin material. It fit me snugly, to say the least, and the skirt rode about a mile above my knees. 

"Yes!" Carrie squealed when she saw me in it. "We have a winner. But lose the bra."

The white bra did kind of look ridiculous beneath the black dress, but without it I would be almost completely exposed.

"Everybody will be looking at my chest," I said.

"Duh," Carrie replied.

So I hesitantly removed the bra. I pulled the dress straps back on and eyed myself in the mirror.

"God, I wish I had your tits," Carrie said, eyeing mine and feeling up her own. "They're gorgeous."

"You can totally see my nipples," I said. They were poking through the material of the dress like I had stuffed tic-tacs down there.

"That's kind of the point," Carrie said. "Trust me on this. Erect nipples make men your slaves. Now drop your panties."

"What?"

"I never wear underwear with that dress. It gets me so jacked up and horny that I'd fuck anything that moves. That's totally the mood we're going for," Carrie said. "Besides, men are psychic about that sort of thing. They can tell how naked you are without even looking."

So I let my panties slide down to my ankles and kicked them away. I have to admit that there was a certain thrill in knowing that if I were to sit down just the wrong way, my pussy would be on display for the world to see.

"Too bad there's no time to shave you," Carrie said. "Some guys like a little hair, though."

She turned me around so she could get a good look, eyeing me from head to toe with a critic's eye. 

"What do you think?" I said.

"I'd fuck you," she answered. I'm not sure if she was being serious or not. 

We were on our way to a Tom Petty concert. Carrie had won tickets by being the fifth caller to the radio station. "Front row, baby," as she said. She had invited me along for the express purpose of meeting a guy at the concert so I could get laid. I'd just broken up with my dickhead boyfriend Jerry and, though we'd had anal sex many times, my vagina was practically untouched. (Long story.) I was, technically anyway, a virgin. This was a situation which I intended to remedy. Tonight. Carrie was enthusiastic about the plan. She had never liked Jerry.

"I am so glad we're doing this," she said. "This is such the right thing to do. You won't even remember that jerk's name after tonight."

I have to say, I was getting excited. In addition to me being dressed like a high-class whore, there was the fact that Tom Petty had always turned me on. Ever since that video with all the "Alice in Wonderland" stuff. At the end of the video, when Alice's body mysteriously turns to cake and the whole band starts cutting off slices . . . ooh, that was hot. In fact, the first time I ever masturbated, I fantasized that my pussy was cake and that Tom Petty was eating it. With icing.

As if that wasn't enough, Carrie had provided what she called "additional lubrication." She had a flask full of it. I'm not sure what it was, I'm not much of a drinker, but it burned going down and seemed to stoke the fires in my nether regions. Then she pulled out a baggy of green stuff and some rolling papers. 

"Let's get to the point," she said, lighting up the big spliff. "Let's roll another joint."

I'd never smoked pot before, but tonight was a night for new experiences, wasn't it? When she offered it to me, I surprised both of us by taking a hit.

So, lit up like Christmas trees, Carrie and I made our way to the concert hall. Guys were checking us out from the second we walked through the door. Carrie was dressed in a comparatively modest halter top and tight jeans. ("Tonight's your night," she'd said. "I don't want to steal your thunder.") She was even wearing underwear. Still, she got her fair share of eyeball attention.

She pointed out guys here and there, who she saw as "prospects," but I didn't see anybody who did much for me. Either they reminded me of dorks I had gone to high school with or, this being a "classic rock" concert, were old enough to be my Dad. Despite my vows to give it up for the first halfway attractive guy, I suddenly found myself having standards. This was, after all, my virginity we were talking about. So we just took our seats in the front row.

"You mean to tell me you didn't see anybody you liked?" Carrie said.

"We'll hook up with somebody after the show," I said, though I was having doubts. This suddenly didn't seem like such a hot idea after all.

Then the lights went down and everybody around us started to get excited. The Heartbreakers ripped into "American Girl," the spotlight came up, and there, not four feet away from me, was Tom Fucking Petty.

Christ, I thought. He looked good. The same age as my Dad, true, but still hot and freaky. He was wearing tight jeans and my mouth watered when I looked at his bulging crotch. That wasn't all that was watering, either. I felt moisture drip down the inside of my leg and remembered what I wasn't wearing. My pussy was sopping wet, and he'd only been on stage for a few seconds.

Then he started to sing. That voice, so sinuous and reedy. I shivered. And those lips. I remembered my cake fantasy and, despite being in the presence of literally thousands of people, I found myself wanting to slide my fingers down between my legs and give my clit a few healthy strokes which, at that point, would have been more than enough to get me off. It was driving me crazy that I couldn't. I knew then that I would either get with Tom Petty or no one. 

It was a few songs into the show, "I Won't Back Down," I think, when I started to imagine that Tom Petty was checking me out. Or maybe I wasn't imagining it. Carrie, dancing beside me, screamed in my ear: "He's STARING at you!"

I looked up on stage and, swear to God, Tom Petty and I made eye contact. He actually smiled at me.

A few songs later, Carrie threw her arms around my neck. "Kiss me," she yelled over the music. 

"What?"

"You really want to get his attention, make out with me for a minute," she said. "He'll flip out."

Before I could think of how to respond, Carrie kissed me full on the mouth. I'd never kissed a girl like that before, I had no idea how cool it was. She was a way better kisser than . . . shit. Carrie had been right. At that moment, I couldn't even remember my stupid ex's name. We started going at it really hot and heavy. If things don't work out with me and Tom Petty, I thought, I just might settle for Carrie. Weird. 

I had this crazy desire to touch Carrie's breast, which I resisted until Carrie herself grabbed my hand and put it on her tit. Needless to say, I had never felt a girl up before, but I understood right away why guys were so crazy for breasts. It felt so soft and warm in my hand, but with this hard little nub at the center. I started playing with her breast, and Carrie leaned into me and kissed me even deeper. We must have put on a pretty good show. Tom Petty stumbled on the lyrics for "Learning to Fly."

Carrie released me and we exchanged a smile containing God knew what kind of promises. 

"Maybe some other time," she screamed into my ear. "Tonight, you belong to Tom Petty."

The band finished with the song and then started in on "Last Dance With Mary Jane." My absolute, hands down, no doubt about it, favorite song of all time. And Tom Petty wouldn't take his eyes off me. I couldn't hold his gaze for very long. It was too much. I wanted him so badly. I didn't even think about the next thing I did. It just came naturally. I pulled the strap down on my dress and flashed him my right breast.

"Yours," I mouthed to Tom Petty.

"Buy me a drink, sing me a song, take me as I come because . . . uh," Tom Petty froze. He just stopped singing. I couldn't believe it. The sight of my naked breast had caused him to fuck up in front of thousands of people. It took him several beats to recover.

After the song, he went to the back of the stage and wrote something on a scrap of paper. He tossed it to me, then started blowing his harmonica for the opening lines of "You Don't Know How It Feels."

"Let me run with you tonight, I'll take you on a moonlight ride," he sang.

"Bellmore Hotel, Room 222," the note said.

"Yes," I said, nodding up at the stage.

Carrie squealed when she saw the note. "Holy shit," she said. "You're going to fuck Tom Petty."

They finished that song, then went off-stage to thunderous applause. They came back on to do "Free Fallin'" as the encore. It might have been my imagination, but I swear they rushed through it. 

After the concert, we walked over to the hotel, which was only a few blocks away. I almost chickened out on the way, but Carrie provided me with verbal encouragement and a few shots of liquid courage from her flask. She walked me to the elevator, where she handed me a few condoms and gave me a kiss for good luck.

"Come with me," I begged.

"No," Carrie said. "Some things you must do on your own."

"Please."

"Tom Petty wants you," she said.

I flashed her a smile. "I'm willing to share."

Carrie shook her head in disbelief. "You want your first time to be a three-way with a rock star. I guess if you're going to lose your virginity, you might as well do it in a big way."

"So you'll come with me?"

She shrugged. "Maybe I can hook up with one of the guys in the band."

"Thank you."

We got in the elevator and rode up one floor to my destiny.

Tom Petty himself answered the door. "Hi," he smiled.

We were both two star-struck to do anything but nod and blush.

"So," he said, letting us in and shutting the door. "How old are you girls?"

"N-nineteen," Carrie stuttered.

"No shit?" Tom Petty said. "Really?"

"Yeah," I managed to say. "That's right. Nineteen."

"Honestly? Nineteen? Because we don't want no trouble with local jailbait."

So we pulled out our ID's to show Tom Petty how old we were. I wondered if many people were carded before they could have sex.

After that, it was better. Tom Petty was in the room with a few guys from his band. Everybody had acoustic guitars and was passing around joints. I snuggled up close to Petty, and Carrie wedged herself comfortably between two of the guys in the band. It was very relaxed, very casual. And, needless to say, it was incredibly cool to just sit and listen to Tom Petty jam on old Bob Dylan songs.

The weed gave everything a lazy, dreamy tinge and after a while the guitars were laid aside. That's when Tom Petty leaned over and kissed me. He was a great kisser. I climbed up on his lap and he put his arms around me, and we proceeded to get as close as we could. His hands were all over me, expertly. A musician's touch, playing me like an instrument. And his lips, kissing all over my face and neck, moving down to my breasts so slowly that I was practically begging for it by the time he finally pulled down my straps. He kissed my nipples into bristly nubs.

We made out like that for what felt like hours. Tom Petty wasn't hurrying me, he was letting me set the pace. Which was so cool. Finally, I pulled away from him. It was only then that I realized that Carrie wasn't there anymore.

"Where's my friend?" I said.

"She went off in another room with a couple of the guys," Tom Petty said. "It's cool. She's all right."

I smiled up at him and then leaned over to unzip his jeans. Tom Petty laid back on the bed while I freed him from his pants.

I know everyone's probably interested in Petty's prick. Well, let me tell you. It was of prominent proportions. A real monster. I couldn't tell you how long in inches, just that he was way bigger than Jerry, who was the only other guy who's prick I've seen. Tom Petty wasn't even all the way hard, and he put Jerry to shame. But that was a situation I intended to remedy.

I took the big beautiful rock star cock in my hand and rolled the skin slowly up and down. Then I took the head in my mouth and licked him like an ice cream cone. Tom Petty moaned a little and began to inflate in my mouth. 

I wasn't trying to suck him off. It was more of an "American Girl" blow job. You know, "Ooh, yeah. All right. Take it easy, baby. Make it last all night." I explored every centimeter of his cock with my lips and tongue and fingertips. Down the shaft to his scrotum, licking and kissing all down the seam to that little part at the bottom which led to his asshole, getting the whole thing slicked up with saliva before moving back up to focus on the bulbous head again. He tasted manly and musky, like some kind of exotic meat. So much more tantalizing than Jerry, who had taken four showers a day and had always tasted like soap.

There was a bead of white cream dripping from the eye of Petty's prick. I kissed it away, surprised at its sweetness. Jerry's come had been bitter. With that thought, I forced myself to stop comparing Tom Petty to my ex-boyfriend.

Tom Petty let me work on him for as long as I wanted to. Somehow, I knew he wasn't going to come until I was ready for him. One of the benefits of an older man, I guess, better self-control. He just kept getting harder and harder until I couldn't stand it anymore. Finally, I released him and lay back on the bed. I spread my legs wide, offering my pussy to him.

Tom Petty's expert hand worked me. Stroking gently, the thumb applying just the right degree of pressure to my clitoris, two or three fingers sliding into my cunt. I gasped.

"So," Tom Petty said. "Tell me what you like and what you don't like."

How sweet, I thought. "I don't want anal sex," I told him. "Other than that, Tom Petty, I'm yours."

He laughed. "OK, but why don't you tell me what you do want?"

"Eat my pussy," I said. "Pretend like it's cake."

"Cake," he grinned, but he was already going down. 

Tom Petty must have eaten hundreds of pussies in his life time. He was like some kind of pussy-eating genius. I mean it. Maybe it came from playing the harmonica, I don't know, but Jesus that guy knew what he was doing down there.

It wasn't like the orgasms I had while masturbating, which were simple patterns of build-up and release. The orgasms I had under Tom Petty's incredible lips were like ocean waves, one on top of another, each one crashing harder than the last. The tide was coming in.

Finally, he lifted his head, his face dripping with my juices. 

"Con . . ." I tried to say, but I was too breathless to speak.

"I got it, babe," Tom Petty said. From a drawer on the bedside, he pulled out a condom and rolled it on.

Then he laid on top and slid inside. Petty pierced me. I was filled up for the first time. There was an instant of pain, but it was over in a second and wasn't exactly like pain anyway, more like a release. I was so primed and ready by two hours of foreplay that my pussy, virginal though it was, was positively crying out to be filled.

I spread my legs as far as they would go, then wrapped them around his waist. I tried to pull him in farther, tried to pull him right through me. Tom Petty moved slow at first, until I was begging him to go faster, to fuck me harder. He obliged, harder and faster until I was screaming.

Did I say I had orgasms when he was going down on me? Turns out I didn't even know what an orgasm was until Tom Petty balled my brains out. I screamed so loud that I thought someone would surely call the police on us. Tom Petty cried out, in answer to my scream, and deep inside I felt the condom bulge as it was filled with a huge load. In the moment, I wished senselessly that he wasn't wearing it. I wanted to be filled the overflowing with a sweet load of Petty cream, consequences be damned.

With that wish in my head, I blacked out into blissful, fucked-out unconsciousness.

The next morning, I made my way downstairs, feeling very naked in Carrie's tight black dress. At least Tom Petty had given me a pair of his very own boxer shorts to wear under the dress. Such a sweetheart.

We'd made love a few more times the night before, although it's hard to say how many. At least a few of them had been dreams. For breakfast, Tom Petty had ordered me an incredible room service spread. For desert, I'd had a mouthful of his sweet milky come.

I found Carrie waiting for me in the lobby, dozing off on the couch. I woke her up and we walked out to the car together. I was walking a little funny, I think, the result of fucking a rock star all night long.

We exchanged stories of the night before. Carrie had made it with not one, but two Heartbreakers. "I blew Benmont Tench while Mike Campbell fucked me from behind. Halfway through, they switched. It was awesome. I've always wanted to do two guys at once."

As we got into the car, Carrie squealed from the excitement of it all.

"Oh my God," she said. "Do you realize how cool this is? You lost your virginity to Tom Petty. I lost mine to pimply Brian Gordo in the eighth grade. Mark my words, this is the start of a great sexual future."

As we drove home from that wondrous night, I had no idea how right she was.

To be continued . . .



The Education of Lisa Ch. 04



A few weeks after losing my virginity to a certain rock star who shall remain nameless (unless you want to go back and read Chapter 3,) I met my future husband on a blind date. I was completely unimpressed.

William was the twin brother of my best friend Carrie's then-boyfriend Bobby. I learned with disappointment, however, that they were not identical twins. Bobby was hot, a real live fireman with ash-blond good looks, gym-pumped muscles and (Carrie assured me) a huge cock. The brothers were a bit older than us, somewhere well into their thirties, but while Bobby was boyishly handsome, William was prematurely balding. He had thick glasses and slight paunch. He was shabbily dressed and poorly shaved.

On top of all this, he was shy to the point of near-silence and I had to work hard to keep our conversation afloat through an agonizingly long dinner. It was a double date with Carrie and Bobby, and when it was finally done, William rather staidly kissed my hand and asked not for my phone number, but my e-mail address. I figured there was no harm in this and surrendered it. William thanked me for a wonderful evening and excused himself, leaving me as Carrie and Bobby's third wheel.

"So," Carrie said. "What do you think?"

"I don't know," I said. "We didn't really hit it off."

Carrie shrugged. "Yeah, we were afraid of that. But Bobby wanted me to ask you if you wanted to come back to our place for a three-way."

I declined as politely as I could, knowing that this would probably destroy our friendship. The fact that Bobby would even ask her such a thing also led me to believe that their relationship was not long for this world. This prediction came true about a month later, after Carrie had agreed to a menage a trois with some girl they picked up at a bar. Bobby, it turned out, liked this chick better and promptly dumped Carrie. I figured that was the end of that, and I wouldn't ever hear from William again.

This was a strange phase in my life. I had recently emerged from a long-term relationship with an anally-obsessed Republican Mormon (long story.) Then I had lost my technical virginity to the afore-mentioned rock star. I was not yet twenty, relatively inexperienced, and looking for love. Sex was the path I chose to this goal, but it turns out that one does not necessarily lead to the other.

Carrie had discovered early on that any reasonably attractive girl could get laid anytime she wanted to, with nearly any man, if she made a direct offer of sex. Carrie would just pick out a guy she liked and ask him straight out if he wanted to fuck. If he said no, she'd just pick out another one. Not very many said no. She had about an 80% success rate with this approach. 

I tried that a few times myself, but these encounters left me not only dissatisfied, but also deeply shamed. I don't know. Carrie could, with few qualms, give a blow-job in the parking lot to a guy she'd met ten minutes before, but that wasn't really me. I'm not even sure that was really her, either. Carrie, for all her affected free spirits, wasn't really a very happy person.

Don't get me wrong. I'm no prude. I did have a somewhat repressed Mormon upbringing, but that was something I was bound and determined to shed. I love sex. I love having fun. I saw nothing really wrong with one-nighters or with "hooking up" with a guy the same night I meet him. I didn't expect love from these guys but, and this was the thing, I did expect a bare minimum of kindness. I didn't expect marriage or commitment or anything like that, but why pretend you're not home when I call the next day? Treat me nice and I'll happily fuck your brains out. Be a dickhead and I quickly lose interest. That seems like a simple proposition, but it was beyond most of the guys I met.

Here are some examples of the winners I dallied with in those days: 

* Gordon, a bass player in a fairly decent bar band (me and my musician fetish.) Carrie seduced the lead singer and I wound up with Gordon as a "collateral hookup." After a four-minute fuck at his apartment, he asked if I'd please leave because he had to go to work early the next morning. I know it's asking a lot, but I really like a guy to make me eggs the morning after.

* Brad, another bar pick-up, on whom I bestowed a fantastic blow job. His way of expressing gratitude? "Could you blow my buddy Ralph, too? He just broke with his girlfriend and he's depressed."

* Matt and Erin. Yes, a prospective three-way with a guy and his girlfriend. I was up for it in a "what the hell" kind of way (after several tequila shots.) But when we got back to their place, Erin began to sob, saying she couldn't go through with it. Matt got pissed, saying that she'd promised, and Erin locked herself in the bathroom. At which point, Matt turned to me and, predictably, said: "Well, you and me can still fuck." The fact that I went along with this said more about my self-esteem than his charm.

*Mark, who actually took me out to a very expensive restaurant. Afterwards, he said I could either pay my half of the bill or, "maybe we can work out some kind of trade."

* Jordan, a good-looking, charming and friendly man. He took me out several times, treated me well and was great in bed. The problem? Oh, well, he somehow forgot to mention that he was married and had a four-year-old son. Must have slipped his mind.

Add to this list a few very scary near date rapes and you can see why I wanted out of this scene. Plus, if any guys are reading this, let me tell you a personal pet peeve of mine. When a girl says she doesn't want to have sex with you, the line "You could at least blow me," contains zero charm. And, if the girl finally caves in to your whining and wheedling and sucks your little ding-dong, please do not at any point utter the phrase: "Oh yeah, suck it, bitch."  

In the midst of these dark days, when I was beginning to lose all faith in the male gender, Will's e-mails began to arrive. At first, I'd actually forgotten who he was and, when I did remember, I thought he was stalking me. I deleted the first several of these messages, not even bothering to read some of them. 

Still, they kept coming, every couple days, and my curiosity got the better of me. The messages were brief, witty, thoughtful. He said things like: "I was at the supermarket the other day, and I saw they had a special on orchids. I thought of you, how you'd said that was your favorite flower." Remembering a casual comment I'd made, and forgotten, months before. 

It got to be that I looked forward to hearing from Will, and was even disappointed when he didn't write me. Even on a bad day, he made me laugh. Eventually, I began to write him back. Our correspondence went on for weeks. Even in the realm of cyberspace, he was a complete gentleman. He never pushed me for any kind of personal information unless I volunteered it first, never asked me out, never got sexual. I could even ask him for advise on guys I was seeing. His replies were thoughtful and even helpful, devoid of any trace of jealousy.

At that time, I was seeing a guy named Ryan. I say "seeing," but "screwing" might be a better word. The sex was really good, and Ryan was a great-looking guy, but any time I suggested we do anything outside the bedroom, or made any move that he interpreted as indicating any kind of emotional investment, he would get cold and withdraw. 

Will told me that the curse of good-looking men was that many of them had learned that they didn't have to give up anything to get what they wanted. As long as they could find women willing to go to bed with them without demanding any emotional investment in return, they would do so because they had no reason not to. Will warned that if I became too demanding, Ryan would simply find some other girl willing to have sex with him, who wouldn't ask for anything else, for a while anyway.

This, of course, turned out to be true. Ryan didn't bother telling me that he was seeing anyone else and Will called that one, too. "If he can get sex from two women, he will do so for as long as he can." Even when I found evidence (another girl's panties tangled in the bedsheets) and confronted Ryan, all he did was shrug. "I never said I wasn't sleeping with anyone else." That, to his credit, was true, but it was at that point that I decided I wanted out. Ryan didn't seem to care one way or the other, and this was what stung me the most.

In the days that followed, I did a lot of thinking. Maybe, I thought, my taste in men was in fact my own worst enemy. The guys I was attracted to, the really good-looking ones in my book, all turned out to be flaming assholes. Then there was Will. Quiet, unassuming, totally lacking in confidence and charisma, unathletic, unfashionable and balding. Point for point running counter to what I found attractive in a man. He was also kind, generous, funny, perceptive and sensitive. All things I claimed to want in a man, but which were conspicuously missing in every guy I'd ever been with.

So, as an experiment, I decided to give Will another try. I e-mailed him and asked him out to dinner. To my surprise, he turned me down.

"We tried that," he wrote back. "I think I'm better with writing words than I am with speaking them in person."

I wrote back a long, confessional letter, pouring my heart into an explanation of my emotional needs, which were not being served by the men I went out with. I expressed cautious hope that he might be able to save me from myself.

"I will only disappoint you," he wrote back. Then he presented a long list of reasons he was not what I was looking for. The difference in our ages, his own emotional baggage (in this message he told me for the first time that he had been married for several years and had had a rather bitter divorce.) His self-doubt, insecurity. "You're a wonderful person and a very beautiful woman," he wrote. "You deserve better than me."

I wrote back that his problems were much like mine, and that if we could each overcome all of our doubts about ourselves, then perhaps we could find a measure of happiness with one another.

We went back and forth like that for a while, getting deeper and deeper into emotional confessions, until the act of electronic messaging turned into a baring of the soul. Then, a week later, I received a very short reply to a very long and very raw e-mail I'd sent him.

"I've just spent the afternoon reading over our correspondence," he wrote back. "Jesus, do I take myself too seriously. I'd love to go to dinner with you. Shall I pick you up at 8?"

I smiled for an hour.

When I opened the door for him that night, his eyes went wide behind his glasses.

"My God," he said. "You look beautiful."

His look was so frank, his words spoken with such sincerity, that I blushed and had to look away. I was wearing a red dress. A bit low-cut and short-skirted but nothing like what Carrie called cock-bait, which was what I usually wore when I went out bar-hopping. 

"You don't look so bad yourself," I said. And he didn't. He had on a sweater-vest, a look I normally associated with my Dad, but on Will tonight it looked good. I smelled a hint of nice cologne in the air, too.

"Shall we?" he said, and then he actually took my arm.

He took me to a somewhat expensive Italian place. At first, our conversation was stilted and awkward, but after a few glasses of wine and some effort on my part, Will came out of his shell and we regained the easy rapport we'd developed in our e-mails. We talked and laughed easily, like we'd known each other for years. We kept it light, too, with none of that emotional heaviness of our recent correspondence.

Afterwards, he took me home. We talked for a while longer in his idling car and, when we finally ran out of words, he attempted to give me a good-night kiss on the cheek. I turned my head at the last second, though, and caught him full on the lips. I kissed him, open mouthed, for what felt like several minutes. He resisted at first, but gradually melted into my kiss. I took his shaking hand and placed it on my breast.

"Come inside," I whispered in his ear.

"Lisa," he pulled away. "I don't think I sh. . ."

"Yes," I interrupted. "You definitely should. I want to go to bed with you tonight."

"I don't think we're ready . . ."

"I'm ready," I said. "And if you don't come in right now, I'm going to go to some bar and find some guy and have a cheap, emotionally self-destructive one-night-stand. You don't want me to have to do that, do you?"

"No, but . . ."

"No more arguments, Will. I want you. Come inside."

He grinned then, didn't say another word. He followed me into my apartment. 

I'd been planning for this all day. I had candles set up all over my bedroom and I lit them as he watched. I played slow sexy jazz on my stereo, then stood before Will and let him cover my lips and my and my neck and my shoulders with his light fluttering kisses.

"Undress me," I gasped.

Delicately, with shaking hands, he slid the thin straps of the dress off my shoulders and pulled it slowly to the floor around my ankles. I kicked it away and stood before him in silky black bra and panties. He pulled the straps of the bra down and kissed my chest and the tops of my breasts. My nipples cried out for his lips. Will put his arms around me, caressed my back for a while before finding the clasp to the bra. He undid the clasp cautiously, but didn't fumble at it the way a lot of guys do. The bra fell away and was forgotten. Gentle kisses turned my nipples to pebbly nubs.

His light suckling kisses moved like butterfly wings down my belly. Will was on his knees before me, like a man at prayer. He kissed the front of my panties, then slid them down my legs so slowly I thought I was going to go crazy. Will leaned forward and his lips found my clitoris. I arched my back into his kiss. I could smell myself, musky and heavy in the candle-lit air. My own scent made my mouth water.

"Stand up," I said.

Will did so. The confidence he had shown in revealing my body evaporated when it came to exposing his own. He seemed uncomfortable as I pulled off his sweater, and unbuttoned his shirt, and peeled off the t-shirt he wore under that. I couldn't help noticing he was sucking in his gut. I wanted him to relax, so I ran my hands through the hair on his chest and kissed him as he had kissed me. Slow descending flutters. His neck, his chest, his nipples, his belly, his waist, until I was kneeling before him as he had kneeled before me.

I undid his belt, unzipped his pants, pulled them to the ground. Boxer shorts underneath. He stopped my hand as I tugged at the waist-band.

"I'm kind of small," he said shamefully.

I insistently pulled the shorts down and was face-to-face with his cock. He wasn't all that small. In the past several months, I'd seen more than my share of cocks. Will's was maybe at the low end of average, but I'd seen much smaller. Matt, the guy who'd wanted a three-way with his girlfriend, had been downright stubby.

"Looks pretty good to me," I said. To prove it, I gave the partially erect penis a long, slow kiss. I licked away a pearly bead of pre-cum. Will pulled away like my mouth was an electrical socket.

"I don't want to . . ." he said.

I nodded up at him and smiled. Standing up, I grabbed his now fully hard cock and led him over to the bed like a dog on a leash. We laid down together, spooning, naked.

"I haven't had sex since my divorce," he whispered in my ear. "That's almost five years. Would it be all right if I just . . . touched you for a while?"

I was used to guys whose idea of foreplay was jamming a finger in to see if I was wet, and looking around for a bottle of lube if I wasn't. Will, though, held me as his hands explored every part of my body for what felt like hours. He kissed me as he touched my breasts, toyed with the nipples with a child-like fascination. I rolled onto my back to give him easier access, and guided his hand down between my legs. His fingers parted my wet divide, grazed my clitoris, shyly dipped inside. His touch was so light, so tentative, that I actually put my hand on his to make the pressure stronger. 

"Can I . . ." he struggled for the words. "You know, with my mouth?"

I nodded enthusiastically. Rare, I'd found, was the man who would eat your pussy on the first date. Will approached this as he'd approached everything else, with utmost caution, kissing around my thighs in gradually decreasing circles until he zeroed in on my pussy, which was by now gurgling with anticipation.

In terms of style and technique, perhaps Will was not as skilled as some other guys who had gone down on me. The rock star, in particular, comes to mind as a cunnilingual master. But you have to give him points for enthusiasm. Will licked and sucked and gobbled and gulped, drinking from my well like a man dying of thirst. Some guys, I know, are put off by the taste and the smell, but Will seemed to delight in getting my juices all over his face. He made all these moaning yummy noises and I even felt his nose dip inside me a few times. I was so wet, I was almost afraid he'd drown down there.

Then something happened that's never happened to me before. I started to shake. My legs, spread out to admit his face, began to shiver and spasm. I grabbed the back of Will's head and pulled him harder into me. He was humping the mattress frantically. The quaking rocked my entire body and I bucked my hips into his mouth. I came so hard it brought tears to my eyes. I felt something spurt out of me into his mouth and he greedily drank it up.

He sat up, smiling at me through lips dripping with my juices. He picked up his undershirt off the floor and wiped his face off. Too bad. I wanted to kiss it away, to lick my own pussy off his face.

"Come here," I said. I wanted him to fuck me.

"Just a minute," he said. He got up and rooted in his pants pocket until he found his wallet. He opened it up and pulled out a condom.

"I bought it just in case," he explained sheepishly. "I didn't really expect to . . ."

"Whatever," I said. "Just hurry."

He fumbled around with the rubber for a few seconds, then climbed on top of me. I could feel him poking around clumsily down there. I reached down to help him guide it in, but found him only partially hard. He shied away, fell back on the bed beside me.

"I'm sorry," he said miserably. "I don't know what's wrong. I really want to."

I could see that he was blushing with embarrassment even in the candlelight. He looked like he wanted to cry.

"It's all right, Will," I said. 

I sat up and leaned over him, peeling off the condom and taking him into my jaws. I gave him my slowest, wettest blow-job, stroking him with my other hand. It wasn't long before he was admirably hard once again.

"Thank you thank you thank you," he moaned as I worked on him. Pure gratitude. It beat the hell out of "oh yeah, suck it bitch."

I released him from my mouth and lay back down on the bed. There were a few more awkward moments of condom application and searching for the entrance, but then he was inside me.

I put my arms around his back and pulled him close as he rocked his hips into me, rolling with gentle waves. I reflected then on the phrase "making love," for the first time really understanding how this act could literally create love between two people. Every time Will fell into me, I felt closer to loving him. Other guys might have been better lovers, by that I mean more skilled, but Will was literally loving me, while all the others were only performing the motions of love.

Thinking this brought me to the edge again, and hearing Will grunt and feeling the condom inflate inside me sent me right over the other side. This orgasm was lighter than the first, like a hot flash pumped through my entire bloodstream. 

We kissed for a long time as he withered inside me.




The Education of Lisa Ch. 05



Six weeks after I started seeing Will, I moved in with him. It just sort of worked out that way. My landlord was selling the house I was renting, so I had to move out of my place. Will and I were together nearly every night anyway, so it made sense that I move into his. 

I was completely in love with him by now. In my admittedly limited experience with men, I had never before met anyone who treated me with as much kindness and respect. Will was witty, romantic and above all, fun to be around. We always had fun together, no matter what we were doing. As icing on the cake, Will was a gourmet cook, intelligent and well-read and, incidentally, independently wealthy. Perfect, right? Well, there was one problem.

You'll notice that I haven't mentioned our sex life. That's because, for the most part, it wasn't worth mentioning. Will had almost zero sex drive. In those first six weeks, when we should have been going at it like bunnies, we fucked exactly four times. I wanted it practically every night, but Will would claim to be tired, or simply "not up for it." I'd never even heard of a man not being in the mood before. 

He did enjoy going down on me, and would do so any time I asked for it. That was all right, but sometimes a girl just wants to be fucked, you know? Even if he did get me off orally, I still wanted cock. And get this, he didn't like me to go down on him at all. He said it made him feel self-conscious. What kind of a man doesn't like blow-jobs? Every guy I'd ever been with has said that I give incredible head, but I couldn't even get Will to come in my mouth.

Will was all about cuddling and fondling. He especially loved spooning in bed and playing with my breasts. All this only got me worked up. I would sometimes masturbate right in front of him so he'd get the hint, but Will was content to watch. "You look so beautiful when you touch yourself," he'd say. A wonderful sentiment, but I wished he'd do something about it. 

I actually broke down in tears once, begging him for it. I said that him turning me down made me feel ugly and unwanted. Will insisted that it was just him, he'd always had a low sex drive, it was just how he was. He confessed that this had been a bone of contention between him and his ex-wife, too. 

"You can always do what she did," he said, cautiously.

"What's that?" I said.

"You can have sex with other people," he said not, looking me in the eye. "It doesn't bother me."

I didn't want to sex with other people, though. I wanted to have sex with him. The man I loved. And the fact that the idea of me cheating on him didn't bother him, bothered me greatly. 

So yeah, the sex thing was an issue. A big issue. But I was patient, and willing to try anything to bring him around. I borrowed some pornos from my friend Carrie, but Will said porn was ugly and degrading and refused to even watch. I tried to get him drunk, but alcohol only made him sleepy. Secretly slipping him a potent combo of yohimbe and horny goat weed seemed to have no effect whatsoever. There had to be something that would turn him on, though. It was just a matter of finding it. 

In the midst of this, I was laid off from my office job. Will said that I didn't need to look for another job if I didn't want to and for a while I didn't. I was content to stay at home and work on the house, which needed a lot of work.

My God, the house.

Will's house had been in his family for six generations. His great-great-great grandfather Lucius Jacoby built the original structure in the 1880's and the next three succeeding generations had added onto it, usually in strikingly incongruous ways. The various wings and additions were ill-fitting and the whole structure had a schizophrenic look to it. The original building was gothic, dark and foreboding with columns and shadowy porticos. The West wing (built by Lucius's son Donald Jacoby around the turn of the 20th century) by contrast was a sunny, Victorian cottage-style addition. The rear of the structure was Art Deco, built in the 1920's under the direction of Lucius's grand-son (Will's great grand-father) Christopher Jacoby, which to this day looks as futuristic as something out of a Fritz Lang movie. Not to be outdone, Will's grandfather Royal Jacoby had built a section while under the spell of Frank Lloyd Wright. This section connected the all the others in a complete circle around an enclosed courtyard. 

The interior of the house was as chaotic as the exterior would suggest. The connecting halls were labyrinthine, as I found out the hard way when I got lost and wandered in little circles for hours until I screamed for Will to find me. There were rooms which had probably not been opened in forty years or more. The decor was a cacophony of disparate styles, reflecting more than a century of interior design fashions. The job I had volunteered to do for Will, which turned out to be a task of Herculean proportions, was to redecorate, room by room, until at least the main living sections had some kind of unified look to them.

Needless to say, the house was haunted. I found this out one night when, laying awake in sexual frustration, I very distinctly heard a whispered conversation coming from the ceiling. Two voices, a man and a woman, talking in low, confidential tones. Lover's bed-talk, too quiet to make out the words. I shook Will awake.

"There's someone in the attic," I whispered to him, forgetting in that moment that the attic didn't extend over our bedroom.

"Wha?" Will barely opened his eyes.

"There are people talking up there," I said, growing more alarmed by the second.

"Just the ghosts," Will muttered sleepily.

"What?"

"Ghosts," he repeated, then rolled over and went back to sleep.

Will had grown up in the house and was accustomed to its quirks. It was all new to me, though, and more than a little disconcerting. The furniture in distant wings had a disturbing habit of rearranging itself at odd hours of the night. Doors would slam violently closed no matter what was done to prop them open. Black smudgy fingerprints mysteriously appeared in impossibly high corners. Faint music could be heard on very quiet evenings, seeming to come from inside the walls, a spectral music box playing some long-forgotten tune. The entire house moaned and creaked. Sometimes I heard a baby crying.

There was one room, in the rear section of the house. I only went in there once, and was filled with nausea and dread, such a cold sinking feeling of despair I had never felt in my life. Will later casually told me that his great (or was it great-great?) Uncle Lawrence had hung himself in the room.

The house seemed to invade my dreams, too. Living there, I dreamed almost exclusively of its dark hallways, which were often patrolled by shadowy apparitions. I would wake up breathless with terror from one of these nightmares, dismayed to find that I was still in the dreadful house.

This was all going to take some getting used to, to say the least. Will kept telling me that, although the house was perhaps a bit spooky, it was certainly harmless. The house was so rich in family history and tradition that he couldn't bring himself to sell it, or even to move away. It was clear that if I was to remain with Will, I would have to make some kind of peace with the place. Maybe that's where the idea of redecorating came from. If I could make even a slight impression on the house, it would become in small way mine. In the back of my mind, I might have even thought that fresh coats of paint and new carpeting could exorcize the spirits which haunted the place.

One day when Will was at work, I was going through the rooms, making notes and sketches. (I didn't mind being alone in the house during the day, but on no account would I be alone there at night.) That was the day I stumbled onto the library. It was a circular room in the old section of the house, the walls of which extended up through all three stories and up into a turret. The bookshelves covered the walls, spiraling up to the ceiling. It made me dizzy just looking at it. I dropped my sketchpad to the floor and forgot about it as, for the next several hours, I immersed myself in a bewildering and fascinating array of literature.

I soon learned that the books were arranged chronologically, and that none were less than fifty years old. Christopher Jacoby (Will's great grandfather) was a fiction enthusiast and a serious collector. I'm no expert, but in his section I found first edition Hemingways and Fitzgeralds which were obviously valuable. I even found a signed edition of "Great Expectations" which was certainly so priceless I was afraid to touch it. Donald Jacoby (Will's great-great grandfather) was more interested in scientific literature, and among his collection was a complete set of the Encyclopedia Britannica dating from 1900. 

All pretty amazing, but none of it compared to the oldest section of the library, the collection of Will's great-great-great grandfather Lucius Jacoby. Lucius's collection was entirely devoted to forbidden literature; erotica and books on the occult. Copiously illustrated ancient editions of the "Kama Sutra," "Arabian Nights," Casanova, De Sade. Even more obscure and antique pornography, so perverse and explicit that it made me shudder with a mixture of revulsion and arousal. The occult literature was even more disturbing. Arcane tomes devoted to demonology and witchcraft, much of it in Latin, some of it I think so forbidden it was written in code. Grotesque and horrible illustrations of human suffering and demonic delight. 

In the midst of all this was an entire shelf of matching leather bindings, thirteen editions with the covers stamped in gold-leaf, "The Memoirs of Lucius Jacoby." I pulled the first edition off the shelf and tried to read it, but the handwritten script was small and the light from the windows was failing. I realized with a start that I had been in the library for nearly six hours. With this realization came others; I was ravenously hungry and had been suppressing the need to urinate for so long my bladder felt close to bursting. Taking the first two editions of Lucius's memoirs with me, I left the library with regret.

That night, after yet another fruitless attempt to persuade Will to fuck me, I turned on the bedside lamp and opened the first volume.

"Oh, I see you found old Lucius's memoirs," Will said. "I tried to read those once. I couldn't get through them. The man was crazy. I remember when I met him, he scared the hell out of me."

"Wait," I said. "How could you have met him? He was your great-great-great grandfather."

"Yeah," Will said. "I must have been five years old. He was, I think, a hundred and five. He'd outlived all his children and most of his grandchildren. Mostly blind and deaf, in a wheelchair, but still really imposing, especially to a little kid. He lived for a few years after that, even."

"My God," I said, even more impressed.

"Anyway," Will said. "I wouldn't really recommend reading that before bed. You already have nightmares."

With that, he rolled over and went to sleep.

I regarded the leather book for a while with apprehension before opening it up against Will's advice. Curiosity killed the cat.

The first volume was devoted to remembrances of Lucius's childhood on a tobacco plantation in Virginia. I had not read very far when I received the first of many shocks. Lucius made several references to his father's slaves and something about this didn't add up. I flipped around a bit until I found mention of his birth date. November 21, 1849. I did the math. If Will had indeed been five years old when he'd met his ancestor, that would have been in 1974, which would have made Lucius 125 years old. Surely that was wrong. Either the date in the memoir was incorrect or Will was confused and had in fact met his great-great grandfather Donald. People simply don't live that long. 

Putting this incongruity aside, for the present, I dove into the memoir. Lucius's interest in the occult, it seems, was already present in childhood. He tells of a fascination with the "hoodoo" stories of the slaves, their tales of "ha'nts" which lived in the woods, and of a visit at age ten to an old black woman whom he claims was a very powerful witch. 

The latter part of the first volume dealt with the Civil War. Lucius enlisted in the Confederate Army when he was thirteen, lying about his age, and graphically described the brutality and horror of war. "War gives license for man to fulfill his most evil desires," he wrote. "Surely the Devil is delighted."

The war also occasioned Lucius's sexual awakening, both with the whores who worked the front lines, and also with an older soldier with whom Lucius had an extended affair. (The further I read, the more it became clear that Lucius was completely bisexual.) Each sexual encounter was described with the same graphic attention to detail to which Lucius had paid the battleground scenes. Reading them, I was flushed with desire. I reached under the sheets and pulled my panties off, so I could touch myself with one hand while I turned pages with the other. By the time Will woke up in the morning, I had finished the first volume and started on the second. I had not slept at all and had brought myself to repeated orgasms.

"You've been up all night reading that?" Will asked me.

"Yes," I said, irritably. I was reading a particularly juicy section and the interruption rankled my nerves. I was actually happy when Will went to work so I could be left alone with Lucius's words.

The second volume, I found, dealt mainly with Lucius's days as a cowhand out West in the years following the war. It read like an X-rated version of "Lonesome Dove." In addition to descriptions of the day-to-day life of a working cowboy, there was an exhaustive survey of the prostitutes Lucius encountered in his travels. Descriptions of each woman, her specialties, her prices, a ranking of her skills and beauty. He also mused at great length about the sexual merits of women of different races. His conclusions are, in today's light, dreadfully politically incorrect and unprintable, but I can say that he had a preference for "negresses" and "squaws."

There was also this passage: "We had been on the trail for nearly forty days without a woman when it was decided that Salton should fulfill this role at least until we make Denver. Salton was not pleased at first, but after a few scuffles with the boys he finally consented to wear the dress we'd brought along. ‘Sally,' as our new woman was named, entertained several of us in turn in her tent. Being the senior hand on the drive, I was given the privilege of breaking her in. With a little lard, she was made as soft as any whore's pussy and a good deal tighter."

I finished Volume 2 late that morning. Eyes bleary and red from lack of sleep and from more than twelve hours of squinting at Lucius's small, precise script, I wandered back down to the library for another volume. I didn't even consider going to bed. I'm not sure why I was so obsessed. The sex was part of it, I'm sure, but I think more than that it was the simple force of Lucius's personality. Vital and potent still, even though the man was long dead. So unlike, it should be noted, his mild and meek ancestor. It may be somewhat mean to think it, but if I had been Lucius's woman, sexual frustration would have been the least of my problems. 

I replaced the two books back on the shelf and that was when things started to get very weird. Further down on the shelf, the last of the memoirs, Volume Thirteen, fell to the floor. Actually, "fell" is not accurate. As I watched, it slid from the shelf, slowly, as if pushed out from behind. 

The book landed on the floor with a soft thud and I leapt backwards, my heart pounding in my chest. There was a presence in the library, heavy and unmistakable as a scent. I felt eyes upon me. His eyes. I felt naked. Adrenaline racing, I grabbed the book from the floor and fled from the room. 

Back in the relative safety of the front of the house, I was still afraid to open the book. I wished that Will was home. I had never felt so alone, so vulnerable. I went from room to room, turning on all the lights even though it was a bright and sunny day. I turned on the television and the radio, just for the company of living human voices. I even said a few prayers, something I hadn't done in years.

Finally, exhausted, I fell onto the living room couch. The leather-bound book rested on the coffee table, exuding a terrible talismanic fascination. Even sitting there unopened, it had power. I put a newspaper over the book so I wouldn't have to look at it. Then, though I tried to fight it, I sank into a heavy drowning sleep.

I dreamed of Lucius. In the dream, I was laying on the same couch I was in fact sleeping on, a fact which lent the dream a disturbing air of reality. I was paralyzed, completely unable to move or even make a sound above a whimper. He came to me. Lucius came to me. He was a big man, broad and imposing, bearded and wild-haired, dark-skinned with blue eyes so piercing they seemed to glow. He towered above me, grinning down at what I knew he saw as just another woman, just another whore. The worst thing about this was, I liked being looked at that way.

Big hands, roughened by years of hard work, tore my shirt open, ripped away my bra like it was made of paper. Those calloused hands were all over my breasts, rough and scratchy. I loved it. I loved his rasping touch on my tits. I wanted to writhe into his hands, but of course I still could not move.

Then he rudely yanked down my pants, impatiently ripped my panties to tatters. One hand plunged into me like I was a glove. Lucius's thumb jabbed at my clitoris, just gouged it. Three thick fingers invaded my cunt. Lucius's pinkie plunged into my ass and in my dream even his smallest finger was the size of a lesser man's cock.

I came so hard I woke up screaming.

Will had come home at some point during my "nap," and he ran into the room when he heard me cry out.

"Are you all right?" he said.

I was breathless, shaking all over. So wet down there it felt like I'd pissed the couch. The pain and pleasure of Lucius's rude touch still vibrated through my entire body. I did manage to nod, though, in response to Will's concern.

He glanced down, saw the volume of Lucius's memoir resting on the coffee table.

"Oh," he said, understanding. "I told you not to read that."

Later that night, I had for the most part recovered from the day's shocks. I still couldn't bear the thought of being alone in a dark room, and I hadn't yet worked up the courage to start in on the final volume of the memoirs, but I had at least progressed to the point where I wasn't jumping at every sound and shadow.

As casually as I could, I said to Will: "Do you have any pictures of Lucius?"

"Yeah," Will nodded. "In the big bedroom in the East Wing, there's an old photograph hanging on the wall."

"Can you show me?"

"You know where it's at." 

Will was watching "Law and Order" and did not want to get up off the couch. I, however, had no intention of wandering the halls alone at this time of night. 

"Please show me," I said, tugging at his sleeve.

Will, with great reluctance, stood up and led me to the East Wing. 

I felt chills run through my body when I saw the picture in the oval oak frame. Though I had never before seen a picture of Lucius, it was obvious at a glance that this was the same man from my dream. The same wildness, the same laser-sharp eyes. The photograph was black-and-white, obviously, but it had been hand-tinted, and the eyes were painted with this unnatural, electric blue which made them seem alive. As in many old photographs, the intensity of the pose held for so long lent the subjects an eerie life. Lucius watched me from behind the curved glass. He saw right through me. I thought of my dream, of his calloused hand inside me, and I literally swooned.




The Education of Lisa Ch. 06



Recently, I went out to lunch with my best friend Carrie. I'd been very sick for a long time, incapacitated with a nearly fatal tropical virus (long story) and this was the first time I'd been out in over a month. As always with Carrie, the conversation eventually came around to sex. The question of my "number" came up, how many guys I'd been with. Carrie announced proudly that she had just passed sixty.

"How do you even keep track of that many?" I asked.

"I keep a diary," she said. "I've written down every sexual encounter I've had since . . ." She smiled coyly at this point, but I knew that she had been an early starter.

I did some quick calculating. "Do blow-jobs count?" I asked.

"I count them as half," Carrie said. "But, you know, you have to come up with your own system."

So after some deliberation, I said: "Five."

"Five?" Carrie said incredulously. "Bullshit. I know you've been with more than five guys."

"You said I could come up with my own system," I said. 

"OK," Carrie said. "Who are your five?"

"Number one, Jerry," I said.

"A.K.A. dickhead," Carrie put in. She'd never liked my first boyfriend.

"I wasn't sure if I should count him, since we never actually had real sex, only anal."

"I count anal twice," Carrie noted.

"Number two, Tom Petty."

Carrie laughed. "That was fun." She and I had been groupies for one night, meeting Mr. Petty and his Heartbreakers in a hotel room. Tom Petty was actually the one to technically deflower me.

"Number three, all those guys I slept with before I met Will."

"You can't lump them together as one," Carrie protested.

"Why not?" I said. "I barely remember their names, they all blur together when I think about them, and all told they equal about one good man."

"Cheater," Carrie scoffed.

"Number four is Will," I said, smiling as I thought of him. Will, with whom I finally understood the phrase "making love."

"OK," Carrie said. "Then who's five?"

Lucius. My demon lover. Or ghost, or zombie, or whatever the hell he was. Probably just a figment of my imagination, but I had to count him. He gave me the best fuck I'd ever had. I couldn't really tell Carrie about it, though, despite the fact that I could have told her just about anything else. Not only would she have thought I was crazy, I doubted I could have put it into words that she could have understood.

"I counted Will twice," I said.

"Oh, please," Carrie said, disgusted. "He hardly touches you. Or has that changed?"

I shook my head sadly. I had complained to Carrie many times about Will's frustrating lack of libido. She had suggested several strategies to overcome this, but so far none had paid off. So we went off on that tangent for a while. Carrie thought Will was gay, as she could see no other explanation for his refusal to give me the sexual attention which Carrie truly believed was mine by rights.

"He's not gay," I said. Of that, at least, I was reasonably certain.

"It's criminal," she shook her head sadly. "A young, hot, sexy woman like you, wasted."

That was when Carrie came up with the idea of a Vegas get-away, just the two of us. I warmed up to the idea quickly. After my long convalescence, I felt like getting out and having some fun. 

"Who knows?" Carrie said. "Maybe we can hook you up with some young casino stud."

"I'm not going to cheat on Will," I stated firmly.

"It's not cheating if he doesn't give you what you need," Carrie said. "Besides, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas."

"I thought that was Mexico."

"Whatever," Carrie said. "Go home and start packing. We're leaving Friday night."

When we arrived in the fabled city late Friday, I was a bit dismayed to learn that Carrie had booked us in a rather seedy motel located very far off The Strip. I'm sure this had to do with the fact that she insisted on paying for half of everything. When I told Will that I wanted to go to Vegas, he went to the bank and drew out a thousand dollars in traveler's checks, then gave me his Platinum credit card in case that wasn't enough. Carrie, on the other hand, had to dip into the meager savings she had accumulated with her waitressing tips. I wouldn't have minded paying for the room, at least, but for Carrie it was a matter of pride. Which was how we ended up at the E-Z Rest.

We were lugging our luggage up onto the second floor balcony when we saw two teen-age boys lingering before one of the rooms. They started guiltily when they saw us coming and hurried away, so of course we had to stop in front of the room and see what it was that had caught their attention. 

The curtain was drawn back on the window, and all the lights in the room were on. Laying on the bed, her back to us, was a young woman, asleep, wearing only a pair of sheer yellow panties.

"Holy shit," Carrie said.

We could see the woman's ass clearly through the nearly transparent material, and with the way she was laying, also the side of one naked breast. Her face was buried in a pillow, so all we could see there was a tangle of black hair, but she did have a nice body. Seeing her exposed like that was both unsettling and more than a little arousing. I felt guilty for staring, but at the same time could not drag myself away. That is, until a man appeared behind us carrying an ice bucket.

"Enjoying the show?" he said to us, smiling ghoulishly, then went into the room and pulled the curtains closed.

Shaking my head in disgust, I made my way down the row to our room.

"That guy deliberately pulled the curtain open so people walking by would check out his wife," I said once we were inside. I was absolutely appalled.

"Yeah," Carrie laughed. "I think you're right."

"That's disgusting."

Carrie shrugged. "Maybe she doesn't mind."

"What?"

"Maybe she's a little bit of an exhibitionist," Carrie said. "He'll probably tell her what he did when she wakes up, and then they'll fuck like bunnies."

"Yeah, or maybe he's just a jerk," I said.

I was a bit irritable after the long ride, but we were both too tired to argue. Tomorrow we would do the town, but as for tonight all either of us wanted to do was sleep.

The next afternoon found us beside the swimming pool of one of the big casinos. Technically, the pool was only for guests of the hotel, but nobody had the heart to turn away two attractive young bikini-clad women. We were lounging in pool chairs, taking in the sun, checking out guys and being checked out, when I caught Carrie looking at me in a very strange way.

"What?" I said.

"Uh, I have kind of a confession to make," she said, looking away. She was actually blushing.

"What are you talking about?"

"You have to promise you won't get mad."

"Why?" I said, beginning to grow alarmed. "What did you do?"

Carrie grinned, disarmingly. "Well, last night, after you were asleep, I kind of . . ."

"What?" 

"I kind of opened the curtain and turned the light on."

"Carrie, you didn't."

"I did," she laughed.

"I don't believe . . ." I grasped for words that would express my anger, but I could only goggle in fury.

"Oh, come on," Carrie said. "You promised you wouldn't get mad."

"I did not!" I protested. "Carrie, what the hell were you thinking? Anybody could have looked in and seen us."

"Oh, I'm sure they did."

"I was undressed!"

"Lisa," she said. "The panties you were wearing last night covered more than the bikini bottoms you have on right now. Plus, you were wearing a t-shirt. You're way closer to naked now than you were then."

"That's different," I said.

"How?" she challenged.

"I . . ." I faltered. "I don't know, it just is."

"Anyway, I don't know what you're worried about. I doubt anyone even looked at you considering what I was wearing."

"What were you wearing?"

She only smiled in answer to that.

"You slept naked in front of an open window with the lights on?"

"My God, the dreams I had."

"I don't believe it," I said, although with Carrie of course I'd believe about anything. "Carrie, you're lucky nobody broke in and raped us."

"What do you mean, lucky?" she said. "That was what I was fantasizing about all night."

"You're unbelievable," I said.

"Oh, come on," Carrie said. "It doesn't turn you on, just a little?"

"No!" Though I think I might have protested a bit too much.

"Look at you, you're half naked right now. You've got a great body. Gorgeous tits and a perfect ass. Don't tell me you don't like people looking."

"That's not the point, Carrie."

"What is the point, then?"

"The point is . . ." I tried, but for the life of me could not say.

"Besides," she said. "I know you're turned on."

"How do you know that?"

"It's almost a hundred degrees out here and your nipples are hard."

I folded my arms self-consciously over my chest and fumed for a bit in silence. The worst part, I think, is that I knew Carrie was right. It did turn me on, a little, to think of the men who might have watched us sleep. Just the slightest bit.

That evening we hit a casino. Carrie, as she invariably did, managed to hook up with a guy. He was a slightly older dentist from Kansas or Nebraska or some awful place like that. Not bad-looking. He was doing very well at a blackjack table and seemed to think that Carrie was his good luck charm. The casino had already comped him a suite, and I knew it was only a matter of time before the two of them went up there.

I was playing slots without much enthusiasm. I guess I don't really have a gambling temperament, as I didn't see the point in feeding coins into these machines which never paid out nearly as much as they took in. Basically, I was just wasting time until Carrie got herself laid. I was bored, a little irritated, and was beginning to think that this trip had been a mistake. Then Carrie found me, flushed with excitement.

"Hey," she said. "I need you to do me a huge favor."

"What?" I said wearily. 

"I mean, gargantuan." 

"What, Carrie?"

"Joe wants you to come up to the room with us."

"Carrie, we've been through this a dozen times." For some reason, the Carrie's guy friends always wanted to include me in a three-way. Carrie seemed strangely willing, but I always refused on the grounds that I was afraid it would damage our friendship. "Besides, I told you I'm not going to cheat on Will."

"You won't," she said, smiling in such a mysterious way that I was curious despite myself.

"OK, what then?"

When she told me, I could hardly believe it. Part of me automatically revolted at the very idea, but another part of me was intrigued. I don't have to tell you which part won out, because this would be a very boring story otherwise.

Dr. Joe Johnson, DDS, if that was in fact his real name, had a long-standing fantasy about meeting an attractive young woman at a Vegas casino and having wild hotel-room sex. So far, pretty generic. But the interesting part was, he wanted a permanent record of the encounter. This was where I came in. He needed someone to hold the camera.

I went straight to the bar and fortified myself with liquid courage. Then I accompanied my best friend and the strange dentist up to the luxurious suite.

Once in the room, not much was said. Champagne was poured and electronic dance music with a pounding sexual rhythm was played. After a quick tutorial from Dr. Johnson on how to operate the camera, they began to dirty dance as I dutifully recorded the whole thing on tape.

Through the camera's viewfinder, I watched my friend Carrie dance. I realized that I had never seen her before in quite this way. This was the face she showed to the men she gave herself to, and I found this fascinating. There was something undeniably beguiling about her smile, about the way she blushed. Something both innocent and wanton at the same time. She was like a little girl in her kittenish play, but her body was all woman.

I zoomed in close and she smiled at me, or maybe just at the camera.

I've always thought Carrie was pretty. She was down on herself a lot, always said that I was the pretty one, but now as she closed her eyes and moved to the music, I saw her as absolutely beautiful. Her body was a writhing mass of sensuality. The good doctor held her from behind and lightly cupped her breasts in his hands, toying with the nipples through the thin material of her dress. One of Carrie's main complaints about herself was that she was flat-chested, at least compared to me. She always says that she's going to get a boob job someday. Personally, I hoped she never did. I thought her breasts were nice just they way they were. Mine were so big they hurt my back, but hers were just these perfect little pieces of fruit, so tantalizing and ripe. Plus, they were just the right size so she never had to wear a bra.

Dr. Johnson's hands moved slowly down her stomach and reached up her short loose skirt. Here his fingers found a bit of a pleasant surprise. Carrie never wore panties when she was in what she liked to call "fuckable mode." His hand stroked her there and I zoomed in for a close-up. Dr. Johnson obligingly lifted her skirt so the camera could get a better shot. Carrie used to completely shave her pubic hair, but now she usually left a thin, neatly trimmed patch. A "landing strip," as she called it. 

Dr. Johnson's fingers glistened with moisture, I could see this even through the viewfinder. Another detail caught on tape: the faint hint of a tan line on his left ring finger. A married dentist. I doubt Carrie would have minded even if she had known, she'd been with married men before, but I felt a sharp twinge of outrage. Still, I was starting to get turned on myself. My clothes felt uncomfortably warm and tight, and there a fluttering warmth spreading from between my legs all the way up to the pit of my stomach. 

Dr. Johnson fell to his knees before Carrie. She arched her back and pulled her skirt up to afford him access. He leaned into her, lapping her dripping dew, sucking all her honey. Carrie was still moving to the incessant beat of the music. She grasped the doctor's hair in her fist and he put his hands on her swaying hips. Together they continued to dance.

Carrie cried out. She opened her eyes and gave me a smile. I'd never seen her like this, lost in ecstatic sensation. It was amazing to watch. I felt a connection to her that I'd never known before, a new kind of intimacy. Strange to say, but it was like the man wasn't there at all. 

Dr. Johnson, jaws dripping, looked up at Carrie.

"Your turn," he said. I think he meant it to come out as ironically authoritarian, like he was playing at being the in-charge male, but his voice was breathless and a little weak.

Carrie obeyed though, eagerly. They traded positions, her on her knees, him standing before her. Dr. Johnson quickly pulled his clothes off. He was a good-lucking guy. What I think they call a "metro-sexual." Gym-toned and booth-tanned body, suspiciously hairless as if he had certain areas waxed. Not much in the way of body fat. And, when he pulled his expensive silk boxers off, I saw why he called himself "Dr. Johnson."

Still, I had the weird feeling that he was only some kind of prop, like he was just some anonymous actor called in to do the scene with Carrie, who was the undisputed star of this show. She licked her lips in appreciation of his meaty erection and opened wide to take it in. 

This was a unique opportunity to closely observe another woman's style of cocksucking. Carrie was a ferocious fellatrix, sucking hard and deep, moving fast and showing no mercy. When I go down on a guy, I like to take my time, to savor the feeling of power which comes from knowing that the man is completely under my control. But Carrie was all business. Maybe it was just because of the camera, like she felt like she had to perform. Or maybe it was because Carrie watched so much porn and that was where she had learned to give head.

Whatever the reason, Dr. Johnson seemed to appreciate her fervor. He grabbed her hair and began to move with her frantic rhythm, which was at least twice as fast as the beat of the music. He moaned and groaned and tensed his tight hairless buttocks as his fat monster cock slid in and out of Carrie's red painted lips.

Finally, he pulled the head out with a pop. "I don't want to come yet," he gasped, and led Carrie over to the bed. I followed, feeling like I wasn't even there, like the camera was just a floating eye. I was only an observer of this strange human ritual.

I got an interesting close-up of Dr. Johnson rolling a condom on, then he instructed Carrie to get on the bed on her hands and knees. 

"I want to be able to see it going in," he told me.

So I knelt beside the bed and got in close between Carrie's legs, studying the gasping flower of her cunt and her puckered brown anus. I had never seen a woman's genitals up this close before, my own included. Fascinated, I moved the camera slowly over the geography of her exposed sex, and was almost disappointed when the rubber-sheathed phallus entered the frame and spoiled the purity of the shot. Still, the penetration had an undeniable visual impact.

I held the close-up for a while until I grew weary of the repetitive in-and-out piston motion of fucking. I pulled back for the more interesting sight of naked bodies grasping, of Dr. Johnson's smooth, gliding plunges; of Carrie's desperate backward thrusting. 

They went at it for a long time, switching positions as I floated around them, merely observing. I didn't care so much for the missionary position, from a visual point of view. Carrie was almost completely obscured by the man on top of her, and no matter from what angle I filmed, Dr. Johnson's bobbing buttocks seemed incongruously comical. 

I liked better when Carrie got on top. I sat on the bed beside them to get a good shot of her lean, aesthetic body, and the way she moved. Dr. Johnson laid still, his arms behind his head, and I'm afraid he was framed him completely out of the shot. I captured Carrie's orgasm, though; her eyes closed, sweat dripping from her, her chest turning splotchy and red. She cried out a little, but it was nothing like the cheesy overacting in a porno, not like a Meg Ryan orgasm at all. It was real, and it was amazing to behold.

I was utterly detached from the scene, like I've said, but at the same time I was living it intensely. I know that probably doesn't make sense. I remember thinking at one point that it was like I was fucking Carrie, using the hapless dentist as some kind of surrogate cock. In any case, I was so aroused my head spun. I was dazed, overwhelmed by what I was seeing and by the heady smell of sex which was so thick in the air you could have choked on it. But I knew that I absolutely could not just put the camera down and join them. I'm sure Dr. Johnson wouldn't have minded, and I'm nearly positive Carrie wouldn't have any objections, either. But participating in the scene would have ruined it for me.

After Carrie came, she rolled off Dr. Johnson and lay beside him, grabbing his pulsing cock in her hand. 

"You about done?" she laughed. "I'm beat."

"Let me fuck you in the ass," he said breathlessly.

Carrie's face wrinkled. "I don't know . . ."

"Oh, please," Dr. Johnson begged. "That would make this perfect."

Carrie finally shrugged. "All right," she said. "But hurry, OK?"

They rearranged their positions again. Lubricant was searched for, but all we could find was a little bottle of hand lotion in my purse. Dr. Johnson spread a generous glob over his condom-sheathed cock, and worked the rest into Carrie's asshole. I cringed, both in memory of all the ass-fucking I had received from my first boyfriend, and also because I knew my hands would be dry for the entire drive home.

I zoomed in close and the camera captured the sight of Dr. Johnson's fat prick snaking into the tight burrow of my best friend's anus. She made a startled noise and grasped one of the pillows tight in her fist, but then moved backwards to take his cock all the way in. 




The Education of Lisa Ch. 07



Coming home from my Vegas get-away, I mentally rehearsed telling Will all about it. Just thinking about the recent events got me worked up again. I knew Will would appreciate it. He wasn't the jealous type (he loved hearing stories about my ex-boyfriends) and, besides, I hadn't actually cheated on him. 

I would tell Will how Carrie had deliberately pulled open the curtains and left the lights on in our motel room, so people walking by could watch us sleep. How I had filmed Carrie getting fucked by a Midwestern dentist (we had even stolen the tape, in case Will wanted proof.) How I had stripped naked on the balcony afterwards and masturbated myself while an unseen man watched from above and jerked off over the railing, raining his semen down upon me.

If all that didn't turn him on, I didn't know what would. In any case, my anticipation of the sweet homecoming sex we would have was sharp. I didn't know what I would do if Will wasn't up for it. Throw him down on the bed and rape him, probably.

See, my boyfriend was perfect in every way except one. He didn't fuck me half as much as I wanted him to. He claimed that he just had a low sex drive, but I couldn't help feeling hurt and rejected whenever he would say with a shrug that he wasn't in the mood. Carrie suspected he was secretly gay, but I clung to a desperate hope that I simply hadn't found what turned him on yet. As it would turn out, I was right. I would very soon discover exactly what Will's kink was. Be careful what you wish for.

Carrie dropped me off at the house and I realized that I was home much earlier than I had told Will I would be. Credit for that goes to Carrie, who loved to drive very fast. He wasn't expecting me yet, and so I thought I would surprise him. I let myself in very quietly, set my suitcase by the door, and slid my panties off. It was a little after one, and I knew Will was in the habit of taking an afternoon nap. My plan was to go into the bedroom and straddle him as he slept, or maybe to wake him up with a gentle blow-job. A nice surprise, right? Well, I was the one in for the surprise.

I tip-toed to the bedroom and found Will very much awake. I was literally stunned by what I saw.

Will was writhing on the bed, naked except for about five pairs of my underwear. Let me explain. He was wearing my black lace French-cut panties, which did not even come close to containing his huge erection. (Even in my shock, I noted that I had never seen him that hard before.) In his right hand he held my red satin panties, which he was using to frenziedly stroke himself. Stranger still, he had tied at least another three pairs together in a make-shift mask which he wore on his face. One was shoved into his mouth as a gag, and as I watched he chewed and sucked on it, moaning with pleasure. A second pair was stretched across his nose, and he was breathing through the crotch (to my embarrassment, slightly stained.) The third pair was tied across his eyes as a blindfold, which was why he didn't immediately see me standing there. Completing the absurdist ensemble was the black lace bra which matched the panties.

Another detail, which I did not notice for a few seconds: with his left hand he was fucking himself in the ass with my vibrator, sliding it slowly but completely in and out.

I reeled back, hand over my mouth, and came to a sudden realization. Will always insisted on doing the laundry. I had noticed that occasionally certain pairs of my panties would go missing for days at a time, only to later reappear in my underwear drawer. I had put that down as one of the mysteries of the laundry cycle, figuring they went to the same Twilight Zone where missing socks disappeared to. Here before me was a more plausible explanation. 

Every pair Will was now putting to use was dirty.

Unable to turn away, I watched Will stroke himself off. He shot a huge load all over his chest and stomach, great stringy spurts of it. Then, still blindfolded, he wiped the stuff up with the satin panties and switched that pair with the one already in his mouth. He sucked his own come out of my panties like a man dying of thirst.

That was too much for me.

"Will," I said. My voice came out like a choked whisper.

Will sat bolt upright. He whipped off the ridiculous panty-mask. The vibrator came out of his ass with a pop. 

"Jesus, Lisa," he said. "I . . ."

All I could do was shake my head and run from the room.

Will emerged from the bedroom some time later, cleaned up and dressed. He sat beside me on the couch. Neither of us spoke for several minutes.

"What the hell was that, Will?" I asked finally.

"I . . . missed you," he said.

"You missed me?" I was incredulous.

"Yes," Will said. "That . . . what I was doing . . . reminds me of you. How you smell, how you taste, how you feel."

"OK, Will, maybe I buy that. A little. But . . . Christ, you never fuck me like that when I'm here."

Will looked away, blushing.

"Can I ask you something?" I said. "Are you, like, a panty freak?"

Will laughed nervously. "Well, that's not the phrase I would use, but . . ."

"What do you call it, then?"

"A fetish."

"You have a fetish for women's panties?"

"Not any women's panties," Will clarified. "Only yours."

A monogamous panty fetish. Tell me that's not bizarre.

"Why didn't ever tell me?" I asked.

"I was embarrassed," Will said, looking away. "I was afraid you'd be freaked out. Carol went crazy when she found out."

Carol was Will's ex-wife. She was, as far as I could determine, a cold-hearted bitch who had treated Will like shit for years before dumping him for a younger man.

"In case you haven't figured it out by now, I'm not Carol," I said.

"I know that, Lisa. I know. But, you have to admit that you were pretty shocked."

"That's only because of the way I found out," I said. "Coming home and finding you like that . . ."

"I know," Will said. "I'm so sorry."

"It's all right," I said. I was considering what this all meant. "Tell me, is this why you've never been all that into sex? Because you really want to . . . do things with my panties?"

Will couldn't look me in the eye. "Yes," he said. "I was afraid to tell you what I really wanted." 

I took his hand and kissed it gently. "Oh, Will," I said. "It's kind of weird, but God. It could be a lot worse. At least you're not into, I don't know, bondage and torture or German Shepards or something. I guess panties are a pretty harmless kink."

Will finally dared to look me in the face. "You're OK with this?"

"I love you, Will. The one thing that's been missing is the sex. I'm willing to do anything to get our sex life up on a level with the rest of our relationship."

I swear he blinked away a tear.

"So tonight," I said. "It's your night. Anything you want. Your wildest fantasy."

"Really?" he said. 

"If something makes me uncomfortable, I'll tell you and we won't do that," I said. "But I won't think any less of you for asking. I'll still love you."

He took me in his arms and kissed me. He told me about a hundred times that he loved me too.

A few hours later, I laid in bed waiting for Will to get out of the shower. Candles were lit, jazz was playing on the stereo and I was wearing my yellow mesh boy-cut panties and matching bra. Will had been very specific about what he wanted me to wear. He had been dismayed, however, that they were clean. So I had gone for a short jog to get them all sweaty for him. 

I was both excited and a bit apprehensive. This was, after all, just a little bit weird. I guess not as weird as my first boyfriend, Jerry, who had been obsessed with anal sex at the exclusion of all else. Or a one night stand I'd had with a guy who had literally begged me to pee on him. But still.

Will came out of the shower wearing the same black lace bra and panties that he had on earlier. (They were, I was to learn, his favorites.) My first impulse was to laugh, out of nervousness more than anything else. Will looked ridiculous. He had a lot of body hair and his shape was in no way feminine. But he was blushing and trembling and I was afraid that if I laughed I might ruin the whole scene before it could even begin. So I just stretched out on the bed, inviting him into my arms and my legs.

Will slid into bed and kissed me. We began to make out, in a way we hadn't done in months. Hungry kisses and hands all over. He toyed with my nipples through the thin material of my bra, teasing them stiff. I reached my hand into the panties he was wearing and grabbed his semi-erect cock. Will, however, pulled my hand out and placed it over the panties. I stroked him through the lacy material and was surprised at how quickly this got him steely-hard.

His hand moved between my legs and he touched and petted me, also through the panties. The material was soon soaked with my excitement. I longed for his hand to slip inside, for flesh-on-flesh contact, but Will obviously preferred to touch me this way.


Then he crouched down between my legs and sucked me through the material, kissing and licking the crotch of my panties. Will was normally a tender and precise oral lovemaker. He could bring me to a quick, efficient orgasm with his skillful, generous mouth. Now, though, he was lost in his own excitement. He humped the mattress frantically as he sucked my panties. I wondered if it even mattered to him that my dripping, twitching vagina was beneath the material. I felt a tug and realized that he was actually chewing on them.

This went on for several minutes, then Will raised his head from my drenched and gnawed crotch. He reached into the bedside drawer and pulled out my vibrator and a tube of K-Y. 

"Would you . . ." he couldn't bring himself to ask for it, but I had pretty good idea what he wanted.

I lubed up the white plastic toy, and turned the base to start it buzzing. I slid the tip into my boyfriend's hairy, panty-clad ass. He moaned. I was afraid that I might hurt him, but with every timid little plunge I gave him, he slid his ass backwards to pull the thing in deeper. Soon I was burying all seven inches deep in his asshole. 

Visually, this was very interesting. I had never fucked a man like this before. Most guys I'd been with were insanely protective of their back door. Like any attention they received back there would turn them instantly gay. Will obviously had no such qualms. I fucked him good, and when I reached around to grab his cock, I found him quivering like an arrow which had been shot into a tree.

Will turned around, and we tossed the no doubt soiled vibrator aside. He threw me down and, both of still wearing our panties, plunged inside me.

He was so hard, I couldn't believe it. The entire time we'd been together, I'd only seen him past three-quarter mast a few times. Now his cock was so erect I could feel him throb inside me. He had never fucked me this hard before, either. Usually, Will would suck me off and then, only if I asked him to, would penetrate me gently like he was afraid I'd break. Now, though, he fucked the hell out of me. Strong, deep, fast, hard. 

I loved it. God, did I love it. Here at last the man I loved was fucking me like I wanted to be fucked. If all the panty-foreplay was what it took to achieve this goal, it was well worth it. I came within a few minutes and, incredibly, Will kept going. He typically didn't have enough stamina to get me off even once with his cock, but I counted three more head-spinning orgasms before Will spurted off inside me like a fountain. Feeling the flood of his seed fill me up sent me over the top yet again and I realized that this was the first time we'd ever had a simultaneous orgasm.

Then, before I could even catch my breath, he was down there again, sucking his come out through the filtering crotch of my panties. I was dripping all over the place and Will hungrily slurped it all up.

To my amazement, this got Will going again. He slid inside my dripping pussy and fucked me again, though by now we were both nearly exhausted. I think he might have ejaculated a second time. Then he rolled off me and we laid together in our come-soaked panties for a long time before either of us could speak.

"What time does Victoria's Secret open up at the mall?" Will said finally.

"I don't know," I said. "Ten, maybe?"

Will smiled and nuzzled me with kisses on the neck. "In the morning," he said, "we're going shopping."



The Education of Lisa Ch. 08



Domestic bliss for me involved getting my brains fucked out on a nightly basis by my formerly somewhat frigid boyfriend Will. I had used to complain that his sex drive was no match for mine, but I just hadn't yet discovered his secret passion. Panties, as it turned out. Specifically, my panties. 

Now, every time I took off my underwear at the end of the day, I had to pass them on to Will. He would wear them for another whole day. Of course, he was an English professor so he actually taught classes while wearing my panties.

Having my scent on him always, Will claimed, made him think of me constantly. The soft textures of silk, lace, cotton or nylon rubbing against his penis all day long kept him in a state of perpetual desire. He sometimes screwed me on the living room floor as soon as he walked in the door, unable to wait more than a few minutes.

I was kept in a constant supply of expensive undergarments. I seldom wore the same pair twice. The sales clerks at all the exotic boutiques in town knew us by name. We had maxed out a Victoria's Secret charge account. Will had a cabinet of alphabetically filed mail-order catalogs which he would frequently pore through with a highlighter. His "internet favorites" folder was exclusively devoted to lingerie web-sites. 

Ironically, I used to go commando when I was horny. 

There were a few other kinks which apparently went along with the panty thing. Will loved to be fucked in the ass with my vibrator. (Actually, afraid of cross-contamination, I gave him my old one and bought a new one for myself.) He also was a maniac for cream-pies. Every time he came inside, he would slurp his come out of me like it was whipped cream. He especially liked sucking my come-drenched panties. He would have made soup out of them if he could have.

I was glad for all the new attention, but I have to say that panties held no special magic for me. Will's new constantly jacked-up mood was a little difficult to keep up with, too. For the first time in our relationship, I would occasionally turn him down.

On one such night, we were laying together in bed. I was on my period, so I was wearing an old pair of shapeless, comfortable, drab granny panties. To Will's further chagrin, I was topless. I found it very uncomfortable to sleep in a bra, but Will usually insisted on something that matched. 

He was laying beside me in a very expensive midnight blue negligee, stroking himself absently through the fabric. I usually didn't mind if he masturbated in front of me, sometimes I found it rather entertaining, but tonight I wanted something a little different.

"Tell me a bedtime story," I said.

Will knew all my stories. He knew that I didn't care for anal sex because my first boyfriend had ass-fucked me enough for two lifetimes. He knew that I had lost my virginity playing groupie to a real live rock star. (I was always coy about telling him which one. He had it narrowed down to Bruce Springsteen, Bob Dylan or Tom Petty. It was Petty, of course. Who loses their virginity to Bob Dylan?) He knew about my shameful year-long bar-slut phase. I had even told him about the wild Vegas weekend I'd just spent with my best friend Carrie. The only thing he didn't know about was my disturbing and possibly hallucinated affair with his own great-great-great grandfather. That one would blow his mind, and I wasn't even sure if still believed it myself.

Will's past, though, was a complete mystery to me. All I knew was that he was married to a woman named Carol for several years. Will would never utter the word, but from the things he's told me, the woman was an evil cunt. I knew she cheated on him many times, and eventually left him for a younger man. He didn't talk about their sex life much, except to say that it was practically non-existent. Carol, unlike me, had zero tolerance for Will's panty fetish. He told me that she only wore the plainest things, just to deny him happiness. 

I didn't even know if he'd had any lovers other than his ex-wife. I didn't know anything. I was especially curious to find out where the panty thing had come from.

"Tell me how you lost your virginity," I said.

"What?" Will sat up in bed.

"I want to hear it," I said. "You know mine, but I don't know yours."

"Oh," he said, laying back down. "Uh, well, it's not that exciting."

"Why don't you tell it to me, then I'll tell you if it's exciting or not."

"OK," Will shrugged. "Um, let's see, where do I start? OK, I was home from college one summer . . ."

"How old were you?" I interrupted.

"I was going into my fourth year, so . . . almost twenty-two?"

"You didn't lose your virginity until you were twenty-two?"

"Twenty-one," he corrected. "I was almost twenty-two. I was kind of shy with women."

"Jesus, Will. I didn't lose mine until I was nineteen, and I thought it was never going to happen."

"That thought had crossed my mind," Will admitted. "Anyway, I was home for the summer and our next-door neighbor was this girl named Isabel Stamper."

"Isabel?" The name sounded hopelessly old-fashioned.

"Yeah," Will nodded. "She was eighteen that year, had just graduated from high school."

"Ooh," I laughed. "Was she cute?"

"Gorgeous," Will said. "See, I literally had not seen her in almost four years. I was only home at summer, and Isabel spent summers with her Dad. The last time I'd seen her, she was this annoying little skinny tomboy, not even in high school yet. But in those four years, she bloomed like you would not believe. Beautiful face with these huge brown eyes, long brown hair, incredible body. She was tall, too. Statuesque."

"Did she have nice tits?" I asked.

Will just closed his eyes and pictured them, grinning. "Not as nice as yours," he said. "But close."

I was grateful he had said that. Despite the fact that I'd asked to hear this, I was starting to feel the first pangs of jealousy.

"So, I was working at their place. Since her parents were divorced, Isabel's Mom had me come over once a week to mow the lawn, clean the pool, trim hedges. You know, like guy stuff she didn't want to do herself. Isabel talked to me a lot while I was supposed to be working. I think she was kind of impressed, just because I was older. And believe me, I worked that older man angle for all it was worth."

"Her Mom saw what was going on eventually, and told Isabel to quit bothering me while I was working. Not that she was, of course. Then she pulled me aside later and said that she knew Isabel was a little flirt, but she didn't want me to lead her on."

"Her Mom said that?"

"Yeah," Will said. "She was cool about it and everything, said it in a nice way, but she was basically telling me to back off her daughter. Mainly, I think, because she thought I was too old for her."

"Did you back off?"

"Well, we couldn't talk as much," Will went on, "but I think her Mom disapproving was actually a point in my favor as far as Isabel was concerned. I was dangerous now, and that made me seem even cooler."

I laughed at the thought of anyone considering Will to be dangerous.

"One day she sunbathed by the pool while I was mowing the back yard. Wearing this bikini that I swear must have fit her when she was fourteen, but now she now she was literally spilling out of it. As if that weren't enough, she lay down on her stomach and undid her top so she wouldn't get tan lines. Every so often, she would lift her head up and I'd get a flash of her boobs. That day was the first time I ever saw a woman's bare nipple in real life, even if it was just for a second."

"Did she know you were watching her?" I asked.

"Oh, I know she knew. That was why she was putting on a show. Words can not describe how difficult it is to push a lawnmower when you have that big of a boner. I must have mowed the same row of grass nine times just so I could keep looking at her."

"Her Mom eventually saw what was going on and came out to yell at Isabel to come inside and put some clothes on," Will said. "I was scared shitless that she was going to come outside and yell at me, too. Probably fire me. But she didn't, so I just finished with the lawn as quickly as I could."

"Now, they kept the mower and the rest of the lawn stuff in this enclosed patio off the back porch. Their washer and dryer were hooked up out there, too. So I put the mower away and I was cleaning up at this little sink they had out there, when I looked over and saw a basket of dirty laundry."

"Oh, no," I laughed.

"Oh, yes," Will said. "Right on top was an unwashed pair of black-and-red lace French cut panties. I was still shaking all over from Isabel's little performance, and then to see a pair of her dirty panties just laying out . . ."

"Were you already into panties then?"

"A little bit," he admitted. "I had a couple Fredericks of Hollywood catalogs that I used for wacking material, and once I . . ." He was blushing. "In college, I stole a pair from a girl's laundry basket in the student laundromat."

"Another girlfriend?" I asked, feeling one of those weird little flashes of jealousy. 

"I never even knew for sure whose basket it was. The panties were cute, though. They were kind of bluish, with this little embroidered . . ."

"You're getting distracted, Will. Go back to the story."

"Yeah, where was I?"

"The laundry room behind the house. The panties in the laundry basket."

"Oh yeah. So, even as worked up as I was, I knew the smart thing to do would be to just leave them there. But I couldn't do that, so I grabbed the panties and stuffed them into my pocket. I was going to go home where I could examine them at my leisure, if you know what I mean. But then I took them right back out because I just had to know what Isabel smelled like."

"I buried my nose right in the crotch and took a deep breath," Will closed his eyes, lost in the sense-memory. "She must have been wearing them right before she changed into her swimsuit because the smell was fresh and strong. Wonderful. This was the first time I had ever really smelled a woman's pussy. I loved it instantly. I started breathing through the panties like they were one of those oxygen masks that drops down in an airplane."

"Then I hear a voice behind me say, 'What are you doing?'"

"Oh no," I gasped.

"It was Isabel's Mom. God knows how long she'd been standing there watching me huff her daughter's panties. My heart stopped beating. I turned around, dropped the panties to the floor. There was just horrible silence for what felt like an hour."

"Finally, Isabel's Mom just shakes her head and laughs a little, and then she says: 'Look. I'm sorry. I know it's not all your fault. Isabel's to blame as well. But if you keep coming over here, you're going to end up sleeping with my daughter, and that's going to really piss me off. I don't want to fire you, though. You do good work. So, she leaves for her Dad's place in Laramie, Wyoming in a week. Why don't you take next Thursday off? You can come back when she's gone.'"

"What could I say? I mumbled 'OK.' All I wanted to do was get the hell out of there."

"Then she says, 'Oh, and if you're harboring any romantic illusions, she has a fiancee in Laramie. I'm afraid she had you lined up as a meaningless summer fling, if that.'"

"Ooh," I said. "That hurts."

"Yeah," Will said. "So, I turned to go and Isabel's Mom says: 'If you like my panties so much, why don't you take them home with you?'"

"Her panties?" I shrieked.

"Yeah," Will grinned. "They were Isabel's Mom's panties."

I slapped his arm. "You said they were Isabel's!"

"I said I thought they were Isabel's."

"You did not, you liar." I laughed, though. This was an interesting turn of events. "So, did you take the panties?"

"She picked them up and handed them to me. I crammed them into my pocket and bolted out of there, confused as I'd ever been in my life. I spent the next week in isolation. Me and the panties. It was like a festival of masturbatory debauchery. I didn't see Isabel once that week, and the crazy thing was, I didn't mind."

"You had the hots for the Mom now, didn't you?"

"Yes," Will said. "Mrs. Stamper looked a lot like Isabel, same hair, same eyes. The resemblance was really striking, only I think the Mother actually wore it better. For all the great tits and ass, Isabel still had this little girlish look to her. Mrs. Stamper was more mature, more dignified. All woman. Plus, if her daughter was statuesque, Mrs. Stamper was Amazonian. Six feet, maybe taller."

"Wow," I said. Though I was a nowhere near six feet, I was a few inches taller than Will myself. I mentally added 'taller women' to my list of Will's known fetishes.

"So, after the week's up, I go back over there to work and it's like nothing ever happened. Mrs. Stamper comes to the door and tells me what she wants me to do like any other day I worked there. So I water the garden, clean the pool filters, all that, the whole time burning inside for Mrs. Stamper."  

"Finally, she calls me inside to have a glass of iced tea with her, which is something she'd never done before. I went inside and she was wearing an old bath robe. It wasn't fastened very tight, so I could see that she wasn't wearing a bra. I hoped she was wearing panties, at least."

"Most guys hope for just the opposite."

"I know, but I like women to be wearing a little something. Anyway, she starts talking about Isabel, and about this guy she was engaged to. Mrs. Stamper didn't really like him that much. 'He spent a week here around Christmas,' she said. 'I tried to make them sleep in separate beds, but I'm sure they found ways around that.'"

"I don't know if she was messing with my head or what, talking about her daughter's sex life. So she goes on, 'I guess I it's hard for me to get used to the fact that my little girl's not a virgin. That's why I didn't want her to spend too much time alone with an older, more experienced man.'"

"It took me a few minutes to realize that she was talking to me, but by then she'd stood up and was walking around the table towards me. 'I'm not going to torture you any more,' she said. 'I think we both know what's happening here.'"

"Then she let the robe fall to the ground, and she stood there naked except for a pair of sheer black bikini panties with white lace trim and little x's stitched with bright red ribbon all up the front."

Typical of Will, his description of the panties was more detailed than his description of the woman.

"I immediately fell to my knees before her, and leaned my mouth down between her legs and started sucking her through the panties. She got tired of that pretty quick, though, and pulled the crotch aside so my mouth would be right on her."

"She was dripping wet, hot and twitching and alive. She grabbed me by the hair and started moving my head the way she wanted it to go."

"After a while, she let go and told me to stand up. She kissed me hard and deep, then pulled away."

"'I'm sorry,' she said. 'I thought I'd like the sweaty man thing, but it's a little much. Why don't you take a very quick shower and meet me in the bedroom?'"

"So I took the quickest shower of my entire life and ran into her bedroom. 'Did you even use a towel?' she screamed at me. 'Go back in there and dry off. You'll get the sheets wet.' So I ran back to the bathroom, toweled off, and ran right back to her room. By the time I got back, she was laying completely naked on her bed, playing with herself with a vibrator."

"'Don't worry,' she said. 'I'm not getting off without you. I'm just keeping the fire stoked.' She put the vibrator down and pulled me onto the bed. She pushed my head down to her crotch and so I started going down on her again. Then she twisted around so she could get my cock in her mouth. We were sixty-nining. I'd never been sucked before, obviously, and it felt so good it blew my mind. She knew how to do it." Will had become lost in the story again, but now he looked at me and said: "Of course, she wasn't as good as you."

He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I was afraid to come, because I thought it would make her mad, but we sucked each other for a long time. I think I got her off at least once before she pushed me away again. 'There's a box of condoms in the bedroom drawer,' she said. 'Put one on.'"

"I did what she told me. When I turned around again, she was on her hands and knees on her bed. Her perfect ass was right there in front of me. 'I like it from behind,' she said. 'Maybe some other time you can fuck me in the ass, but not today. Today I just want you to fuck my cunt.'"

"I couldn't believe the language," Will said. "But I was so hard. I slid it into her, and she did this weird thing with her muscles inside, like squeezing me."

"They're called kegels," I said, a bit testily. "And I do them too, you know."

"I know," Will said quickly. "But at the time I had no idea that a woman could do that. I lasted as long as I could, about five minutes, and then I came so hard I thought I was going to pass out. When I was finished, she rolled over onto her back and finished herself off with her vibrator."

"I felt like I'd failed her, but she said, 'Thanks, Will. You were great. Come back next week?'"

"Then she gave me some money. She usually paid me twenty a week, but this time she gave me forty. I think it amused her to think of me as a gigolo."

Will took a drink of water as I watched him expectantly.

"That's it," he said. "End of story. That's how I lost my virginity."

"That's it? Did you have sex with her again?"

"Oh yeah," Will said. "I went back every Thursday for the rest of the summer. Did her yard-work in the morning, had sex with her all afternoon. Got forty bucks every time. The next year, I graduated from college, and we got married about a year after that."

"You married her?"

"Yeah," Will said. "That was Carol."

"Isabel's Mom was your ex-wife? Why didn't you tell me that at the start of the story?" I asked, absolutely exasperated.

"I didn't?" Will said.

"No!"

"I could've sworn I mentioned it."

"You drive me crazy, Will," I said. "You never even said that she was that much older than you."

"Well, after a while her age didn't seem to matter that much."

"Wait a minute," I said, realizing something. "Have you been with any women besides me and Carol?"

"Women?" Will said thoughtfully. "No."

"Why did you say it like that?"

Will blushed again, profusely. 

"You've been with . . . guys?"

"Once," Will said. "During my last year at college. See, I was . . ."

"Tell it to me tomorrow, OK?" I said. "I've had enough startling revelations for one night."

"If you don't want to know about it, I won't tell you."

"I want to know about it," I said. "Just not tonight." With that, I turned out the light.

After several minutes, I rolled over and pulled up Will's negligee. I found his cock, still halfway erect from telling the story, and took him into my mouth. I gave him a great blow-job, as if to reassert my claim over him.

He came in my mouth, and I kissed him good night, sharing with him my mouthful of jism. He sucked it from my mouth with relish and I wondered if he had tasted this other man's come. The thought carried me into sleep, where my dreams flitted through wild ruminations on Will's sexual past, arousal and jealousy with me in equal measures into the dawn.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .



The Education of Lisa Ch. 09



The next night, as Will and I were going to bed, I reminded him that he had promised me another story. Will was slipping into a black teddy, with a ridiculous amount of red, furry fringe. (I'd worn the silly thing only once, at Will's insistence that he wasn't turned on by anything that hasn't been pre-worn by me.) By now, though, I was getting used to seeing my boyfriend in my underwear. I was even able to sort of ignore the fact.

The night before, he had finally told me the story of how he'd lost his virginity. He did lawn work for a neighbor, had the hots for the young daughter, but ended up sleeping with her mother. I also found out that the mother was none other than his ex-wife Carol. When I asked him if he'd slept with any women besides me and his ex-wife, Will gave a somewhat troubling answer:

"Women? No."

I finally dragged out of him that he'd had sex with a man. I was a little too overwhelmed then to hear the details, and Will had promised to tell me tonight. I couldn't think about anything else all day. For some weird reason, the thought of Will with another man made me more jealous than thinking of him with a woman. At the same time, though, it definitely turned me on.

"Do you remember the story you promised to tell me tonight?"

"Yes," Will said, blushing slightly.

"Do you still want to tell me?

"Do you still want to hear it?"

"Yes," I said. I was tingly with anticipation.

"Well, OK, like I said I was in my last year of college," Will began. "Carol and I were seeing each other pretty seriously. We'd already announced our engagement and everything. So, when the fall semester ended, instead of going home to my parent's house like I usually did, I went with Carol to visit her brother in San Francisco." 

"I hadn't met any of her family yet. I think none of them approved of our marriage because of how young I was. I mean, I was twenty-three and she was, let's see, forty-four."

"Oh my God," I said, doing the math for the first time.

"She seemed a lot younger than that," Will shrugged. "Anyway, her brother was kind of on the outs with the family, too, because he was gay."

"So, he's the guy you had sex with? Carol's brother?"

Will smiled in a funny kind of way. I could tell that he'd meant that detail to be the big twist in his story, and I'd just spoiled it for him.

"You guessed it," he said with disappointment.

"Tell me how it happened," I pressed.

"OK," Will sighed. "So we flew out to California and went to her brother's house. He had this great little townhouse, must have cost him a fortune. There was even a guest bedroom where Carol and I could sleep, except . . ." Will's voice trailed off for a few minutes. "Except she never slept there."

"Why not?"

"She used to live in San Francisco," Will said. "There was a guy there named Dennis who she used to see. I think he was the whole reason we went there in the first place. She'd got in touch with Dennis over the internet, and they rekindled their flame or whatever."

"And she flew you out there while she fucked him?" I was aghast. "That's terrible."

"That's Carol," Will said. "It wasn't the first time she'd cheated on me. She was really into going out to bars and meeting guys for one-night stands. She said that sex with me was boring, and that she needed to spice things up a bit. Of course, she promised me she'd stop when we got married, but . . ."

"The more I hear about this bitch, the more I hate her," I said. 

"Well, hindsight's twenty-twenty," he said. "At the time, it somehow didn't seem that weird. We were even happy together, in a way."

"That's messed up, Will," I said. "Anyway, the brother . . ."

"Yeah," Will smiled a little bit. The memory was obviously a fond one. "His name was Harold. He was a video director, commercials and industrial training films, that sort of thing. He was younger than Carol, but still older than me, obviously, maybe in his mid-thirties."

"Was he good-looking?" I asked.

"I don't know," Will said. "I guess so. It's hard for me to say, because I don't really look at guys like that. Harold had sort of a darker complexion than Carol, real dark eyebrows and this little beard thing. He shaved his head, though. I guess he worked out, because he was in pretty good shape. Dressed well, too."

"He was a nice guy. Easy to talk to. Actually stood up for me a few times when Carol started ragging on me. Harold didn't say anything about Carol sleeping at this other guy's house, but it was obvious he knew."

"So, this was the second or third night we were out there. I got out of bed because I had to pee. On my way to the bathroom, I saw that Harold was home from work and was sitting on the couch, watching TV and drinking a beer."

"When I came out of the bathroom, and I could hear that he was watching 'American Beauty' on cable. I'd never seen that movie before, so I sort of watched it for a while from the doorway until he saw me there."

"'Can't sleep?' he said."

"I said no, and then he told me I could come sit down if I wanted to and watch the movie with him. It had just started, and I had a hard time sleeping when Carol was out anyway, and I guess I was feeling kind of lonely, so I sat down beside him on the couch and we watched the movie for a while without saying anything."

"Then he got up to get another beer. He asked me if I wanted one, and I said yes, even though I didn't drink much. A beer sounded good, though. So gives me a Heinekin and we start talking, only sort of watching the movie."

"He asks me about Carol, you know like polite questions about our relationship, then out of the blue he asks: 'Doesn't it bother you that she's out screwing this other guy?'"

"'Not really,' I said."

"'Sorry, Will, but I kind of think that's bullshit. My room's right next to yours. I hear you crying yourself to sleep every night.'"

"You cried yourself to sleep?" I asked. I hated Will's ex more and more with everything like this he told me.

"I tried to be quiet," Will said, a little defensively. "I didn't know what to say to him about that, so I just went out to the kitchen and got two more beers. When I got back, he said: 'OK, I'm just going to say one thing then I'll butt out. Carol's my sister and I guess I love her in a way, but she can be just about the coldest, meanest bitch on the planet when she wants to be. I know you've seen it. She treats you really badly. She's always putting you down. And now she's blatantly fucking around on you. You're a good-looking guy, and a real sweetheart. You deserve better.'"

"He was right, you know," I said.

"Yeah," Will said, "but at the time my first inclination was to defend Carol, deny that it bothered me how she acted, etcetera. But I was too uncomfortable to even do that, so I just started watching the movie again. You've seen it, right?"

"'American Beauty?'" I said. "Yeah."

"Remember the part when the weird neighbor kid, the pot dealer who was always shooting videos, when he showed the girl the video with the plastic bag blowing around in the wind?"

"I think so," I said.

"It's a weirdly intense moment in the movie. I think it's when the girl kisses him for the first time. Anyway, right when this scene is playing, I feel Harold's hand on my shoulder. It was scary at first, but then again I kind of wanted him to touch me."

"'You are so tense,' he said."

"Then he told me that he'd been a massage therapist when he was in school, and that he wanted to give me a massage."

"Did you realize by then that he was coming on to you?" I asked. With anybody else, it would have been obvious, but Will was kind of dense about things like that.

"I don't know," Will said. "I guess part of me kind of did, but mostly I was just grateful for the company, and for the fact that he was so nice to me. It made for a welcome contrast to Carol."

"So he goes off into his bedroom and he comes back with a blanket which he spreads out on the floor. He tells me to take off my shirt and lay down. Then he rubbed some kind of oil on his hands. I don't know what it was, but it smelled really nice. He started massaging me. My neck, my shoulders, my back. It felt incredible. He had really strong hands, but his touch was so light and warm. I just melted. I'd only had two beers, but my alcohol tolerance was next to nothing, so I was buzzed from that on top of everything else. I felt warm and relaxed all over. Except . . ."

Will grinned.

"Except what?" I asked.

"Except I started to get a hard-on. A really strong one, you know? I couldn't help it. What he was doing felt so good. Plus, there was some gay stuff in the movie and so that was on my mind. So I had all these mixed emotions. I was turned on, and at the same time a little weirded out because I was turned on. By a guy. I never wanted the massage to end, because I was scared of what was going to happen. But at the same time, I knew that I would go along with anything he wanted to do. Anything."

"His hands kept working lower and lower, until he was at the waistband of the sweatpants I was wearing. Then he worked inside, and started rubbing the tops of my buttocks, and that was it. I couldn't take anymore. I rolled over and looked up at him. He looked back down at me, then he leaned over and kissed me."

"I'd never even imagined kissing a man before. It was different. His mouth was rougher than Carol's, stronger. I could taste beer and cigarettes on his breath, but at the time I really liked it. His hand reached down and touched me through my pants. I kind of writhed into his touch because I wanted him to feel how hard I was, how hard he'd made me."

"He said: 'I know you're not gay, Will, but I'd really like to suck your cock. You don't have to do anything to me if you don't want to, but I'd like to do that one thing for you. Trust me, a blow job will work wonders for your self-esteem.'"

"I was too breathless to even say yes, but I didn't have too. He pulled at my pants and I lifted up my hips so he could slide them off. I was laying there naked."

"For a few minutes, he just touched and kissed me all over, rubbing my chest, sucking my nipples, working his way down so slowly I thought I was going to lose my mind. Then he got between my legs and he went to work."

"His mouth and his hands were all over me down there. My dick, my balls, even down between my legs and around my asshole. Slow, wet licking, touching, kissing. Sucking. It was Heaven. Carol had given me blowjobs a few times, back when we were first going out, but it had been a long time and it had never been like this. Like he was worshipping me down there. Like he loved my body."

"Jesus, Will," I gasped. I was getting very aroused and cursed the fact that I was on my period. There was not much I could do about my arousal that wouldn't make a terrible mess.

"He stopped a few times, and said things like: 'I love your beautiful cock,' and 'You taste so good, so musky and manly,' and 'Don't be afraid to come. I want you to. I want to eat it.' Then he was just sucking me. He started with kissing and licking the head, but gradually worked me in deeper until I was in his throat. His hands were busy the whole time. The tips of two fingers, slicked up, worked around the rim of my asshole and slid inside a little. With his other hand, he fed my cock into his throat. He started making these little gulping motions, sucking me in deeper and deeper. It was incredible. Then he plunged his fingers into my ass as far as they would go and it was like pushing a button. I shot off down his throat. The tip of my cock burned, it was so intense and alive. He swallowed every drop. Just sucked me dry."

"Oh my God," I said. I licked my own fingers and started rubbing my clit. I couldn't help it.

"So Harold sat up. He said, 'I'm going to jack off now. I'd like you to watch.' He slid out of his pants and pulled out his dick. He was huge. I was surprised. I'd seen other guy's dicks, you know in the locker room at school or whatever, but I'd never seen one so big. He was way bigger than me."

"He started stroking it and I could tell that he was showing off a little. He knew how big he was, knew that I was impressed. It was so cool, watching him work that huge thing. As soon as I caught my breath, I crawled over to him and said: 'How about this instead?' Then I took him in my mouth."

"You sucked his cock?" I said, rubbing myself furiously by now, my fingers no doubt tinted pink.

"Yeah," Will said. "I wasn't sure I was doing it right, I was so nervous. I had this huge fleshy prick filling my mouth. It tasted all, I don't know, musky I guess. Like he said. I hadn't expected the taste to be so strong. I tried to suck it all in, like he'd done to me, but it was too much. I gagged a little and started to panic. Then he pulled my head away, gently, and he said: 'Throat action takes a little practice, Will. This is your first time, just pretend it's an ice cream cone. I don't even have to come in your mouth if you're not ready for that.'"

"I said: 'I want you to. You tasted mine. I want to taste yours.'"

"He smiled at me and said: 'OK, but I'll let you know when I'm about to, so you'll be ready for it.'"

"I went back to work on him, just licking and sucking the head mainly. I still didn't know if I was doing it right, I was so inexperienced, but Harold started moving with me and making these little moaning noises. I thought maybe he was just doing it to be polite, but whatever. I was so into it. So into his cock. I wanted him to come so badly. I wanted to taste it."

"I think he was about to, because his cock was really twitching and moving and I think even getting harder. The taste was changing, too, getting wetter and saltier. I think a few drops might have come out. Then the door burst open and I hear this voice say: 'Oh my fucking God!'"

"Carol came home?" I stopped stroking myself and looked at Will with disbelief.

"Yeah," Will said. "I guess she had a fight with her other guy. So she bursts in the door and catches me with her brother's cock in my mouth."

"Oh my God, Will, what did she do?"

"Freaked out," Will said. "Screaming. Saying stuff like, 'I knew my brother was a faggot, Will, but I never knew you were a cocksucker.'"

"Then Harold started screaming back at her, and they went at each other. I thought for sure the neighbors would call the cops. I just wanted to disappear, you know? Just shrink away until I was invisible. I did not want to be between those two."

"Carol told me that she wanted to break up with me, couldn't stand living with a cocksucking faggot of a boyfriend, etcetera, etcetera. Then, and this is the shameful part, I started crying. Started begging for her forgiveness. Harold started yelling at me, then. Told me to grow a pair of balls. It was a horrible scene."

"Then Carol calmed down a little, and she got this weird look in her eyes and she said: 'Fine. You want to fuck my brother, that's fine. Fuck him right now. I want to see it.' She was serious. She wanted to watch."

"With her brother?" I said. "That's really messed up."

"Yeah, well, Carol was all about control. That was her fetish. Me getting with Harold behind her back, that was something she couldn't control. Her making us have sex while she watched, that was her way of getting control back. Harold told me later that she'd watched him have sex with one of his boyfriends from high school. He said she threatened to tell their parents that he was gay if he wouldn't let her watch."

"Harold was dead against it at first, but she started working on him hard. He was, for all his talk, as much under her thumb as I was. Finally he caved in. He said that he had to be high first, though. He had a little bit of hashish and we all smoked some."

"You smoked hash?" I said. I had never suspected Will of doing any kind of drug.

"Yeah," he said. "It gave the whole scene this weird, dream-like quality. Carol told Harold to put on some porn, and so he played a video. Guys dressed up like it was an ancient Roman orgy, fucking and sucking. I watched it for a while, stoned out of my mind. Then Carol told Harold to get on his hands and knees before me. He gave me a condom, but Carol said: 'Trust me, Will doesn't need to wear a rubber. He's never fucked anybody but me.' So Harold just took some of the massage oil and worked it into his asshole and nodded at me when he was ready."

"So I got on the floor behind him, and slid inside."

"Oh," I moaned. I was stroking myself again, the picture in my head so clear. Will, my man, fucking another man in the ass.

"He was so tight," Will said. "It felt so different than Carol's vagina. More familiar, I guess. More homey."

"Homey?" I laughed despite myself.

"I don't know how to describe it," Will said. "It was more inviting, somehow. More welcoming. He started to move with me, pushing back against me when I drove it inside him, then pulling away when I pulled out. So deep and perfect and complete. It was like something alive between us. Something I'd never felt with Carol. Something I never felt again until I got with you, Lisa."

"I think Carol wanted to ruin what I had with Harold, by controlling it, by watching it. But this thing between us was almost like music. Like music made by my cock in his ass. I don't know how else to describe it, but it was something she couldn't touch, something entirely beyond her reach. She was across the room, masturbating, watching, and I could sense that she knew things were getting out of hand. Because she quit playing with herself and said, 'All right, that's enough. Stop.'"

"Only I didn't stop. I was so close to the edge. Harold was moving inside his body, squeezing me, embracing my cock with his muscles, like a kind and loving caress. I came inside him, and this too was like a secret we shared. Something Carol couldn't see, something she had no command over."

"I pulled out and sat back on the couch, trying to catch my breath. Harold sat beside me and started stroking his cock again. I realized that I had come twice, but he hadn't come at all. I wanted to suck him, but before I even had the chance, he was spurting off all over the place. All over his belly and chest, huge splats of semen. When he was done, I leaned over and started licking it off him. It was wonderful, ambrosial."

The image of Will licking semen off another man's belly was enough to send me over the edge. I came so hard I cried out.

"Carol actually came over and pulled me away from him. She said: 'I told you that was enough, you little cum-guzzling freak.' Then she started screaming again. I don't think she'd expected us to like it so much."

"We went home the next day. Harold and I wrote back and forth for a while. He wanted me to leave her, to come live with him, but I felt guilty about what we did. Not just because of the gay thing, more like I was being disloyal to Carol. Finally, he gave me an ultimatum. I had to choose, him or her. I chose her. He never spoke to me again. Didn't even come to the wedding."

Will sighed heavily. He had come to the end of the story, and I don't think he'd anticipated the sadness. 

"Did you ever think about being with another guy?" I asked.

"I thought about it, sure," Will said. "But I never had another opportunity. Plus, Carol never let me live it down. Every time she was mad at me, she'd call me faggot, cocksucker, whatever. So I tried to deny how much I'd liked it, even to myself. And now I'm with you, and I don't plan on cheating."

"I wouldn't mind," I said, without thinking. "If it was with another man. It wouldn't bother me like a woman would. It'd be different." As soon as I said that, I wondered if it was really true.

"That's nice of you to say, Lisa," Will said. "Still, it's not going to happen anytime soon. Now, was that enough of a bedtime story?"

"Yes," I said, kissing him good-night. "Thank you."




The Education of Lisa Ch. 10



My best friend Carrie had been depressed for weeks, ever since she broke up with her boyfriend John. She'd been seeing him for close to six weeks (a personal record for Carrie) when he dumped her after finding out she'd slept with another guy, David. After that devastating break-up, Carrie sought solace in a series of one-night stands which only had the effect of eroding her self-esteem even further. You can see the problem, even if Carrie couldn't. Like an alcoholic or a drug addict, the escape Carrie chose from her problems ended up being the problem itself.

Carrie had always been like that, ever since I'd known her. She called herself a slut and wore the title with apparent pride. I don't know. I tried that for a while. I was Carrie's partner in carnal crime for a few months before I met my boyfriend Will. Sex with random guys who I usually never saw again was fun for a while, but ultimately left me unfulfilled. Carrie, on the other hand, claimed to love that lifestyle. Her unhappiness, though, made me doubt that claim.

This situation with John seemed to be some kind of new low for her, though. She had really been happy with him. I think Carrie had always been jealous of what I have with Will, and for a while, with John, that wasn't a problem. 

Now, she came over all the time to cry on my shoulder, which I didn't mind, of course. A best friend's duty, right? But what got on my nerves a little was the constant apologizing about being a third wheel. That and the drinking. Carrie was drunk all the time, and there's nothing quite as cringe-inducing as a self-pitying drunk.

Will and I had for months been planning a two-week vacation to Hawaii. Carrie became more and more panicked as the date of our departure grew nearer, but I was looking forward to a vacation from her as much as from anything else. Then, of course, I felt guilty about feeling that way, and guiltier still about abandoning my best friend during her time of need. 

Will, as it turned out, had a solution.

"Why doesn't she just come with us?" he said. "The change will do her good."

That was just like Will. He was so generous.

"I don't have any money," Carrie sobbed when I asked her to come.

"Will said he'd pay for everything," I told her. He was independently wealthy, having inherited a small fortune from his parents.

"Really?" she sniffed. "That's so nice."

That preceded a half-hour crying jag about how lucky I was to have found a man like Will. I hoped that Carrie wouldn't be so mopey during the trip, or my entire vacation would be depressing.

Carrie seemed to brighten, though, as it got closer to the time to leave. She was positively sunny, and seeing her like that was worth all I'd had to go through.

There was a comic episode at the airport as Carrie's many body piercings (her latest obsession) set off the metal detectors at the security check-point. I couldn't help laughing as the security officer's wand squealed when it waved past Carrie's crotch and tits. Carrie, as polymorphously perverse as she was, admitted to getting a kinky thrill from being patted down by the dour-faced middle-aged black woman working security.

So, after an interminably long flight, we touched down in Honolulu. Carrie, in her criminally short dress, was immediately hit on by a Japanese guy while we were waiting for our luggage and agreed to meet him later for drinks. That was just like Carrie. We hadn't been off the plane ten minutes and she'd already hooked up with someone.

Then she flirted with the cab driver on the way over to the hotel and managed to score a bag of weed off him. Will, who had not known Carrie as long as I have, was frankly amazed.

"Is she like this all the time?" he whispered to me as she gave the driver a deep soul kiss in lieu of a tip. I could only nod and laugh.

It was late in the afternoon by the time we checked in. Will and I were both tired from a day of traveling and Carrie was eager to get off to her date with Masatoshi, so we agreed to meet for breakfast in the morning, to begin our touristy sight-seeing in earnest. 

Our room was fabulous. King-sized bed. Jacuzzi. Mini-bar. Great view of the ocean. When the door was closed behind us, for the first time the trip became about Will and I instead of about Carrie. My pussy was already wet and tingly.

I stretched out luxuriously on the huge bed and smiled up at Will. He kicked off his shoes and lay down beside me, kissing me warmly.

"I've been thinking, Lisa," he said seriously. "I really appreciate how patient you've been with me, with the whole panty thing."

Will, of course, was a serious panty freak. He loved wearing my panties and sniffing my panties. He would have made soup out of them if he could.

"I know it doesn't turn you on like it does me," he said. "So, for this entire trip, it's going to be all about what you want. In bed. Anything."

I smiled devilishly up at him. Now that was a proposition I could get behind. 

So for the next several hours, I called the shots. Charged porno movies to the room. Rolled a fat joint from the weed Carrie had given us. Hit the mini-bar for all it was worth. Got wet and naked in the Jacuzzi. (Well, I was naked. Will insisted on keeping on my black lace panties.) Made out like teen-agers. I liked my foreplay to last for hours and Will gamely went along with it. We were taking turns seeing how long we could hold our breaths while going down on each other under the water when the knock came on the door.

We thought it was Room Service. We had ordered two light dinners and a plate of strawberries and whipped cream for dessert (which we of course planned on eating off each other's bodies.) But when I pulled on my robe and looked through the little peep-hole, I saw instead that it was Carrie. Her make-up was smudged and she had obviously been crying.

"Shit," I swore. "Get dressed, Will. It's Carrie."

I opened the door and she fell sobbing into the room. Through the tears, I managed to gather that her date had stood her up. She'd waited for him for hours, getting steadily drunker and more depressed.

She saw Will pulling his robe on. "You guys were fucking, weren't you?" she said. "Oh, God, I'm sorry. I'm interrupting. I'm so fucking pathetic. I'll just go back to my room."

She made two half-hearted steps towards the door before I grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back inside.

"It's OK, Carrie," I sighed. "Come on in. Tell me all about it."

So the next several minutes were spent trying to calm Carrie down, trying to sooth her bruised pride. Will, despite what must have been a throbbing case of the blue balls, sat beside me and helped try to reassure my psychotic friend.

Carrie gushed drunken gratitude. "You're so nice, Will. God. Lisa is so lucky to have found you. I wish I could . . . She told me about how you're into panties and about how you had sex with a guy that one time . . ."

"Carrie . . ." I started. Will knew that I told Carrie everything, but I'm sure he didn't appreciate having his deepest sexual secrets slurring their way from her mouth. When I looked over at him, I saw that he was blushing, but he looked back at me and smiled a little, shrugging.

". . . and I think that's so fucking hot," Carrie went on. "Really. You're in touch with your feminine side and that is like so sexy. Most guys are completely shut off from that, you know? But you . . . I think it turns me on so much because I'm pretty much bisexual. Actually, with all this shit going on with men I think I might just go all the way dyke. Girls never fuck you over like this. I don't know, though. I love cock. . ."

Actually, the word "cock" came out more like "quaaaawwwgh," as Carrie puked all over herself. She looked down at the mess she'd made all over her dress and this brought on another fit of sobbing.

"Look at me," she cried. "I am so goddamn pathetic."

"Come on, Carrie," I said, helping her to her feet. "Let's go get you cleaned up."

Carrie leaned on me and I half-carried her staggering, stumbling and stinking into the bathroom, her apologizing the whole way.

Once inside the bathroom, I pulled her soiled dress off of her. I should have expected this, but the fact that she didn't have anything on underneath threw me a little. 

Carrie was always down on her own looks, but I thought she was really pretty. Long brown hair, cute round face, body slender but not too thin. Breasts the size of ripe grapefruit, nipples now ornamented with tiny gold rings. There was a third ring gleaming at her clitoris, at the base of a narrow and artfully sculpted heart-shaped strip of dark pubic hair. I think Carrie caught me checking her out as I helped her into the shower, because she smiled devilishly through her tears.

I turned on the water for her and Carrie luxuriated under the steaming stream, washing away the tears and the vomit. I watched her for a few minutes until I started to feel strangely uncomfortable. I started to leave.

"Don't go," Carrie said. "Please. Stay. I want you to."

"OK," I said.

"Come here, check this out," she pulled back the curtain. "I don't think I showed you my clit ring yet."

She leaned back and spread her lips open for me. I knelt down to get a closer look.

"Doesn't that hurt?" I asked.

"It hurts so good," Carrie purred. "Go ahead, touch it."

I touched the tiny gold ring, careful not to brush against my friend's pussy. She shivered anyway, as if an electrical current was passing through her entire body.

"God, it's like wearing a vibrator all the time," she moaned. "You oughtta get one."

"I don't know," I said, standing up. Needles have always scared me, and that seemed like a particularly touchy spot.

Carrie turned off the shower and stepped out. I handed her a towel. 

"Is there a toothbrush in here I can use?" she asked as she dried off. 

This was one of those hotels that provided all that stuff, wrapped in sanitary plastic. Carrie brushed her teeth quickly, and gargled with a little sample pack of mouthwash. She smiled at me after she spat into the sink.

"Thank God," she said. "I didn't want to taste like puke when I did this."

Then, before I could even react, she kissed me. It wasn't a "friendly" kiss either. There was nothing chaste or sisterly about it. It was entirely sexual. Surprising myself, I opened my mouth and kissed her back. Our tongues fluttered against one another. I felt the hard smooth knob of the metal stud in hers, fascinated by its texture.

Carrie's hands pulled my robe open and traced shuddery trails down my breasts. She knelt before me. I leaned back against the sink and parted my legs slightly. Her quivering tongue with its hard smooth metal nub parted me and found my sweet damp center. She kissed the pearly bead of my clitoris and I moaned out loud.

All right. Some might say that at this point I should have pushed her away, so as not to take advantage of my friend's obvious emotional vulnerability. But you have to take into consideration that I was a little drunk, a little stoned, and way fucking horny after the hours of foreplay I'd gone through with Will. Plus, I'd always been attracted to Carrie, I'd just never had the nerve to do anything about it. And, needless to say, the feeling of her going down on me was exquisite. So I just let it happen, stroking Carrie's hair as she sucked me expertly, tickling my clit with her steely tongue stud. She let me go and looked up at me, smiling through glistening lips.

"I've always wanted to do this," Carrie whispered.

"I know," I said. "Me too."

"I want you so badly, Lisa."

"OK," I said. "One thing, though. I don't want to leave Will out. If we do this, it has to be with him, too."

Carrie grinned wide. "I don't have a problem with that. Not at all."

"Wait here."

I left her in the bathroom and found Will sitting on the end of the bed, drinking a beer and disinterestedly watching the porno which was still playing on the TV.

"Will," I said. "I have something to ask you."

He nodded sagely. "You want to have sex with Carrie, don't you?"

I told you he was perceptive. I nodded and blushed a little, looking away. As it happened, the porno movie was showing a girl-girl scene, a gorgeous blonde going down on a black woman.

"That's OK with me," Will said. "I know you two have a real close friendship. I'll just go for a walk or something."

"Will, you big dummy," I said. "We want you to be there, too."

"No," he shook his head. "I'm a one-woman guy, Lisa. Seriously, I don't mind. You can tell me all the details later."

"I want to have this experience, Will, and it wouldn't be the same if I didn't share it with you."

"Really, Lisa," he protested. "I don't . . ."

"You told me that for this entire trip, you'd give me whatever I wanted in bed. Well, this is what I want. You and her. Together."

Will grinned sheepishly. "I did promise that, didn't I?"

"Yep."

"OK," he said. "A promise is a promise."

I laughed. I grabbed a cheesy tourist t-shirt Will had bought at the airport gift shop, which said "I got leid in Hawaii," and brought it for Carrie to put on. It barely covered her crotch.

"So," she said when she walked into the room. "Do you have any more of that weed I gave you?"

We rolled another joint and the three of us shared the two room service dinners which had arrived while I was in the bathroom with Carrie. We didn't talk much. We just exchanged loaded glances and watched the porno action, all three of us getting more and more aroused.

Will and I didn't know how to move this thing forward, but luckily Carrie'd had plenty of experience with group sex scenarios.

"You know what I'd really like?" she asked.

"What?" I said.

"I'd really like to watch you suck Will's cock. You watched me go down on that dentist that time in Vegas, but I've never seen you do it."

So I opened Will's robe and pulled out his stiff penis. I took him into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the head in agonizingly slow circles. I sucked hard, squeezing and stroking the shaft of his cock between my tightly circled thumb and forefinger, putting on a bit of a show for Carrie. Will leaned back on the bed and groaned. He kept getting harder and harder in my mouth, his cock twitching between my lips.

"That is so cool," Carrie said. "You do it differently than I do. Can I try?"

"Sure," I released Will's cock and let Carrie go down on my man.

She took him all the way in, her head bobbing up and down on his shaft with furious speed. Will squirmed on the bed at the change in sensation.

"Mmm," she said when she let him go a few minutes later. "I do it more like that. What do you like better, Will? Slow and intense, or fast and deep?"

"Both," Will gasped, words obviously difficult for him.

"Do you swallow?" Carrie asked me.

"Will likes it when I feed his come back to him."

Carrie laughed. "They call that a snowball. Most guys don't like that. Hey, are those strawberries?"

So for a while we took turns blowing Will, covering his cock with whipped cream and crushed strawberries. My sense of taste, heightened by the pot, was overwhelmed by the tart berry juice, the sweet cream and the salty musk of Will's precious pre-cum. The best part, though, was tasting these same flavors on Carrie's lips when she kissed me between turns. 

Will just laid there and let us work on him. It must have been paradise for him, having two women compete over his cock. I was glad that we could pleasure him so much. Now, Will had fantastic self-control. He could stay hard for hours without coming, but even he began to lose it when we both went at him at once, me sucking his bulbous head while Carrie licked his balls and went down between his legs.

"All right, stop," he said, pushing us both away. "I don't want to get off yet. I want this to last. Let's do something else."

"OK," Carrie said. "What?"

"I want to go down on you," I told her.

"Right on," she grinned. "Do you want strawberries and cream?"

"No," I said, a little breathless with anticipation. "Natural."

Carrie lay on the bed and parted her legs for me. I slid inside and began to feed.

I had never been with a woman before, had only tasted my own pussy, and I was shocked at how different Carrie tasted than me. She was salty, like the sea. It was wonderful. I sucked on the little gold clit ring and Carrie cried out, writhing beneath my lips and tongue, bucking her hips up to bring herself fully into my mouth. I loved her so much, loved pleasing her like this. I felt Will's hand touching the back of my head, gently pressing me forward, and I loved him too. I glanced up and saw that he was kissing Carrie and the weird thing was how much I much I loved them loving one another. 

Carrie, my best friend and Will, my man. The two people I loved more than anyone else on earth. The feelings of tenderness I felt for each of them were magnified exponentially now that I had them together. I had no idea it could be like this.

Then Carrie came. To give another woman an orgasm like this was so beautiful. It was like sharing the experience with her. Her pussy flooded with salt water like the tides coming in. Everything under my tongue moved and writhed as if every part of her was coming to a separate life of its own, like I was coaxing butterflies from their cocoons. Her cunt, her clit, her pouting labial lips, the rest of her body, all shuddering with the violence of an earthquake. Jesus Christ. I slid a hand between her buttocks and felt that even her asshole was buzzing with vibrating life. She screamed when she came. Literally screamed. My own pussy cried out in echo to her voice, a hands-free orgasm, something I'd never even suspected was possible.

As Carrie shuddered in recovery, Will pulled me up onto the bed.

"I can't wait anymore," he said, climbing onto me and taking me by force.

He fucked me hard. I mean, with Will it was usually gentle lovemaking, but this was straight-up hard-core fucking. He drove it into me, brutally grinding it in. Fuck yeah. It was unbelievable. He fucked me like I've never been fucked before, plunging in and out like the pistons on a steam engine. I flopped like a rag doll, letting out these little helpless cries "oh, oh, oh," as I was hurled over the edge into an orgasm which was like being tossed off a cliff.

Beside us, Carrie was masturbating as furiously as Will was fucking me. In that strange second, I wished I had a cock so I could fuck her hard, too. Then Will shot off inside me, filling me up with half a dozen explosive spurts of come, each one sending me off into another realm of undiscovered pleasure.

Will rolled off me, spent and exhausted.

"Did he come inside you?" Carrie gasped. "Oh, God, I want to . . ."

Before I could even catch my breath, Carrie dived between my legs and began gulp down the oozing seed which dripped like honey from deep inside me. Will slathered me with strawberry juice and sweet cream and then he was drinking from my well too. Then they kissed, sharing the sweetened mix of his come and mine and then they were kissing me so I could taste it too, the forbidden delicacy, ambrosia like that which the Gods must dine on, and we were all laughing.

I must have passed out from sheer exhaustion soon after that because the next thing I remember was waking up in Will's arms while holding Carrie in mine, thinking how beautiful she was when she slept.

Will was awake, too.

"What are you thinking?" I asked him. 

"I'm wondering if this is going to change things," he said. "Between you and me. Between you and her."

"I don't know," I said. "I don't want it to."

"I think this should stay here," he said. "We can be together like this as much as you want to on this trip, but when we go home, we should leave it here."

"OK," I said. That made sense to me, but I wasn't sure what Carrie would say.




The Education of Lisa Ch. 11



Will proposed me two weeks after we got back to Hawaii. He took me out to an expensive restaurant, got down on his hands and knees, whipped out the ring, the whole nine yards. Of course, I said yes without hesitation, and cried from happiness all through dessert.

"Actually," he told me later, "I was going to propose in Hawaii. I brought the ring along and everything. But it seemed a little awkward while we were having wild three-way sex with your best friend."

I called and told my Mom and Dad the news the very next day (about Will's proposal, not about the three-way.) Weddings being a big deal in my family, they insisted Will and I come down to their house in Tucson for a few days. When we arrived, we received a somewhat overwhelming surprise. The entire family had been called together to celebrate our engagement.

I was raised Mormon, so I have a big family. My brothers Jamie and Jerry flew in with their families from Alaska and Illinois, respectively. Brother Richard drove down from California; sister Jennifer from Utah. My youngest brother Jeremy still lived at home. The last one to arrive was my nineteen-year-old adopted sister Kim, home from college with a huge duffel bag full of laundry.

The entire Castle clan gathered together at once can be intimidating for anybody, and doubly so for someone naturally shy like Will. It was made worse by the fact that Will and I were the center of everyone's attention. Everybody had congratulations and a million questions. Will held up the best he could, but even I was getting tired of being under the family microscope. We were rescued by Kim, though, at the big dinner that first night. Turns out she had an announcement of her own.

"Excuse me, everybody," she said, standing up. "I have something I want to say, and with you all gathered together like this, it's easiest just to stand up and announce it here at dinner. You see, I discovered something about myself when I was away at college. I'm gay."

You could have heard a pin drop. Everyone was staring at Kim, jaws around their knees. These clichés became, in the moment, absolutely true.

Kim, uncertain now, cleared her throat and went on. "Yeah," she said. "I have a definite sexual preference for women. I know you will all be supportive of me as I move on this journey of self-discovery, and continue to love me for who I am."

Kim sat down to an immediate explosion of action. Mom flew into a rage, screaming about sin and immorality. She got right in Kim's face, pointing a crooked finger, hair wild and face red, spitting venomous reproaches and vowing that she would no longer pay for a college education if this was where it led. My father actually shed tears right there at the table, begging Kim to tell him where he had failed as parent. My brothers Jamie and Richard argued with one another, Jamie condemning Kim's "choice" and Richard feebly defending her. Will and my brother Jerry both just picked at their food, looking as if they'd rather be anywhere on earth but there at the dinner table in the middle of this firestorm. My sister Jennifer announced several times to whoever would listen that she knew of a counselor who could "cure" Kim of her "condition." My youngest brother Jeremy simply sat there smirking as he always did during family arguments, as if he found scenes like this very entertaining. 

I was the only one to go to Kim. I put my arm around her shoulder and congratulated her for her bravery and stood beside her against the assaults of my family. It went on all the way through dessert (my Mom would never let any family crisis, no matter how dire, interfere with the serving of her famous peach cobbler ala mode.) Finally, everyone either retired to their rooms or joined the big game of gin rummy which would most likely go on for most of the night. 

Will and I, still being technically pre-marital, were obliged to sleep in separate rooms; this was a firm house rule. Poor Will had to share a room with Jeremy, who would no doubt keep my fiancée up half the night watching skateboarding videos. I was to share my old bedroom with Kim, as we had done for years growing up.

"God," she said as soon as we had shut the door. "That was almost as bad as I thought it would be. Listen, do you want to share a joint with me? I really need it after that scene."

"Sure," I said, though it felt a little weird to burn one with my little sister. 

She lit up and took a huge drag, then crossed the room to exhale out the window. "Jesus, Mom is uptight, isn't she?" Kim said, handing the joint to me. "And Dad is so whipped it isn't even funny."

"Well, you had to have known they'd have a hard time with this," I said, taking my puff.

"Yeah," Kim said, pulling off her shirt. "But the part that bugs me is I don't think they really care all that much. It's like they have to put on a big show of being all horrified and intolerant so they can sound good when they complain about me to all their friends at church. They're such hypocrites."

"This surprises you?" I said, trying not to stare at my sister's breasts, which had filled out quite a bit since the last time I'd seen her undressed two or three years ago. Somewhere in that time span she'd crossed the line between girl and woman. "That's how they've always been."

"I know, I know," Kim unzipped her jeans and peeled them off. She unhooked her bra and let it fall to the floor. She stood before me dressed only in a very skimpy thong. "But I somehow thought maybe Mom and Dad might have entered the twenty-first century."

I just laughed at that and passed the joint back to her. There was no way not to check out my sister's bod now, as she was practically naked. She was gorgeous.

There has always been some doubt about Kim's ethnic heritage. We knew that her birth mother was of mixed Asian descent, Chinese and Korean. Of her biological father we knew absolutely nothing, but her skin had a definite brown cast to it. We had long speculated that her father had black, Hispanic or possibly Arabic blood. Kim herself wasn't too concerned about her ethnic background. She always checked the "mixed race" or "other" box on college registration or other official forms and among friends and family called herself "Heinz 57." Whatever it was, on her it worked. Smooth, flawless tan skin. Long black hair with just the slightest kink to it. Eyes as dark and mysterious as the ocean at night. Nipples the color of cinnamon, the size and shape of Hershey's Kisses.

She slipped into a very tight tank top and was dressed for bed. I had brought along long pajamas but, seeing Kim, elected now to just sleep in a t-shirt and panties. I pulled a "Flashdance" maneuver and finagled my way out of my bra without taking off my shirt. I dropped my pants and stripped down to a pair of French-cut black lace panties, Will's favorite.

"Those are cute," Kim said, eyeing me with slightly unnerving intensity.

"Thanks," I said, slipping into bed. "Will picked them out. He really likes panties."

"Really?" Kim said, intrigued. 

Instead of lying down in her bed, she crawled beside me onto my narrow twin mattress. We had shared a bed countless times growing up, whispering and giggling to each other late into the night. 

Kim snuggled in close. "So, what's Will like?"

I started to go on about how sweet and sensitive he was, how attentive to my needs and all that sort of thing. But Kim slapped my arm lightly.

"I don't care about all that," she laughed. "What's he like in bed?"

We giggled together, as we had a million times as girls when we had told each other everything. Primed for the confession and imbued with the truth serum marijuana, I spilled my guts. I told her everything about Will. His panty fetish, how he enjoyed anal play, his love of snowballs and cream pies. Well, almost everything. I left out the wild Hawaiian vacation and the three-way sex with Carrie. I wasn't ready to admit to that just yet.

"Oh, God, that's so wild. He eats his own come out of you?" Kim asked.

"Yeah," I laughed. "He slurps it up like chicken soup."

"Wow," Kim said. "That sounds kind of fun, I guess. I don't know. I tried sex with guys a couple times. It just didn't do anything for me. Now, girls . . ."

We laughed together again. "So how did you find out that out about yourself?" I asked.

"I always knew," Kim said. "I had crushes on girls all through high school. Remember Miss McKenzie, the gym teacher? She was SO hot. But I never had the nerve to actually try anything until I got to college. I was drunk at a party, which is how these things always start. There was this girl named Paula. We started out making out on a dare, but we both got so into it that I went back to her dorm room. Fucked all night long. God, it was great. I knew I was gay then, no doubt about it. We went out for a while, but she turned out to be kind of a basket case. She had nice tits, though. Almost as big as yours. I swear to God, her nipples got like two inches long when you sucked on them."

As Kim talked, I felt a warm tingle. I knew I was sopping wet. I could even smell myself. There was a slight spicy tinge to the scent, and I wondered if I smelled Kim too, if she was as wet as I was.

"Then there was Ardelia," Kim went on. "She was cute, but she was brought up real Christian, you know? Worse than we were. She had all these guilt issues, always afraid that the cops or her Mom or Jesus or somebody was going to bust us for having unnatural sex. She had the sweetest pussy I've ever tasted, though. She got so wet."

There was a slight rustling under the covers. I think Kim was touching herself, ever so lightly. I wanted to touch myself, too, but I was afraid. Worse yet, I found myself wanting to touch her.

"There was this other girl, Louisa. Hard-core dyke. Real political about it. She was the first girl who ever fisted me. She was pretty butch-looking, though. I go more for the femme-type, so that didn't last too long."

"Are you seeing anybody seriously?" I asked, just to be saying something.

"No," Kim said. "I don't really want to. Maybe after I graduate, I'll settle down with somebody, but for right now I just want to play the field, you know? I'm in college. That's what college is for, getting as much pussy as you can."

"Is that what college is for?" I asked. As subtly as I could, I snaked one hand into my panties. I was so wet I was afraid Kim would hear the squish as I slid my fingers over myself.

"So, how about you?" Kim asked. "Have you ever been with a girl?"

"Yeah," I gasped, so breathlessly it came out as a whisper. "When Will and I went to Hawaii, we took my friend Carrie along. It ended up being a ménage a trois."

"Really?" Kim turned to face me on my pillow. "And you and she got it on?"

"God yeah," I said. I stroked my clit, not making any attempt now to conceal the fact.

"You ate her pussy out and everything?" Kim's hand was moving over herself, too.

"Yes," I hissed.

"Was she sweet?" 

"She was salty," I gasped. "Like the sea."

"Oh God, Lisa," Kim said. "I am so turned on right now."

"Me too."

"Kiss me," she said.

"Yes."

We kissed in the darkness, full on the mouth, tongues greedy for one another. Her lips were soft and smoky-sweet. Her hand slid up under my t-shirt and cupped my breast, toying with the steely-stiff nipple. 

"Lisa, I've wanted you for so long," Kim said. "You were my first crush. So many nights I laid here beside you, touching myself and trying to work up the courage to touch you."

"Really?" I played with one nipple, which was straining through her top like it wanted to pop free.

"Yes. One night I even gave your pussy a lick while you were sleeping. You rolled over, though and I was afraid you were going to wake up."

"I thought that was a dream," I said.

"You were the first girl I ever tasted," Kim said. "You were so sweet, Lisa. I still dream about it sometimes."

Her hand slipped down into my panties, fluttering fingers probing me, getting slick with my glistening dew.

"This is so weird," I moaned as her moistened fingers applied nimble pressure to my swollen clitoris. She worked with expert precision which testified to her experience. She knew what she was doing down there.

"What's so weird about it?" Kim asked, as I helped her slide my panties off so she could have freer access.

"It's incest, isn't it?"

"No," Kim scoffed. "We're not really sisters, not biologically. Anyway, isn't the whole reason incest is taboo because of the risk of birth defects? Well, that's one of the many great things about sex with girls. You don't have to worry about getting pregnant."

I was about to protest more, but Kim crawled down between my legs and kissed my twitching clit. Words weren't appropriate anymore. The light fluttering sensation of her lips became the heavier snake-like flickering of her tongue, lapping at my magic button. Then she was full-on sucking me, lips and tongue frantically working my clitoris. I bucked my hips up to push myself fully into her open mouth. Her fingers wormed inside me, two or three of them plunging into my yawning, soaking wet cunt. I wrapped my legs around her neck to pull her even closer and Kim went crazy licking and sucking and finger-fucking. One of the slicked-up fingers, her pinkie I think, slipped easily into my asshole and was buried to the second knuckle. 

I started to shake. My spread-open legs quivered with uncontrollable spasms. This was something which had happened to me only once before, the first time Will ever went down on me. I grabbed the back of Kim's head and smashed her face into the juicy pulpy fruit between my legs. The quaking in my legs spread to my entire body and I came so hard I cried out, not even caring if the entire family heard me and walked in on us. My pussy exploded with moisture. Kim sucked my juices like I was a honeydew melon.

Only after the aftershocks had subsided did she lift her head from my sodden vagina.

"Your little sister knows how to eat pussy, doesn't she?" Kim smiled up at me.

"Jesus."

She crawled on top of me, trailing wet tongue kisses up my entire body. At some point while eating me out she had managed to wriggle free of her clothes. She was completely naked now, shiny with sweat as I was. Her leg pressed against my still-shuddering pussy and I raised my own leg up between her legs and felt how fever-hot and slimy-wet she was. Her breasts, heavy as ripe fruit, slid over mine. The hard nubs of our nipples mashed together. 

Kim kissed me, her lips dripping with my juices. "Your pussy is so sweet, Lisa," she said. "You taste it?"

"I want to taste yours," I said.

"Fuck yeah." 

We wriggled together for a few minutes, legs scissored to press our thighs into each other's pussies. Then Kim rolled over on her back and spread her legs real wide, offering herself up to me. 

I hesitated only for a second before burying my face in my sister's pussy. The second one I had ever eaten. As different as Carrie tasted from my own, Kim tasted different from hers. Kim's vagina was wild and spicy, like some exotic foreign dish. Tangy and sweaty; utterly tantalizing. A tropical marsh of pungent moisture. It was almost overpowering. I ran my tongue all the way up her slit, between her fat pouting lips up to the hard pebble of her clit. Her pussy was a wild animal. It pulsed with life. When I sucked that franticly convulsive clit between my lips and flicked it hard with my tongue, Kim cried out. No, she screamed. Actually, to be perfectly descriptive, she SHRIEKED. Loud.

I tensed up and stopped mouthing her, afraid that the entire household was awake now, that at any second my entire family would burst in and see me with my tongue plowing my sister's fields.

"God damn it, Lisa, don't fucking stop!" she yelled.

"Shhh!" I hissed.

"Fuck!" Kim pulled a pillow over her face, muffling her cries only slightly.

I went back to work nuzzling her pussy. Kim reacted like my mouth was a live electrical wire. She convulsed, flopping on the mattress like a woman in the throes of electrocution. And she was so wet. The fragrant juices practically spurted from her. I drank as much as I could, but my face was dripping and the bed-sheets were soaked. Kim's orgasmic moaning seemed to actually be growing louder, despite the fact that she had the pillow pulled tight over her mouth. I wondered how she could breathe.

Finally, she tossed the pillow aside. "I need something in my mouth or I'm going to wake up the whole fucking neighborhood. Get on top of me, Lisa. Sixty-nine."

I climbed on top of her and turned myself around so I was straddling her face. I fell forward and dived into her spicy muffin again. Upside down now, the perspective was different. Her stiff buzzing clit vibrated at my chin. My tongue slid easily into her gaping wet cunt. My nose tickled her puckered brown anus.

Behind me, she latched on. She gave my clitoris a long loving lick. The tingling vibrations of the moan coming from deep in her throat were enough to bring me to another climax. I leaned back into her slurping mouth. Her tongue lapped up my juices and then slid up. Taking me by surprise, her fluttering tongue found my asshole. 

Will has licked my ass a few times. He says he does it to show there is no part of me he doesn't love. In contrast to Will's timid licking, though, Kim actually ate my ass. She tongue-fucked me, licking and sucking my asshole like it was a second pussy. I hoped I was clean for her, but she seemed so into it that I didn't worry about this for long. The feeling was interesting, not as intense as her masterful cunnilingus, but a subtler, more muted pleasure. It drove me forward somehow, made me go deeper into the wilderness of her vagina. I latched onto her clitoris like an infant onto its mother's breast, sucking her juices like I needed them to live. My nose was buried in her pussy and she bucked her hips so much I was practically nose-fucking her. Don't ask me how I was breathing. I'm not sure I was. She grabbed my head between her thighs and her mouth went crazy on my ass. Then she slid down and was sucking on my clit like I was sucking hers. We both came like one big orgasmic ball of matter; an explosion like the one which had created the universe.

I crawled off of her and lay beside her. We held each other sweaty and naked for a long time, too breathless to speak, words inadequate to describe what we felt anyway. The air was so funky with the mingled perfumes of our vaginas we could barely breathe. 

"Are you sure that wasn't incest?" I said after a long while.

Kim laughed. "Call it whatever you want, Lisa. That was like the best fuck I've ever had. Seriously."

"It was pretty mind-blowing," I had to agree. "I can't wait to tell Will about it."

"You're going to tell him?" Kim looked over at me like I'd gone crazy.

"God yes," I said. "He loves to hear about stuff like this. He'll get really turned on and then he'll fuck my brains out."

"That's so cool that you can be open about it," Kim said. "Will sounds like a real catch."

"Yeah," I said. "He really is."

Kim snuggled in close. I held her and soon she was snoring lightly. I was exhausted, too, but my mind was too busy to let me sleep. I wondered what tonight really meant to me. First Carrie, now Kim. Sex with other women was a new thing for me, but I was already hooked. I loved it. Just thinking about pussy was almost enough to get me going again, to wake up Kim and have another go at her. I decided right there in the darkness of my childhood bedroom that I was bisexual. This opened up a whole new realm of sexuality, an undiscovered continent of pleasure. I wanted more.

I made a vow to myself then. I would not cheat on Will with another man, but fucking a woman could not even be considered cheating. Especially if I told him about it, or if he was included. Satisfied with this resolution, I fell into a deep dreamless sleep beside the beautiful girl who was not really my sister but who was undeniably my lover. 




The Education of Lisa Ch. 12



A few weeks had passed since we'd announced our engagement and I was still going through the process of meeting all of Will's friends. He was a somewhat solitary person, but the few friendships he did have were very close. The people who had gravitated towards him over the years were an interesting assortment of human beings, to say the least. 

There was Astrid, the middle-aged lesbian herpetologist. She was in charge of the reptile house at the zoo and had an enthusiasm for venomous snakes which bordered on the disturbing. There was Jacob, a real-life bona fide circus clown/ pot dealer. Then there was Thomas.

Thomas was the soccer coach at the college where Will taught English. They had been friends since junior high. This was strange to me, because I couldn't imagine anyone less like Will. Thomas was black, to start with, whereas if Will were any whiter he'd be completely transparent. Thomas had the physique of a football player (I would later learn only a bad knee injury had kept him from going pro,) well over six feet tall and built like a major home appliance. Will was 5'5" and paunchy. 

It wasn't just the obvious physical dissimilarities, either. Their personalities were polar opposites. Thomas was boisterous and gregarious. Will was shy and quiet. Still, I could see by watching them together that each had a balancing effect on the other. They had the easy rapport and comfort together that only comes from very old friendships. There were private jokes between them which I, an outsider, could never comprehend. Weird as it seems, they were as close as brothers.

Thomas was gorgeous, by the way, like Denzel Washington's older and much buffer brother. Skin the color of one of those $3 bars of imported dark chocolate you can only get at the health food store. Teeth so dazzlingly white that when he smiled you had to look away.

I had met him a few times. He'd come over to the house for dinner once and the three of us had been to a few movies together, but the night we went out to dinner was the first time I met his girlfriend, Li.

Li was Chinese. Very beautiful. Flawless, pale gold skin. Short black hair which shone in the light like obsidian, cut straight across the back of her neck. Eyes the shape and color of almonds. She wore a snug-fitting scarlet dress capable of making grown men weep, lips and nails painted to match. Low-cut and spaghetti-strapped, the dress clung to her modest but succulent breasts in a way that can only be described as mouth-watering. Walking to the table behind her, I had been helpless not to gaze upon how the back of the short dress had been cut to accentuate her perfect heart-shaped ass. If she was wearing panties, the lines were very cleverly concealed. 

Every male eye, and most every female, was on her like a magnet when she walked into the room. Thomas, escorting her on his arm, seemed aware of this. The knowledge no doubt gave him a satisfying sense of power. This incredible vision of beauty was with him and for all the staring, none would touch her but him.

As with all inter-racial couples, I couldn't help but wonder what their children would look like. Any offspring of their union would be blessed with a genetic legacy of fantastic beauty. 

Despite her intimidating looks, Li was remarkably easy to get along with. She had a loud but musical laughter, which she was not shy about. She laughed so hard at Thomas's obscene jokes that she actually got shushed by a woman sitting at a table near ours. Li just flipped the lady off and told an even filthier joke of her own.

On the drive home, things got really interesting. Will was driving; Thomas and Li were in the back seat. It was a long drive home and dark outside. We were all a bit sleepy and giddy from the wine, except for designated driver Will who sang along with his Frank Sinatra CD (for which he received a due amount of ribbing from Thomas.) I leaned my seat back a little, mindful of Li's knees behind me. I was about to doze off for the rest of the ride when I heard a rustling sound from the back seat.

I glanced up at the make-up mirror on my sun visor, and it happened to be angled so I could see into the back seat. The lights from the highway played over Thomas and Li. They were making out, hot and heavy. Mouths open like they wanted to devour one another; hands all over the place. Both made soft little moaning sounds, trying to keep quiet so Will and I wouldn't notice.

I felt a little guilty watching them, but of course I couldn't look away. I scooted down in my seat to get a better angle, and closed my eyes into little slits so I could pretend to be asleep if they should catch me looking.

Thomas's right arm was behind Li's shoulder, pulling aside the thin strap of her dress to give his left hand free access to her breast. In a flash of streetlight, I saw a brief teasing glimpse of Thomas pinching a fat nipple between two fingers. I gasped at the same time Li did. I imagined what it would be like to touch her nipple like that myself, or to take it into my mouth, and closed my eyes to enjoy this fantasy for a few moments.

When I looked again, Li's right shoulder was moving back and forth in a very suspicious manner. I just had time to wonder if she was really jerking him off when her head suddenly dropped from view, down onto Thomas's lap. Thomas leaned all the way back and closed his eyes, a beatific smile on his face.

Surely they weren't doing what I thought they were doing. I listened and heard, very quiet but undeniable, the tell-tale slurping and smacking. I also saw the back of Li's head, bobbing in and out of view. She was sucking Thomas's cock in our back seat. I couldn't believe it. I felt a little outrage, this had to be considered rude, but the indignation was far outweighed by titillation. I was desperate to see more. I wished I could just turn around and watch his cock going into her mouth, but I didn't dare.

I glanced over at Will, to see if he had any inkling of what was going on behind him. He was oblivious, of course. Singing along with "It Was a Very Good Year," having no idea that his best friend was getting sucked off just a few feet away.

I wanted to touch myself but, again, I didn't dare. Will would be so distracted he'd crash the car. If I had been wearing a skirt, I might have risked it anyway, but for some damn reason I'd worn pants that night. So I had to be content with listening to the backseat blowjob and feeling the dampness soak through my panties.

Thomas grunted, unable to conceal his ecstasy, and then from Li came a very un-ladylike gagging, gulping noise. I recognized it as the sound you make when a guy comes in your mouth either before you're ready for it, or with a load so big you can't swallow it all at once. 

She sat up a few seconds later, wiping her mouth and giggling. I saw, or imagined I saw, a glistening bead of white at her lip before she brushed it away. Then she and Thomas kissed again, as deeply as before, and I couldn't help wondering if she'd saved a little for him.

We dropped Thomas and Li off at their place. By the time we got home, I was so jacked up I practically raped Will as soon as we were inside. I threw him down on the floor, tore open his pants and straddled him like a cowgirl. It lasted about thirty seconds.

Afterwards, Will just wanted to go to bed, but I was still wound up. He opened a book and read, while I put on a porno DVD. Will wasn't really into porn, but I had amassed a small collection. Most of it had been donated to me by Carrie, who possessed a veritable library. I was definitely in the mood for seeing some black cock, so I selected a classic bit of cinema entitled "Straight Pimpin'."

The first scene was a bout of black guy/ white chick action. The man was nowhere near as good-looking as Thomas, (I'm not sure why the men in porno movies are all so damn ugly) but he did have a huge cock. We're talking python proportions. Watching that monster thing get crammed first into the silicon blonde's mouth, then her pussy, and finally her ass, I couldn't help but to wonder about Thomas.

"Is it true what they say about black guys?" I asked Will. "I mean the size."

"I don't know," Will said. "I haven't seen many black men naked."

"Have you ever seen Thomas naked?" I asked, as coyly as I could. "I mean, like in the shower room."

"Sure," Will said. "Lots of times."

"Well, is he big?"

Will nodded. "Yeah, he's pretty big."

"As big as that?" I pointed at the screen, where the enormous black prick was plunging in and out of the white chick's back door.

Will squinted at the screen. "A little bigger, I think."

"He's bigger than that?" I gasped in disbelief.

"A little bit, yeah."

"Holy shit."

Will looked over at me. "You're attracted to him, aren't you?"

I knew Will wasn't the jealous type, quite the opposite, but I still felt a little guilty about coveting another man. I remembered my vow to go outside our relationship only to satisfy my new-found craving for women.

"Actually, I'm more into Li," I said. This was only a half-lie.

"Hmm," Will said. "She'd probably be into it. I know they've had three-ways."

"How do you know that?" I asked.

"Thomas told me," Will said. "He tells me everything."

"Really?" I was intrigued. "Like what else?"

"Well, she's really into anal sex," Will said. "Thomas said she likes that even more than, you know, the regular."

"Oh my God," I said. I watched the video and tried to imagine a cock bigger than the one this guy had going into my ass. I tensed up at the mere thought of it. Then I had an even more disturbing thought. "Wait a minute. Thomas tells you everything about him and Li. What do you tell him about you and me?"

"Well," Will pretended to be very interested in the Tom Clancy novel he was reading. "You know, a little bit."

"Did you tell him about Carrie?"

"Yeah," Will admitted.

"Oh my God, did you tell him about Kim?"

Will blushed a feverish scarlet. "Well . . ."

"Jesus, Will," I said. "He knows I had sex with my own sister?"

"Adopted sister," he said, as if this would diminish my mortification.

"It's no big deal," Will insisted. "He said that was unbelievably hot."

"That's not the point, Will," I said. "But he really said that?"

"Yes. He thinks you're really sexy."

"He told you that, too?"

"Yes," Will said. "He talks about you a lot."

"That doesn't bother you?" I asked. I wasn't sure how I felt about this.

"No," Will said. He put his book down and looked right at me. "As a matter of fact, if you wanted to have sex with him, or Li, or both of them, I'm sure it could be arranged. It wouldn't bother me, as long as . . ." Will cleared his throat and looked away. "As long as I could watch."

"What?"

"Yeah," Will said. "Um, he and Carol did it a few times."

"Thomas fucked your ex-wife?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"Yeah."

"And you watched them?"

"Yeah," Will said. "Actually several times, over the space of two or three years."

"And that turned you on?"

"Sure," Will said, as if anyone would be turned on by watching their wife with another man. "Carol loved it, too. She was really into black guys."

Just when I'd thought I'd learned every shocking detail about Will's sexual past, he comes up with something like this. 

"I'm not sure how I feel about this, Will," I said.

"That's all right," he said. "If that's not something you'd be into, just forget I even mentioned it. But, like I said, if you want to get with one or both of them, they'd be willing and I wouldn't have a problem with it. In fact, I'd kind of like it." 

With that, he rolled over and turned off his bedside light. Within minutes, he was asleep, leaving me to sit there in the dark with my porno movie and my wildly conflicted emotions. While my heart and head went back and forth between interest and outrage, there was one part of me which had no qualms whatsoever. My pussy was sopping wet and twitchy at the thought. I rewound the video to play back the black cock/ white chick anal scene and pulled my vibrator from my side table drawer. I got myself off with buzzing plastic at my clit and two pussy-lubed fingers shoved up my ass. 

The next morning at breakfast, my mind made up by the crazy dreams I'd had all night, I made French toast for Will.

"We should really have Li and Thomas over for dinner," I said, all innocence as I fixed his plate.

"Yes," Will said. He was so opaque I wasn't sure he caught my drift.

"Soon," I said. "Very soon."

"How about tomorrow night?"

"Tomorrow's good," I said.

"Good, I'll give Thomas a call after breakfast. Pass the syrup, please."

And that was that.

The next thirty-six hours passed so slowly that I thought I was going to lose my mind from anticipation. The whole time, neither Will nor I never once alluded to what the purpose of the evening was to be. We just acted like it was an ordinary dinner party. Will fired up the grill and prepared fresh salmon. I went to the liquor store and bought a nice bottle of white wine. Actually, truth be known, I bought two bottles. One of them I opened as I prepared the meal, to give me courage.

They arrived a few minutes early, both of them looking like they'd stepped from the pages of some magazine which only showed pictures of exceptionally beautiful people. They were dressed more casually than they had been the night we'd gone out, but those two could have worn matching sack-cloths and still looked good. Li wore a tank-top and jeans, both tight enough to give me chills. Thomas wore jeans and a sweatshirt which hung easily on his sculpted frame.

We sat down to eat, the awkward silence filled here and there by nervous chatter. Finally, as I'd hoped, after a few glasses of wine (thankfully, they'd brought a bottle too,) everybody loosened up a little. After dinner was finished and the plates were cleared, the conversation came around to the subject of dreams we'd had recently.

"I dreamed I was bitten by a snake," Li said. She pulled a strap of her tank top aside, just a little, and pointed at the top part of her left breast. "Right here. But it wasn't poison, it more like a drug. It made me high. It was like doing ecstasy."

I told them about a dream I'd had about all the house plants growing out of their pots and taking over the house. Though it had been a nightmare, it sounded funny when I recounted it and everyone had a good laugh.

"I had a dream the other night that I got arrested," Thomas said. "But I managed to slip out of the cuffs and bust the heads of a couple cops."

"He even dreams in action movies," Li noted, to more laughter.

"Yeah, well I had a dream that the three of you fucked while I watched and jerked off," Will said.

The laughter in the room died. Pure silence. It was horrible. I was afraid Will had ruined the whole thing, but then Thomas chuckled.

"Damn, Will," he said. "I guess that's one way to break the ice."

Li was actually blushing. She touched my arm. "Is that really why you wanted us to come over?" she asked.

I couldn't look her in the eye. "Of course we enjoy your company," I said. "But, Will said that you two were into, um . . ."

I faltered. I don't know why this was always so awkward. 

"Don't you love how these boys kiss and tell?" Li said to me. "They're like a couple of women that way. Yeah, we've had a third in our bed a few times. It's fun. Don't get me wrong, I'm way into cock. I just like a little taste of pussy from time to time. I especially like pretty white girls with big tits, like you."

She was stroking my arm the entire time she was talking, sending shivers all through my body. Not knowing how else to respond, I leaned forward and kissed her. She kissed me back. Her lips were soft and warm and she made this little moaning vibration in the back of her throat, like the purring of a cat. If I was shivering before we kissed, I was positively tingling by the time we were done.

"Damn, I love watching girls kiss," Thomas said. "I could watch that all day."

Li was still looking deep into my eyes. "As much as I love being with a woman, I really prefer sharing my man with her. As long as I like and trust the other woman, and I like and trust you, I feel there's a real intimacy to letting her be with Thomas. Do you want to fuck him?"

"Yes." My voice was shaking so badly I could hardly get the word out.

"Do you like to take it in the ass?" she asked.

I looked away. "Sometimes," I said. "My first real boyfriend, that was all he wanted to do. I got tired of it eventually."

Li laughed. "He must not have been doing it right. God, I never get tired of it."

"Yeah, but isn't Thomas, you know, like really big?" I asked.

"Jesus Christ, he's gigantic."

Thomas smiled with pride. "Well, what can I say?"

"Doesn't that hurt?" I asked Li.

"He's very gentle and patient," Li said. "It takes some work, but trust me honey, you haven't lived until you've had a cock that big in your ass. Oh my God. You know how sometimes your mind wanders during sex? When you have a boa constrictor burrowing into your back door, that tends to fix your attention in the moment."

"I still don't know," I said.

Li shrugged. "Hey, if you're not into that, don't do it. That big cock is pretty damn amazing in your pussy, too. I'm just saying, for me, there's no comparison. Damn, Thomas, don't stop what you're doing."

I looked down and realized for the first time that Li had managed to pull down her jeans and her panties about halfway down and that Thomas's hand was working on her under the table.

"He's got magic fucking hands too, let me tell you," Li moaned. "Athlete's hands. So strong. He gives great massages."

"I don't have the patience for that tonight, baby," Thomas said. "Tonight I just want to fuck."

His hand emerged from beneath the table. He scooted close to Li's chair and pushed her tank top up to stroke her breasts right there at the table. They kissed hungrily, as if Will and I weren't even in the room. I looked over at my fiancée. He was watching the two of them with glassy-eyed concentration.

Thomas whispered something into Li's ear which made her laugh. 

"Lisa," she said. "Thomas says he wants to see your titties."

Without saying a word, I unbuttoned my shirt and took off my bra. I leaned back, offering my breasts for their gaze. Thomas whistled.

"Those are some fine titties," he said. "They real?"

Li slapped his arm lightly. "Of course they're real. Can't you tell? I hate fake boobs, but nice ones like that . . . what are you, D-cup?"

"Double," I said.

"Some girls have all the luck," Li said. "I'd really love to kiss them. May I?"

"Please."

"Go sit over on the couch," she said. "It'll be more comfortable."

I crossed the room and sat on the couch, leaning back and spreading my legs as Li knelt between them. She kissed my lips first, and then fluttered down my neck and chest before latching on to my nipple like a hungry baby.

Thomas sat down on the couch beside me, and then he kissed me. His lips were thicker and more insistent than Li's, or even Will's. His hand forced its way between Li's body and mine, snaking into the waistband of my loose-fitting pants, pulling aside my damp panties to find my pussy slick and ready for him. His fingers were a bit rough and calloused, but moved with strength and confidence. Two fingers penetrated me while his thumb pressed down hard on my clitoris. He manipulated me as his woman fed at my breast. 

I looked across the room. Will was still sitting at the dining room table, watching all this go down with an unreadable expression. 

Li sat up. She pulled her tank top off over her head and sat down on the couch beside me. I kissed her again, stroking her breasts. They weren't as large as mine, but I wouldn't have wanted them to be. I know the whole world's obsessed with big tits, but I found mine to be a back-aching bother most of the time. I wished mine were like hers, fitting perfectly in the palm of my hand. I leaned down to kiss them as she had kissed mine. Her nipple swelled up to twice its size in my mouth. I sucked and licked, tasting the salt of her puckered flesh.




The Education of Lisa Ch. 13



After the mind-shattering experience with Thomas and Li, I felt I needed to chill out a little. The moral trappings of my religious upbringing were causing me guilt for the first time in my life. I've done a lot of wild things in my life, but in the last few weeks I had crossed lines which perhaps should not be crossed. Lesbian incest with my adopted sister. Miscegenationous and exhibitionist sodomy; getting fucked in the ass by a monstrously-endowed black man while his girlfriend and my fiancée watched. I was doing things not even mentioned in The Bible. I felt like I was spinning out of control. 

Will, bless his heart, was very supportive of me during this confusing time. He understood that I didn't want to be touched sexually and left me alone in this respect. He even submitted to my need for snuggling and backrubs which led nowhere. Still, I held strange resentments against him, as if he had been to blame for my excesses. He had not pushed me into anything, but I couldn't let go of the belief that I would not have gone as far as I did had he not been so passively encouraging. 

Will suggested that I take a night class at the community college where he taught, to give me something to occupy my mind with besides sexual guilt. I decided to take him up on the offer. He'd just bought a new computer, and I enjoyed messing around with Photoshop. So I signed up for a course on that. Tuesdays and Thursdays from 7-9. 

It was kind of weird being back in school. I'd forgotten the first-day anticipatory feelings of looking around the classroom as it filled up and wondering if any of these people would be friends. There seemed to be two distinct types; middle-aged people here for "life enrichment" and just-out-of-high-school kids here for a computer credit. I fell awkwardly between these two groups. I didn't feel like I could relate to any of my classmates. It was just as well. I wasn't here to socialize, I was here to learn.

Then the instructor walked into the room. All I can say is Wow. She was a bit older than me, but still younger than the mid-life faction. The first adjectives that came to mind were "crisp" and "cool." I know it sounds like I'm describing a soft drink, but that was the impression she gave off. Clean and severe. A classically beautiful face upon which a smile would have seemed out of place, with short blonde hair. She was dressed entirely in white. A white jacket over a tank-top and a medium-length white skirt. Nice legs. I mean, nice.

Despite my alleged sexual burn-out, I found myself wondering what her breasts were like under that jacket.

"Good evening," she said. "My name is Ms. Summerfield."

She spoke with an unusual, clipped accent that I couldn't place. I found out later that she was from South Africa, and had spent time in Kuwait, Paris, Berlin and Hong Kong. She wore an intriguing air of worldliness about her. 

She started lecturing and I have to say I had a hard time focusing. The rhythms of her voice were hypnotic. I couldn't take my eyes off of her, especially when she sat on her desk and crossed her long legs.

Then came lab time, where everybody worked on individual computers and Ms. Summerfield walked around the room looking over everyone's shoulders. I actually started trembling when she stood behind me. I made a couple stumbling clicks and had to undo a few steps of work. 

"Very good, Lisa," she said in that striking accent. I was thrilled that she knew my name already. I liked the way it sounded in her mouth. "Have you tried this?"

Then she leaned over me, close enough for me to smell her perfume, which was as foreign and as tasteful as was everything else about her. Her cool powdered hand touched mine on the mouse and guided it to a drag-down feature I'd never used before. I couldn't tell you what it was. I turned towards her and fought off a powerful but entirely inappropriate desire to kiss her neck.

Needless to say, I didn't get much work done for the rest of that class period. I walked out to the parking lot on unsteady legs. I masturbated in my car, for the first time in weeks.

To think I'd taken this class to get my mind off sex.

"How'd it go?" Will asked when I got home.

"All right," I said. I faked a yawn and told him I was going to bed. 

I lay awake for hours, fantasizing and lazily playing with myself. I was hot for teacher; perhaps the first time in my life a Van Halen song title had been so relevant. I wondered if I could face Ms. Summerfield on Thursday having admitted to myself how badly I wanted her. I wondered how long I could go without trying to make the fantasy real.

As it turned out, less than twenty-four hours.

The next day was Wednesday, one of the days I went to the gym. After working out, I was in the locker room getting ready to take a shower. I have to say, since discovering the homo- side of my bisexuality, the locker room at the gym took on a whole new meaning. It's all I could do not to stare. All the women walking around naked. Every age, size, shape and color; each of them beautiful in their own way. Breasts; from apple-sized mouthfuls to huge dangling milk-gourds. Pussies; from shaved bare to daintily trimmed to full-blown fur burgers. Asses; from mouth-watering heart-shaped pears to junk-in-the-trunk ghetto booties. Nothing was hidden; tattoos, scars, miles and miles of bare flesh. And the smell. There was something so enticing about the accumulation of sweaty women. 

I was just peeling off my sports bra when an especially distracting woman walked over, wrapped in a towel. Her back was to me, but I could tell she was lean and toned, a bit older than me but in better shape. Short blonde hair and something vaguely familiar about her bearing. She dropped the towel, exposing a tanned, athletic body. Her back still to me, she dried off her hair, and then bent over to towel between her toes. She bent down far enough so that I could see the lips of her pussy and some light blonde hair peeking out between her legs. Oh boy. I had a brief but intense fantasy about Putting. My tongue. Right. There.

The woman stood up and turned around. I looked away quickly, so as not to be caught staring, and pretended to be absolutely absorbed in getting my own clothes off. 

"Lisa?"

I turned, startled to say the least to hear my own name. The woman I'd been checking out was looking at me now. Ms. Summerfield, my PhotoShop instructor, the woman I'd spent most of the previous night fantasizing about. She was completely naked, and this made it hard to look her in the eye.

"Oh hello, Ms. Summerfield," I said as casually as I could. 

"Ms. Summerfield," she scoffed. "For Heaven's sake, call me Autumn."

Her eyes went from my face to my naked breasts, just for a second. I was both thrilled and very self-conscious. My nipples, I'm sure, betrayed my arousal. I realized something a few beats too late.

"Wait," I said. "Your name is Autumn Summerfield?"

"Summerfield is my married name," she said.

My face must have registered disappointment, because she was quick to add: "I've been divorced for years, but kept the name. My maiden name is much worse."

"What is it?" I asked.

"I will never tell."

She got dressed, all in white as she had been dressed for class the night before. Even her bra and panties were white. I was stuck; I didn't know if I should continue getting undressed for the shower, so I just stood there with my arms crossed over my naked breasts.

"Are you enjoying the class so far?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "Very much so."

"Good, good." 

She slipped into a pair of white shorts and what appeared to be a tennis shirt. I just stood there like a topless idiot.

"Listen, Lisa," she said, her accent making my boring name sound extremely exotic. "Are you free for the rest of the afternoon?"

My mouth went suddenly dry. "Yes," I said. "Why?"

"Because I'd like to take you out to lunch," she said coolly. "And afterwards, I want you come with me back to my flat."

"Flat?"

"My apartment," she said. "You're quite attractive, Lisa. I'd love to take you to bed."

I was stunned silent by her directness.

"Forgive my being so blunt," she said, "but I find seduction such a tedious process. Some find the chase to be the most enjoyable part of the game, but I've always preferred to go straight to the kill. You are gay, are you not?"

"I'm bi," I managed to squeak.

"Whatever, darling. I make it a point to flaunt my lack of ethics by fucking at least one student every semester. You're far more interesting to me than the freshman girls exploring their new-found sexuality, or the bored and horny housewives taking my course to get away from their dreadful husbands. I saw how you looked at me in class last night, and just now while I was dressing. I thought you might be as attracted to me as I am to you. Correct me if I'm mistaken."

"You're not mistaken," I almost whispered.

"All right, then, get dressed and we'll go."

"I was going to take a shower," I said.

"No," she said. "Don't do that. I prefer a sweaty cunt."

If a man had said that, I would have slapped his face. Coming from her, it gave me a chill. I picked up my sports bra and started to pull it on over my head, but she stopped my arm with her hand.

"No bra, please," she said. "I'd like to look at your breasts during lunch, so I can see what I'm having for dessert."

"All right," I said. I pulled on my blouse. My breasts are large enough that when I go braless, it's very obvious. Not to mention that my nipples were as hard as steel pellets. Autumn looked me over and licked her lips.

"Delightful," she said. "I shall very much enjoy this."

Then, surprising me, she reached out right there in the locker room where anyone could see, and pinched both my nipples through the shirt at the same time. Hard. I gasped.

"Come, Lisa," she said. "Let's have some fun."

Lunch was at The Victorian Garden Tea Room, a tiny restaurant across town I'd never even heard of. Small, intimate and cozy. I might have preferred someplace a bit larger and more anonymous. Every eye in the place was on us as soon as we walked in the door. I think Autumn enjoyed flaunting me. We'd made out in her car for a while in the parking lot and she had managed to pop the top two buttons off my blouse, swallowing them like aspirins. I was hanging out all over the place. Even our waiter couldn't help looking down my top, and he was very obviously gay.

I had a chicken salad sandwich and barely tasted it. Autumn had a piece of fresh salmon and a glass of white wine. She did all the talking, which was fine with me. She talked of her travels, of old lovers. Outside, a storm was brewing. It seemed to reflect my mood perfectly. The skies and I both anticipated a hard rain to come. 

It still wasn't raining as we drove back to her place, but the sky had gone black and the wind was blowing hard. What had begun as distant, rumbling thunder was now so loud the car shook with every blast. Lightning so close I could practically smell it. The rains began just as we were pulling into the parking area behind her apartment building, coming down in fat splats. We dashed to her building as the skies opened up, drenching us. We screamed with delight.

"You look so good wet, Lisa," Autumn said. "I can't wait to peel your clothes off and drink the rain from your breasts."

She slammed me against the wall in the stairwell, kissed me harder than I've been kissed in years, her hands wringing rainwater from the blouse which clung transparently to my dripping wet tits. A neighbor of hers, a black man with a chest as big as a gorilla's, scurried meekly past us on the stairs, hardly daring to glance at us. I was too worked up to care who saw. I wanted to give myself to this woman, however she'd have me.

Finally, we moved together up the stairs and down a long hallway. Barely taking her hands or her mouth off of me, Autumn managed to fit her key into the lock and open her apartment door. She pushed me inside and slammed the door behind us.

My back was up against the wall. Autumn tore my blouse open, popping off about half the remaining buttons. My tits sprung forth and she lapped the dew from them, my nipples swelling and stiffening beneath her sucking lips.

"Such beautiful breasts," she gasped. 

She got on her knees before me and peeled my shorts and panties down to my ankles. I spread my legs and leaned back against the wall, thrusting my pelvis forward. 

"Mmmm," Autumn moaned. "Gorgeous pussy. Sweaty and hairy and ripe. I hate Americans who shave and perfume their cunts. I want to suck off a woman who tastes like a woman, not a little girl who tastes like artificial flowers."

She spread my lips with her hands and lapped my clitoris. Her tongue was powerful. I don't know how else to describe it. The strong muscle stroked me with pressure greater than a finger, but with the wetness and texture you can only get from a mouth. I wondered if she did exercises with her tongue to make it so strong. I pictured her doing push-ups, using only her tongue, and the unexpected mental image made me laugh out loud.

"What is so funny, my darling?" she said, around her mouthful of vagina.

"Your tongue," I groaned. "It's so powerful."

"I am blessed," she said. "But that is nothing. Let me show you something."

With that, she spread me open even more and tilted her head back. She thrust her tongue into me. Oh my God. Not only was her tongue powerful, it was also freakishly long. We're talking Gene Simmons. Five or six inches, at least. It was like having a cock inside me, only prehensile and alive, moving and twisting inside me like no cock ever could. She lifted me off the ground as she literally tongue-fucked me. She licked my g-spot, a feat I would have said was physically impossible. I came hard, squeezing her tongue with my twitching cunt, flooding her open mouth with my juices.

"Holy shit," I cried out.

She stood up and kissed me hard on the mouth, forcing me to taste my own juices, sweaty and salty and pungent on her lips. 

"Go into my bedroom," she ordered.

I obeyed, walking naked down her hallway. She walked behind me, slapping me on the ass when I didn't move fast enough.

"Lay down on the bed." This too came out as a command rather than a request. Usually I don't like being told what to do, but something about this woman made me want to submit to her authority.

I lay back on the bed, spreading my arms and my legs, offering my body up to her. To my surprise, she grabbed one wrist and secured it to her bedpost with a strap. The strap was leather, lined with something that felt like silk. Soft but very strong.

"I'm going to tie you up now," Autumn said. "Is that all right?"

I nodded, thinking that I had to be crazy to let a stranger bind me to a bed. But I trusted Autumn not to hurt me. Not too much, anyway.

She strapped down my other wrist and both ankles. I was spread-eagled and crucified. 

"Are they too tight?" she asked me.

"No," I said. "They're fine."

"Try to pull out of them."

I tugged my arms and legs, proving to both of us that I could not escape.

"Good," she said, and then undressed.

I watched, helplessly. Her body was so sleek and strong. Lean and athletic, her feminine curves compact and linear. When she lifted her shirt over her head, I saw wisps of blonde hair under each of her arms. She caught the direction of my gaze.

"Yes," she said. "I'm sure you know that women in most parts of the world do not revile their natural body hair the way you Americans do."

She came over to me and stroked the bare slick skin of my armpits. "There is something to be said for the clean aestheticism of hairlessness," she said. "But I really prefer not to shave. It looks like I have an extra cunt under each arm, does it not?" 

"I like how it looks," I managed to gasp.

"Good," she said. "If I had three cunts, I would make you suck all of them, my darling. As it is, I only have once to force upon you."

With that, she climbed onto the bed and straddled my face. My mouth was filled with her dripping vagina. Autumn's pussy tasted feral and hot, like I would imagine a wild animal's would. It was like going down on a tigress or a she-wolf. Pungent and sultry; somehow dangerous, like licking a wound. She squeezed her thighs about my head; wriggling and writhing against my desperate kisses, forcing her pearly clitoris down onto my tongue.

Her whole body went rigid around my head and I felt her muscles twitch and her clit buzz and then she was dripping her animal musk down my throat. She did not cry out when she came; she bit her lips to keep the cry inside. She made only a slight grunting noise as she forced her pelvis down upon my jaws.

"Good work," she said, slipping back into the role of a teacher praising a student. "Excellent cunnilingus."

She climbed off my face and undid the straps at my arms and legs. I hoped she was not finished with me

"Roll over," she commanded.

I rolled onto my hands and knees and thrust my ass back, offering it up for her. She sat on the bed beside me and stroked my buttocks.

"So, you say you are bisexual?" she said.

"Yes," I answered.

"You allow men to fuck you?"

"Yes."

She slapped my ass, hard enough to make me cry out in surprise.

"You silly cunt," she said. "Don't you know what filthy creatures men are?"

"Ow," I said. My ass stung from her slap.

"I am going to punish you, Lisa. Is that all right?"

"Yes," I said.

"If you want me to stop, simply say 'That's enough,' all right?"

"Yes," I said.

"So, you have a boyfriend, yes?"

"A fiancée," I said.

"A fiancée," she repeated contemptuously. "So wish to chain yourself to a man for the rest of your life?"

"I suppose."

"Does he know you are here getting fucked by a woman?"

"No," I said, "but I will tell him when I get home."

She smacked me again, harder than the first time.

"You will tell him nothing!" she said. "I refuse to be mere titillation for the benefit of a man. Make no mistake; I am making him a cuckold. I am fucking his woman to spite him. You will keep me a secret."

"All right," I said, surprised at how my voice shook. "Yes."

"Tell me; were you a virgin when you came to his bed?"

"No," I said.

"How many others were before him?"

"I . . . I don't know."

"Too many to count?"

"Yes," I said, bracing myself.

SMACK! That one really hurt. 

"You are a slut, then? If you have given me a disease, I shall be furious. Who was the first man to stick his cock in you?"

"My boyfriend Jerry," I said. "But he only fucked me in the ass."

"He put his cock in here?" Autumn gasped, rubbing my asshole with one slick finger. "Only the dirtiest whores allow men to fuck them there."

SMACK! SMACK! Two quick slaps. I could feel Autumn's strength increase with each blow, but I knew she was still holding back.

"Who was the first man to fuck your filthy cunt?" she asked.

"Ronnie Rhinehart, the rock musician," I said.

"Groupies are the lowest form of whore," she said, and punished me with the hardest smack yet.

This went on for a little while. Me listing every man I have ever fucked (every one I could remember anyway,) and Autumn duly punishing me for each. She asked me questions like "Did you consume his foul semen?" and "And where did this one stick his filthy prick?" and with every answer I gave, she struck me as if furious. It hurt. It really did. I knew I would be bruised. I cried, actually shed tears, and I begged her to stop. I begged her to stop, but I never once said "That's enough."

Right after I told her about my first time with Will, she decided to show mercy.

"That's enough," she said herself, as if this game could only be terminated with those precise words. "It's all right, my darling. I forgive you. Does it hurt?"




The Education of Lisa Ch. 13



"Yes," I said. My voice came out as a choking sob.

"My poor darling." She kissed me back there. Strangely, her kisses were like a balm. They cooled and soothed my hot, throbbing buttocks. "I forgive you," she said with each kiss. "I forgive you. It does not matter if you have been unclean. I shall cleanse you."

With those words, she licked me clean. I felt her unnaturally long and powerful tongue at my ass, opening me up and penetrating me. Then she moved down and lapped my gasping pussy with firm tenderness. I leaned back into her, still crying. I felt like a little girl, finally given loving absolution by a disciplining parent. I was dripping wet by the time she lifted her head.

"I want to fuck you now, Lisa," she said. "I have a device."

"A device?" I said, wondering what terrible wonder she had in store for me now.

She went to her closet and returned with a bizarre-looking leather contraption.

"I bought this at a sex shop in Berlin," she said. "The Europeans are much more imaginative with this sort of thing. You can imagine the look on the customs agent's face when I brought it into this country."

I could see now that it was a strap-on dildo. Autumn fastened it around her waist and down between her legs, where there was a large plug to be inserted into her vagina. The thing had not one, but two protruding cock-heads; a large one and a smaller one.

"Have you ever been double penetrated?" Autumn asked casually.

I didn't trust my voice enough to answer.

"Don't worry," she said. "I shall be gentle."

Autumn applied a cool, wet lubricant to my ass and spread some of the stuff around my pussy, too, even though that was plenty wet. Then she fucked me with her strange and wonderful tool.

The dildo in my pussy was hard and smooth; the one in my ass was ridged and more flexible. Autumn flicked a switch and they both came to buzzing life. I felt them vibrate inside me; felt for the first time how little flesh connected the two pathways. It was a completely new sensation, just when I'd thought I'd felt it all. Autumn fucked me with a gentle, swaying motion, driving each false cock into me in alternating strokes. Pussy, asshole, pussy, asshole, pussy, asshole, until I creamed so hard that both holes clenched. Autumn cried out at the same time I did and I knew she'd had an orgasm as well. She pulled out of me with two little pops.

"Thank you, Lisa," she said. "You may get dressed now."

On unsteady legs, I walked through her apartment gathering my clothes. My blouse was essentially ruined. It was torn and nearly all the buttons were missing. Autumn gave me one of her white tank tops to wear. It was several sizes too small, and I had left my bra back at the gym, so you can imagine how it looked on me.

"Don't think that this means you get an 'A' in my course, Lisa," Autumn said as I was leaving. "I may be unethical, but I still expect my students to work for their grades."

I staggered from her place, knowing that I would not be able to sit down for several days. I was even more confused than I had been before. I had been disciplined, and I had loved it. I had thought that I had known everything there was to know about my own sexuality, but perhaps this meant my education was only beginning. 



The Education of Lisa Ch. 14



My affair with Autumn lasted several weeks, but it was doomed to failure. For one thing, she insisted that I keep our little trysts a secret. Will would have enjoyed hearing about our sweaty afternoon fuck-sessions; concealing them from him felt like cheating. For another thing, I soon grew tired of her games. Being dominated was at first kind of a kinky thrill, but eventually it started to feel like she was just an overbearing bitch. Lastly, and most fatally, she got seriously possessive. Autumn wanted me to call off my engagement to Will and to move in with her. When she started to really put on the pressure, I broke it off. I dropped out of her course and never saw her again.

Will and I were married in June. It was a small, but very beautiful ceremony. My whole family was there. Carrie and my sister Kim shared the Maid of Honor duties. It wasn't traditional to have two, and neither was it traditional for the bride to have had sex with both of them. (Interesting side note: Carrie and Kim hooked up at the reception, spent the night together in a motel, and actually dated for several months.)

I met Will's parents for the first time; they were both quite old and dour. They told me they hoped our marriage would last longer than Will's first, but that was the extent of their well wishes. They did cut us a check for $20,000, though. I guess there are many ways to offer blessings.

We honeymooned in Vegas. A cliché, I know, but Will had actually never been there. Just driving to our hotel down The Strip brought to mind my wild voyeur's weekend here, so I was quite worked up by the time Will got me back to our room. I didn't have the patience to get undressed. My first married sex was bent over the bed, skirt hiked up and panties pulled aside, Will's prick sticking out from his open fly. It was great. I got off before he did, so I turned around and got on my knees. He came in my mouth and then we kissed. I shared with my husband a mouthful of his semen and this somehow seemed like a completion of our wedding ceremony; the symbolism of sharing the wedding cake made literal.

After that we got undressed and lay in bed for the rest of the afternoon. The first fuck had been frantic and wild; this was relaxed and languishing, dipping in and out all afternoon, with no expectation of climax. Laughing and rolling about naked for the sheer joy of togetherness. We napped, sleeping off the flight and the drive and the exhaustion of the day, and then went out for a late dinner and too much wine. Will actually danced with me, shedding his usual self-consciousness. It was magical. Afterwards, I was ready to go back to our room and give myself to him again and again. Will, however, had quite a surprise in store for me.

Too sloshed to drive our rental car, Will hailed a cab and whispered an address to the Middle Eastern driver. This should have raised my suspicion, but I was too blissed-out to notice. I unzipped Will's fly and put my head in his lap to suck his cock while the cabbie, who had certainly seen wilder sights, watched with disinterested glances in the rear-view mirror.

We drove for a while and Will guided me drunkenly out of the cab into a nightclub. On the way in he flashed his driver's license at a huge brick wall of a bouncer, who searched a list and apparently found Will's name. (Again, I was too high and bubbly to find this odd.) Inside, the place was sparsely decorated, reminding me of the milk bar at the start of "A Clockwork Orange." I saw framed pictures on the walls; hard-core sex exquisitely photographed in stark black and white. Will led me past tables of scantily-clad men and women nodding their heads dreamily to the slow beat of the hypnotic music. There were odd smells in the air; smoke and musk and incense. A man dressed like a maitre-d' stood impassively behind a small podium at the back of the room. Will told the man we had a reservation, showed his ID again, and we were led down a dark hall into what looked like a hotel room. 

The room was meagerly but tastefully decorated, like the rest of this strange place. A king-sized bed with a circular mattress and silky black sheets. An even larger whirlpool bath. What appeared to be a massage table. A strange device mounted to a table which looked like (but certainly couldn't be) a hookah. 

I fell down on the bed and languidly stretched my limbs. The bed was luxuriously soft. The silk of the sheets rubbing against the material of my dress made an electrical music which made every square inch of my skin tingle. I was exquisitely aware of my stiffening nipples. 

"This is so nice, Will," I said. "But why did you get us a second hotel room?"

"This isn't a hotel," Will said, looking away from me.

As if on cue, the door to the room opened and two people entered. A man and a woman. Both, it should be noted, were amazingly beautiful. 

The man was tall and dark-complexioned; possibly Middle-Eastern. He wore a clean white tank-top which clung to his muscular and nearly hairless frame, and provided a pleasing contrast to his deep tan skin. His face was angular and delicate, his hair long and curled. He was so good-looking it was almost absurd; he looked like a model for the cover illustration of some romance novel I wouldn't be caught dead reading. "My Arabian Knight," or something cheesy like that. His black eyes looked me over and he smiled easily, revealing a spread of perfect white teeth.

The woman beside him had even darker skin than his. She was as petite and tiny as he was buff, with long straight hair and, like him, a model's smile on a pleasant, round face. Even more pleasant and round were her breasts, on casual display in the low-cut dress she wore.

"Hello, Lisa," the woman spoke. "Welcome to the Paradise Club. My name is Betty and this is Nigel. Your husband has paid for the Deluxe Package, so we are here to serve you."

"What?" I gasped.

Both Nigel and Betty looked to Will, who shrugged sheepishly. He looked over at me. "I wanted it to be a surprise."

"We recommend against that," Nigel said, speaking with a slight British accent. "It is better if the client knows what to expect."

"Client?" I sputtered. I was a little slow on the uptake, to say the least. "Will, what's going on?"

"I can explain, if you like," Nigel said.

"I wish to hell you would," I said.

"The Paradise Club is a very exclusive and very unique combination spa and brothel, catering to women who deserve to be treated like a queen. You will receive the ultimate in relaxation. Betty will bathe you, give you a facial and a pedicure, and then she will perform cunnilingus upon you, a practice at which she is a certified expert."

Betty smiled at me and slowly licked her lips. "It will be my pleasure to pleasure you," she purred.

"I will give you a full-body massage and will then make passionate love to you," Nigel went on. "I assure you that we are both trained professionals, discrete and clean. As an employee of the Paradise Club, we both take weekly blood tests to ensure that we are free of sexually transmitted diseases. These records are on file in the office. Furthermore, I have had a vasectomy, so there is no concern of unwanted pregnancy. I will wear a condom if you so request, but most of our clients prefer that I don't."

My head was reeling. "Will, is this for both of us?"

"No," Nigel answered. "Only for you. We do not service male clients, though husbands and boyfriends are free to watch, as your husband has elected to do."

"I don't know, Will," I said. "This is our honeymoon, Will. I wanted it to be just us."

"If you don't want to do this, Lisa," Will said. "We'll go. But this service comes highly recommended. I wanted to do something truly special for you."

"I'm sorry, but you should have at least warned me."

"It is my duty to inform you that your deposit is non-refundable," Nigel said in the same cool, professional tone. "As we see a very limited number of clients by appointment only, we really must insist on payment even if the services are not rendered."

"How much did this cost, Will?" I asked.

He shrugged, as always modest about financial matters. "Let's say . . . low five digits."

"Low five digits?" I gasped. "You mean tens of thousands of dollars?"

"It doesn't matter," Will said. He looked up at Nigel. "I apologize for the inconvenience. Come on Lisa, let's go."

"Wait," I said.

I stood there, biting my lip as all three of them watched me expectantly. I was a little peeved, true, that Will had presumed to set this up without consulting me. I had fantasized about my honeymoon for my entire life, and had always imagined that it would be pure romance. This, somehow, did not qualify.

On the other hand, I was naturally a bit curious. Betty was looking me over like a cat sizing up a mouse and I couldn't but wonder how one became a certified expert at cunnilingus. Nigel and his muscles were standing still, smiling impassively. I glanced down at the rather intimidating bulge in his tight jeans and my pussy twitched, as if winking at him.

It was the money that decided me. Not so much that I wanted Will to get his money worth; more like I just had to know what a low-five-digits fuck would be like.

"Fine," I said. "But next time, let me know if you're planning something crazy like this."

"Great," Betty said, beaming at me. "I would have been so disappointed had you decided not to do this, Lisa. It's not very often we get a client as young and as beautiful as you."

"Thank you," I said.

Nigel pulled a plastic-wrapped black ball the size of a small marble from his pocket. "Would you care to start with a smoke?"

"What is that?" I asked.

Nigel crushed the ball and placed it in the bowl of what I had presumed, correctly it seems, to be a hookah. 

"It's the house blend," Nigel said. "The finest Turkish opium and hashish imported from Amsterdam, along with a few special ingredients."

"That's illegal, isn't it?" I sounded like the straight kid in an after-school special.

"The greatest pleasures are those which are forbidden," Nigel said. He flipped a switch on the side of the machine, activating both a heating element and a vacuum pump. The hookah gurgled, scenting the room with pungent smoke. "You may of course elect not to partake in the smoke, but I highly recommend that you do. It allows for ecstasy which otherwise can only be experienced in dreams."

I shrugged. "What the hell. Why not?" In for a penny, in for a pound, as the old expression goes. Whatever that means. Nigel handed me one of the hoses. I placed the mouthpiece between my lips and drew in sweet, deceptively mild smoke. When I exhaled, a cloud roughly the size of New Jersey emerged from my lungs. 

I coughed a little and Betty pressed a chilled glass of champagne in my hand. The cold bubbly liquid soothed my throat. I breathed in more smoke.

The effects of the first draw of smoke hit me about halfway through my second inhalation. At this point, I thought Hey, that's kind of nice, and, perhaps unwisely, inhaled for a third time. By then the second draw hit me hard, the effects increasing exponentially. When the third one entered my blood stream, I literally reeled backwards. I would have fallen to the floor had I not landed in Nigel's strong arms.

I laughed hard as the dusky man held me. I was floating on a cloud. The rest of the evening transpired in a dreamy haze. I will recount it to the best of my ability, but be forewarned that my memories are as disjointed as those of a dream.

Betty nimbly undressed me. She pulled my dress off over my head and removed my undergarments slowly and lovingly. Nigel helped her guide me over to the tub which had been filled at some point with hot, fragrant water, without me even noticing. (I told you I was out of it.) I slid into the water and gasped at the sudden heat. Every cell of my skin came alive at once. 

Betty stripped down to a sheer bra and panties and this beautiful, nearly naked woman began to wash me. I had not been bathed by another person since I was a baby. She had an arsenal of sponges and brushes with varying degrees of abrasion. Betty started with a rough, scrubbing exfoliation of my face, after which my skin felt tingly and renewed. Then she shampooed and conditioned my hair, a surprisingly erotic experience. Rich, no doubt fantastically expensive hair products, applied with a stiff brush which left my scalp cool and tingling. A warm rinse, the suds squeezed from my hair with her smooth, loving hands. 

Then she went to work on my body. I sat up so she could scrub my back and shoulders, then leaned back into the tub. Betty used a silky soft cloth to wash my breasts, granting them much more attention than they would have warranted if the purpose of this bath was merely to get clean. Not that I was complaining. She drank the dewy beads of moisture off my nipples, lapping them up like a cat having her milk.

The experience was overwhelmingly sensual. The beauty of my servants and the stark visual purity of the room itself. The light sound of tinkling wind-chimes piped in through the music system and the low purring, cooing sounds of pleasure which came from Betty's throat (and perhaps from my own.) The smells of the exotically perfumed water and the lingering spice of the smoke. The heat of the water and the gentle, but nearly overwhelming tactile pleasure of Betty's caresses. Even my sense of taste was appealed to, as Nigel kept pressing items between my lips. Bittersweet chocolates, sweet and cool fizzing champagne, slimy and salty things which I guessed were oysters and chunks of caviar. Plus the clean taste of his fingers and, at least a few times, the hose of the hookah pressed to my lips so I could partake again of the smoke.

Betty washed off my arms and my belly and, teasing me with one quick stroke where I most wanted it, lifted my legs out of the water one at a time and washed them too. Then, yes. Oh God, yes. With her silkiest cloth she reached down between my legs and rubbed and scrubbed and stroked and caressed. I arched my back and moaned and felt her soft fluttery lips kissing my throat. I turned my head and she kissed my lips, so softly and sweetly while her expert fingers made me clean.

I tried to make a joke, to say something stupid like "I think my pussy's clean by now," but my mind was too fuzzed to make the words and my breath was soon stolen from me as well, as the first orgasm took hold. It was less a release than the achievement of a plateau. I floated to some gravity-forsaken level of weightless pleasure and just hovered there. Every cell in my body was dizzily spinning. I cried out and Betty laughed, the two sounds meeting and tickling at our hungry kissing lips.

She released me and helped me stand. The water was drained and I was rinsed with cool water, bracing my skin after the heat of the bath. Nigel helped her guide me from the tub and they both dried me with towels so soft their thread count would have made Martha Stewart's pussy damp. Together they helped me over to the massage table, which I saw now had been folded up into a chair, the sort you would find at a beauty parlor. 

As Nigel dried my hair, Betty applied an after-bath lotion all over my body, again paying particular attention to my breasts. She rubbed the stuff all over my legs, and then buffed the soles of my feet with some kind of pumice stone. As I was still recovering from this ticklish delight, she cranked a knob on the base of the chair. To my surprise, the legs separated. I was spread-eagled. 

Betty kneeled between my legs and leaned forward, as if to pray. She kissed me. There. I closed my eyes and slid into her mouth and her tongue fell upon my most secret spot. Certified expert. Jesus. I wondered what sort of board had certified her and imagined a panel of women with their legs spread as mine were, Betty sucking them off one by one as they graded her performance. She definitely scored a 10 in my book. I've had my pussy eaten by some very skilled practitioners of the art, but there is definitely something to be said for professional cunnilingus. She precise and efficient, lapping my clitoris with a machine-like speed I would have said was impossible from a human tongue. All the while, her lower lip was giving my labial lips amazingly autonomous strokes. Then she started doing this weird thing where she was kissing, licking and sucking all at once. It felt like there were at least three people going down on me all at the same time.

Add the musky fragrance of my sopping wet pussy to the chorus of smells in the room. As always, smelling myself aroused me further. I squirmed on the table. I wanted to wrap my arms and legs around her head and pull her all the way into me, but my muscles were limp as overcooked spaghetti. Especially when I felt Nigel's strong hands begin to work my shoulders. Receiving stimulation at both ends was enough to send me to the edge of orgasm's cliff. Betty sensed the nearness of my climax as if by telepathy. She lapped me furiously to the very brink and then backed off, stilling the vibrations of my buzzing clitoris with firm tongue pressure. By doing this, she prolonged the penultimate moment for what felt like forever. When she finally allowed me to slip into the depths of my little death, the rush of endorphins was so overwhelming that I actually blacked out for a second.

I came to as Nigel and Betty were turning me over. They lay me on my belly on the table, which was converted again to facilitate the massage. A massage, Jesus. If I was any more relaxed, I'd be dead.

"I want to eat your pussy," I said to Betty. Though, with the fuzzed nature of both my thoughts and muscles, I'm sure this came out more like: "I wanneer pushy."

"Sorry," Betty replied. "That's against the rules. It's all about your pleasure."

"It would be my pleasure," I insisted. ("Itubby m'plesher.")

"I can do this much for you." Betty slid her hand into her panties and emerged with two slimy-slick fingers, which she put in my mouth. Of all the exotic flavors I'd had pressed to my tongue tonight, her juices were the sweetest and most tantalizing. I sucked her fingers clean and begged for more. Alas, it was not to be.

Nigel began his massage. He spread wonderful-smelling oil all over the back of my body and then went to work, methodically working his way down. I'd had massages before, but never before at the mercy of such strong, expert hands. Shoulders, back, buttocks, legs, feet, all worked into a state of relaxation so profound it could only be described as liquid. I was water, mutable and passive.

With Betty's help, Nigel turned me over. There was no way I could have accomplished this with my own volition. He gave a frontal massage, a bit gentler and more hurried than the one he had applied to my back. Scalp, face, arms, breasts, chest and belly. Then he slid his strong hands between my legs. My tired but still eager pussy yielded to his caress.

"Are you ready for me to make love to you now?" he asked.

Even nodding was beyond my power.

He lifted me up in his strong arms and carried me to the bed. After the firmness of the massage table, its softness was like being tossed into the ocean. As I was liquid myself, I simply dispersed into the tide. 

Nigel undressed. His uncut cock was not the largest I'd ever seen, but it was still formidable. He crawled into me, penetrated me; filled me up. He was so strong. He held me tight and fucked me hard and I was lost. Lost in the waves.

It went on forever, with me drifting through various levels of lucidity. At times I was very much in the moment and at other times I'd floated away to some faraway place. I know I must have dozed off at least once because I remember dreaming that I was being fucked by a panther. I awoke from this shocking vision with a start to find Nigel growling like the big cat I'd dreamed him to be. I knew he was about to come inside me and I wanted it so badly that it brought on yet another climax, the last I had. As he bloomed inside me, I wilted. I was spent.




The Education of Lisa Ch. 14



"I am finished," Nigel said. I didn't know why he needed to mention this, as I was well aware of the fact, but then I realized he was talking to Will.

Will, my husband of less than a day, whom I had all but forgotten in the throes of my ecstasy, climbed between my lifeless open legs and put his mouth upon my burning cunt. He drank from my grail, greedily consuming Nigel's seed. I later learned that he had paid extra for this privilege. 

After that, I knew no more. I awoke sometime later in our hotel room. It's one of the strangest feelings to wake up in a different place than the one where you fell asleep. Will told me that Nigel had helped to carry me into the cab, and that the cab driver had (for an extra $20) helped Will get me up into the room. I thought again about Vegas cabbies, and the sights they must see. Helping unconscious girls into their hotel rooms is just part of the night's work. 

We didn't talk much about the experience afterwards, and we still don't. That's just as well. Like so many of my "educational" experiences, the honeymoon affair takes on the misty properties of a dream when I look back upon it. 

When we got back home from Vegas, I sat Will down for a long talk. I told him that now that we were married, I very seriously wanted to give monogamy a try. All the experiments and wild scenes we'd been through together had been great experiences, but I wanted to settle down. Be a wife. Have kids.

I have maintained that vow for all of seven months now. It's been wonderful. Monogamy can be unbelievably hot. Still, I get strange ideas sometimes. I see a beautiful person on the street and wonder what perverse joys they keep. I had thought I'd done it all but occasionally I get an idea of something I hadn't tried. I share these idle fantasies with my husband and the act of sharing enhances our lovemaking. Will has thoughts too, ideas which he expresses as fantasies. Both of us, I think, are simply waiting for the other to say those magical words: "I'd like to try that. For real," but we're both held back by the vows we've spoken. Neither of us wants to be the first to break them.

I guess it's only a matter of time. One's education, after all, is never complete.