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The Voice Student Ch. 01

By: razorlyt



Have you ever woken up in the morning and thought to yourself, "What the fuck did I DO last night!?" In this case, it was more along the lines of "WHO the fuck did I do last night!?!" I had that thought last Saturday, wiped the sleep from my eyes and looked around the room. Hung over, I told myself to quit yelling inside my own head. Maybe it was just one too many shots of tequila and an overactive imagination. Nope -- I was still in Room 1215 of the Washington, DC Downtown Marriott. 

I looked under the covers and discovered I had nothing on. I distinctly remembered putting pajamas on last night. Upon further examination, I discovered that there was bright red lipstick smeared on my cock. Apparently, I had a great time the night before. Then the fog inside my head began to lift and the events of the previous night began to work their way back into my brain. As the memories flooded my swollen head, all I could think was "FUCK. I am SOOOOOO fucked!" It was going to be a looooooong day.

I suppose I ought to back up a bit and tell you how I came to this totally hung over state in a hotel room a stone's throw from the White House. It was all Emily's fault. Although I am quite certain most people would blame me.

My name is John. I am 32 years old, married, with two kids. I am 5'10", weigh 165 pounds, with curly, blonde hair and green eyes. I am a professional tenor and voice teacher in Richmond, Virginia. By day, I teach housewives and the occasional home school student who wants to learn how to sing. After normal school hours, I work with middle and high school students who want to study (or THINK they might want to) voice as a college major. I have an excellent reputation for preparing high school students to participate in scholarship auditions and competitions.

Emily is my star student. She is a senior at one of the local high schools. She waltzed into my studio as a 15 year-old sophomore and sang beautifully. Em was a raw talent, who loved music more than breathing. A little slip of a girl, Em stood 5'0" and weighed right at 100 pounds. She had pretty brown eyes and thick, pouty lips. 

Her mother Brenda explained to me that while she would love for me to teach Emily, her pending divorce had left her in a tough financial situation, and $200 a month was just more than they could really afford. In fact, after staying home since the age of 20 to raise Em, Brenda was looking for a job for the first time in her life. Brenda seemed like a nice lady in a tough spot. It was late February, and all she really wanted was for her daughter to be ready for an audition in March and state solo and ensemble contest in April. I agreed to teach Em for free if Brenda would help me out at the studio. I needed a part-time administrative assistant in the worst way, but didn't have enough work to justify hiring someone for more than about five hours a week. Brenda jumped at the chance.

Brenda was 5'3", with curly, blonde, shoulder length hair. She had a nice body for a 35 year-old mother of three, and pretty brown eyes. She would have passed for seriously hot except for the sadness that her divorce had brought into her life. She turned out to be incredibly helpful, and my business grew as a result of her freeing me up from administrative duties to concentrate on doing what I enjoyed most - namely singing and teaching. By the end of Emily's junior year, I was not only teaching her for free, but was paying her mother a decent, living wage. 

Musically, things could not have been going better. Emily placed a respectable third at the state solo contest her sophomore year, and easily got into the top show choir and chamber ensemble at her school. She starred in the high school's production of "Annie Get Your Gun" her junior year and was named the outstanding singer at the state contest that year. We were primed for a great run at several music scholarships her senior year. 

Last September, Brenda showed me the flyer for a contest she really wanted Emily to win. It was at Georgetown University, which was where Emily had decided she wanted to study. Georgetown runs about $30,000 a year, and Emily's dad had not been real faithful to the divorce decree. The contest had two purposes. First, it was an audition for the performing arts school at Georgetown. Second, the contest was endowed to pay for a full, four years of tuition and fees at the prestigious, Washington, DC campus. For a girl like Em, it was truly the opportunity of a lifetime. 

We entered Emily in the contest and began preparing furiously. The contest was to be held the week before Christmas, and we had to have a full repertoire ready. I bumped up the difficulty level of Emily's music, and pushed her even harder in her lessons, accepting nothing less than perfection in her rhythmic accuracy, diction, tone quality and intonation. One night in late November, she almost broke down, saying "I can't DO this! The notes are too high for too long!" I assured her she could, and we went back to work on "The Queen of the Night" from Mozart's The Magic Flute. While that aria was beyond almost all high school (and undergrad) students, I knew that if she could just FINISH "Queen of the Night" cleanly in the final, she WOULD win the competition. I told her that the competition was going to be incredible with some 18 year-old going home with a $125,000 scholarship. She took a deep breath, wiped her eyes, smiled and said, "Well, all right then." We went back to work.

The studio Christmas party was at our house the Saturday night before the big contest at Georgetown. My wife Christy was (as usual) the perfect hostess. Christy is about 5'6", weighs 115, has long, flowing, thick black hair, amazing legs, and a PERFECT set of 36C breasts. She teaches theatre, and has a thousand watt smile.

The party was a nice buffet with an open bar for the adults and all the soda and tea those underage could handle. We sang Christmas carols, had a gag gift exchange, and just hung out. Dressed in a beautiful spaghetti strap, red cocktail dress and matching heels, Christy took fabulous care of our guests and flirted shamelessly with a couple of the hot dads and husbands. I even noticed her taking Emily's father on a guided tour of our home. She led him upstairs and we didn't see them for a few minutes. Em sang her contest repertoire to end the evening, and finished with "the Queen of the Night." It was good. Not where we wanted it to be, but very good. 

I looked around to see her parents' reaction. Brenda was beaming, but Mike was not in the room. I looked over at the staircase and saw Mike and Christy stepping down on to the landing. Christy's face was flush, and Mike (who hadn't even been in the room for his oldest daughter's performance, was beaming from ear to ear. I new that particular grin. I usually had it plastered to my own face for a couple of days after my usually prudish bride deigned to give me a blow job. She did NOT do it nearly often enough for my liking, but when she did, she had oral skills that would make a seasoned professional whore blush. Seeing that grin on Mike's face made my blood boil. I stood there and seethed, all the while showing our guests out. Mike had the audacity to say, "Thanks for the invitation John. It was worth coming just to meet your lovely wife." With that, he kissed Christy on the cheek and was out the door.

When the last guest had left and we were finally alone, I let my wife of 12 years have it with both barrels. I confronted her about Mike's lengthy tour and she denied it. I pressed some more and she admitted to giving him a blow job. "I'm sorry honey. I had just had a little too much to drink, and he had this way of wording things that just made it sound like a good idea." 

"Where did you do him?" I asked. 

"Our walk in closet."

"Let's go there right now."

"Okay. But don't be too mad at me. It's never happened before, and I promise it won't happen again," Christy whimpered.

I took Christy to the closet and said, "You would dare suck another man's cock ten feet from our bed when you hardly ever suck mine?"

"I'm sorry."

"Not sorry enough"

I pulled her to the bed, sat down and through her over my knee. As I mentioned before, Christy was a prude (or so I thought) and our love life had been VERY vanilla. I was so mad I lifted up her skirt and began to spank her hard with my hand. 

"You're hurting me," she cried. 

"Good. You deserve it," I replied. "And now, you are going to get on your knees and beg my cock for forgiveness.

"The hell I am."

"Yes, you will or I will tell all our friends about you being a whore in our own home. Did you swallow him? I didn't notice anything on the carpet in the closet." 

"No."

"Liar. You never deign to swallow mine -- WHEN you are gracious enough to even give me a blow job."

"All right. I swallowed, he didn't really give me a choice. He held my head in place when he came. It was awful"

"I don't think even YOU believe that."

"Okay, I swallowed. I had never done it before with anyone, and I wanted to try it."

"And...?" I asked.

"It was, well, salty."

"Don't worry. You're going to have something to compare it to VERY soon."

I pulled her up and threw her back into the closet. "On your knees," I said. 

"But I said I was sorry," she protested.

"I won't believe you until we're done. Now get on your knees and start really apologizing."

"Okay." She fell to her knees and unzipped my pants. My cock was already fully aroused, making it hard for her to pull my eight thick inches out of my pants. It finally popped free and she leaned in to kiss it.

"Uh-huh. The balls are going to need an apology too," I spat. Knowing resistance was futile, Christy went beck inside my pants and pulled my tight ball sack out. She then kissed each ball and the tip of my cock lightly, whispering "I'm so sorry. I'll never go down on someone else's cock and balls again."

"Show me how you did him," I moaned. She smiled and slid her tongue out and around the tip of my cock, slowly and sucked as she pulled her tongue back into her mouth. Heaven. She bent down further, pressed tight on my urethra with her thumb at the base of my cock and lifted not one, but both of my swollen balls to her lips. She started kissing them slowly and gently, then alternately sucked each one into her warm mouth. As she let one go to suck on the other, a small pop escaped her lips with each ball. 

I moaned in ecstasy when she took both into her mouth at the same time and started sucking in earnest. While she did this, she started giving me a cruel, merciless, fingernail tease of the soft underside of my cock, working from the base to the tip. When she thought I might cum, she clamped down on the urethra at the base till I calmed down, then started the merciless ball suck and hand job again, all the while humming with my balls in her mouth. 

I groaned in torment when she pulled the balls out of her mouth, let go of my cock, and started grazing my shaved balls with her perfectly manicured fingernails. She looked up at me, smiled an evil smile and said, "I think he wants to forgive me. If I suck him like I know he loves it, and promise to do it more often and swallow, do you think he will forgive me?" "He may," I replied coolly. "But he may require a different type of apology from your pretty little ass later." "Ooh. I've always wanted to try that," she cooed. "Then we won't do it tonight, for sure. You're being punished. Open your mouth. Normally when you blow me, you do it in a way that gets you off. Not tonight. I'm going to fuck your face, not let you torture my cock with your teasing mouth and nails."

Christy gulped a little and thought for a minute. "If it will REALLY make this over between us, I'll do it. But please don't hurt me." 

"No promises. I'm about to be VERY greedy. Open wide." She did as she was ordered and I immediately grabbed the back of her head and impaled her mouth on my fully erect, thick member. Ignoring her gag reflex, I made sure she learned how to deep throat a man that night. I pounded into her mouth again and again. Angrier than I have ever been in my life, I pulled out, dragged her out of the closet, threw her face down on the bed, flipped the dress up, and ripped the panties down. 

"Oh please, don't," she cried. "I won't do it again. Just don't put your cock in my ass right now. I've never done it before."

"Tough shit!" I drew back and SLAMMED into her virgin asshole with no compassion whatsoever. 

"Oh, my GOD that hurts!!!!"

"I do NOT care!" I said in rhythm with each thrust deeper into her bowels.

I kept pile driving my formerly prudish wife until I exploded deep inside her previously virgin asshole. I grunted as I let loose every bit of juice I had in my full balls. She moaned, whimpered, and fell silent.

"I won't do it again, I promise."

"I know you won't. You're forgiven. Just don't do it again, and don't ever SPEAK to Mike other than in public again," I instructed her.

"I won't."

"Okay, go get cleaned up, take a bath and come to bed."

Christy wobbled off to the bath, whether from a bit too much red wine or the pounding of her previously virgin asshole. I went to the bathroom down the hall and showered, and returned to bed before Christy did. I lay down and waited for her.

Christy came to bed a few minutes later and started to go to her dresser for a night gown. "You won't be needing anything that's in there tonight," I chided. "Come to bed right now, just as you are." She said, "But I thought you were done punishing me." "I am. I don't have punishment in mind."

I reached up and pulled her gently on to the bed beside me. I lay her on her stomach, reached in to the night stand, grabbed the warming oil and began giving her a much needed and deserved sensual massage. For the next half hour I pampered her entire body with my hands and the warm oil, alternately relaxing and arousing her with a graze of a finger her or a blow of hot breath there. 

When I knew she was ready, I got behind her between her legs and lifted her hips up. I grabbed a couple of pillows and placed them under her before letting her hips back down. I then snaked my way back down her legs and placed my face right behind her delicious smelling cunt. I placed one well lubed finger inside her and reached up and towards the front of her body till I found that lovely little spot that just makes her tremble. With my other hand I reached back to the night stand and got out a thin, slightly angled vibrator. I turned it on low and inserted it along with my finger. When IT hit the spot, I knew I could move my finger.

I left her simmering on low in her pussy and pulled a VERY well lubricated finger out of her pussy and placed it against her asshole. I gently slipped it in, not wanting to hurt this time. I worked it gently in and out of her, stopping every so often to lick her freshly cleaned asshole with my tongue, and then force it inside her for a moment. 

At the head of the bed, her head was whipping back and forth as she began to spew profanities at me. "That is fucking amazing! More, come on, make me your little bitch whore. Please don't stop. Unhhhhhhhh!!!!!" She came loud and long. 

When I was satisfied that SHE was satisfied, I pulled out the vibrator, gently slipped it in to her anus, and pulled myself up her body. I teased her pussy with the head of my now fully erect cock and asked "What do you want for Christmas, little girl?" 

"I want that cock."

"Where do you want it?" I asked as I pulled just the bulbous head in and out of her.

"Buried deep inside my...."

"Inside what?"

"You know..."

"I know, but I want you to say it. What's the magic word?"

"Please?"

"That helps, but it's not what I'm looking for."

"vagina?"

"No. Only good girls have those"

"Pussy?"

"Closer, but only faithful wives have those"

"Cunt. I want that big, fat, long cock in my cunt."

"That's what an unfaithful whore of a wife has. A cunt. Have you been a good little whore of a wife?"

"No, I've been a bad girl."

"That's okay, from now on, you're just going to be MY little whore, right?" I flared the head of my cock and she moaned, "Yes. I'm your whore from now on!!!"

"No more Pristine Christine?"

"No, I'll be your little fuck slut. I'll give you whatever you want in bed."

I sealed the bargain by burying my shaft deep inside her soaked cunt. I gently rode her from behind until she came again, then stepped up the pace. When I finally got my second load of cum inside her, she tried to get up to get cleaned out.

"No," I said. "You said you would do whatever I want in bed. You're my little slut wife now. You've never let me do one, particular thing I've always wanted to do." Now that we've both cum, there's a mixture of your cum on my cock and in your cunt. I'm going to pull out and lay down on my back. When I do, get in to 69 position and clean my cock with your mouth while I suck everything out of your cunt." 

"Okay. I promised." I pulled out, lay down, grabbed her and flipped her around. Like a baby suckles breast milk, I started eating the cum out of my wife's cunt. She didn't know what to do and first, but then she moaned and put her head down to my still erect cock and started licking it like it was a sticky, hot popsicle. I sucked and sucked at her lower lips and then put my tongue inside her to make sure I got all of our sweet, mixed juices. Just as I thought I was done, I felt fresh, sweet cum start to tickle my tongue as she moaned on my throbbing cock. She trashed wildly with her hands and slapped my aching balls hard with her flailing. She trashed again, slapped my balls again, and this time grabbed like they were a pillow she was trying to use to keep from screaming. She gave u, let go and screamed as she came hard on my tongue, bucking her pubic bone on my chin in the process. She grabbed my cock like a saddle horn, began pumping the shaft with one hand and twisting the knob with the other. I couldn't help it. My third orgasm of the night probably woke the neighbors, but I couldn't help it. 

I sighed, opened my mouth and spread her cunt wide with my fingers. Drop by drop, the last of her sweet nectar fell in my mouth. I swallowed every drop. Christy did the same for me, sucking every last bit of cum off my shaft, her hands, and then sucked the tip of my cock to get any cum that might still be below.

Spent, she collapsed, then lazily twisted around and lay in my arms. She kissed me deeply and said, "Wow. I never knew what we were missing." "Me either," I replied honestly. 

"John, are you sure it's okay that I'm taking the kids to Chicago early? We can wait for you to get back from DC."

"No, it's fine honey. You guys go ahead on Thursday. Your mom's going to be lonely this year. It's her first Christmas without your dad. I'll fly over straight from DC on Sunday morning."

"You're not mad at me anymore?"

"No, honey. I could never stay mad at you for long. But I was serious about one thing -- don't ever talk to Mike again."

"I won't."

"Good. Now get some sleep. The kids will be home from their sleepovers at nine. If you want to wake me up when you wake up, I would be MORE than appreciative."

"I bet you would. Good night, my love."

With that, Christy drifted off to sleep. She woke up at 7:30 AM, grinned, went to the bathroom, brushed her teeth and came back to bed. I awoke to the gentle kisses and sucking of my beautiful, brand new, slut of a wife. Pristine Christine was dead. Christy the Cum Slut was born. Long live the slut!

(Look for Chapter Two Next Week -- the competition at Georgetown!)

The Voice Student Ch. 02



The next few days were great at home. Chris was transformed sexually. Whatever I wanted, I got without complaint. A blow job in the shower before she went to school in the morning? No problem. A quick ass fuck between my lessons at the studio? Absolutely. I'm sure Brenda heard Chris moan from that interlude.

I got Chris and the boys off for Chicago the Friday morning before Christmas and packed my bags for Washington. My tuxedo, some work out clothes, my navy pinstripe suit, pajamas, a pair of jeans, a sweater - just the basics. 

Emily and Brenda arrived at our house to leave for the contest at 10 AM. We made good time on the 110 mile trip, but you could cut the competitive tension with a knife. A full ride to Georgetown was on the line, and Em was started to feel it. I remembered her crumbling at her lesson a few weeks earlier and shuddered inwardly. 

It started snowing as we approached our nation's capitol. We took the 14th Street Bridge into the government district, drove past the National Christmas Tree and Menorrah, the White House, made a couple of quick turns and found ourselves at the J.W. Marriott Hotel. The original Marriott looked as beautiful as I remembered. But since its primary clientele were business travelers, Brenda had been able to book the rooms for Friday and Saturday night online for a song. Em stared in wide-eyed amazement at the four-star lobby. We checked in, changed for the preliminary round of competition and met back in the lobby. It was still not four o'clock, so I warmed Em up at the piano in the lobby bar. She breezed through her warm-ups, every trill and turn a light, flexible, thing of beauty. The Amazing Em was who I was warming up right now – the sweet kid that lived to sing and did it with a passion.

I leaned back from the piano and looked at my star student. The little girl was gone, and an amazingly beautiful young woman stood before me. She had grown to a nice 5'4", and weighed an athletic, trim, 125 pounds. The hair that had been a straggly, dishwater blonde mop was now thick, a little curly, and had become a beautiful shade of auburn. She had it swept up behind her graceful neck, and wore her grandmother's pearl choker for luck. Her eyes were perfectly made up to compliment her deep, brown eyes. The lips had a lovely, not too tart-ish coat of pink lipstick on them, and made them seem even fuller. Her alabaster skin disappeared at her generous 34c cleavage into a beautiful black blouse that fell over a red, satin, tea length skirt. Her arms ended in perfectly manicured French tips with a clear coat on them. What shapely calf I saw ended in a stylish, black, strapped heel that was just the right height for her singer's posture. Due to the vocal training and Alexander technique posture training I had given her, Emily did not look like a teenager playing dress up like most high school seniors. Instead, she had the look of strength, confidence and ease that most women of 25 would envy. 

I awoke from my silent assessment after a moment, swallowed hard and said, "All right, then. You sound great. You look great. Let's go do this." We donned our coats and got a cab outside the hotel. We arrived at the performing arts center, went inside and hung up our coats. I found the registration desk and checked Emily in for the competition. We were told that the preliminaries were running a little ahead of schedule, and that Emily would need to be ready to perform in 15 minutes, not the 45 I had anticipated. 

I took a few minutes with Em in the warm-up room, with Brenda hovering nervously. I asked Brenda to go find a seat in the auditorium, and that seemed to relax my star significantly. A knock on the door told us it was time and we walked across the hall to the stage door. As I heard the emcee read Emily's competition resume, I stood behind her rubbing her shoulders. She cracked her neck and bounced a little, not unlike a gymnast before taking the floor. "You're ready," I said. "Go have some fun." She nodded strongly, and I knew it was going to be a nice performance. The emcee came to the conclusion of his introduction. "And now, from Midlothian, Virginia, please welcome Miss Emily Ransom."

Would the girl or the woman show up right now? After the five note introduction, Emily bounced into her warm-up song of the set, Caldara's "Che' Fiero Costume'." The Italian art song bounced along like a toy boat in the ocean. Her eyes danced, her body swayed, her tone perfect. This was the singer that had been kicking butt all over the Mid-Atlantic for the past year and a half. I grinned, nodded, and chuckled as I heard her breeze through the French "Apres un Reve" and John Alden Carpenter's haunting "Light, My Light." When she had finished the last note, there was a hush, then hearty applause. Based on the fact that the only people here were the judges, a few college professors and students and Emily's competition and their families, I knew she had easily made the final.

Emily floated off the stage and into my waiting arms. "Way to go, Em. You had fun and gave the audience a performance. You didn't worry about the score or the competition, and you just performed. I'm so proud of you." "Thank you," she whispered into my tie before Brenda scooped in to smother her oldest. "You were AMAZING!" "Thanks, Mom. It was fun. Can we watch some of the others now?" I grimaced inwardly, but said, "Sure, why not?" Why not, indeed? 

We entered from the back of the auditorium and listened to seven of the last eight performers. None held a candle to Emily, and we knew it. The last performer was a girl from Bloomington, Indiana, and her resume was the lower Midwest version of Emily's. The 6 foot tall, thin, pretty blonde was named Katie Souder. I recognized Katie's teacher, and knew she would be outstanding. Dr. Sherrie Lawhon was a wonderful soprano, and seriously knew her craft as a voice coach. Sherrie had been a doctoral student when I was doing my master's. She met her husband while we were in the same studio. In fact, I sang at their wedding. 

When Katie finished, Emily looked impressed and crushed at the same time. Quickly, I said "Don't worry. We've still got "The Queen of the Night" up our sleeve. You can beat her." Em shook her head slightly in such a way that made me know she didn't believe it. Brenda stared at the opera star Barbie in open hatred. "Let's go get some dinner," I said. 

We hailed a cab and went to Chopsticks, a popular Japanese steak house. We were having fun watching the chef go through his sow and Emily lit up like a firefly. Brenda and I both had a couple of sake', and we were feeling fine as well. We went outside, and the snow had become a full-fledged shower. We took a cab back to our hotel, and went to our rooms. I was on the tenth floor, while Brenda and Emily were up on the twelfth. It was 8:00 PM, Friday night, and I had NOTHING to do. I changed, went down to the hotel gym, ran on the cross trainer for 45 minutes, went back up to the room, showered, and got into my pajamas. I found a college basketball game to watch on tv and raided the mini-bar. By 11:00, I had finished five of the little bottles of Jack Daniels. I was feeling VERY comfortable, and called my wife in Chicago to say good night. She asked how Em had done and I told her she was in the finals the next evening. 

"What do you think of her chances?"

"Well, Sherrie Lawhon is here with one of her students. Em's going to have to be at her very best to beat her."

"Well, tell her I hope she does wins."

"I will dear. Hey, how was....wait there was a knock on the door."

"Who would knock at this hour?"

"Just the $800 hooker I ordered," I quipped.

"It better not be,"

I looked through the peep hole and saw Emily standing there in a robe. "It's just Emily. I better see what she wants. Love you."

"Love you too!"

I opened the door and looked at Emily. Hair wet, make up gone, in a thick, white robe and barefoot. "Hi, Mr. Michaels. I finished my swim and went back to the room. Mom's asleep already, and I don't want to wake her with the tv. Can I hang out here for a few minutes while I wind down?" All kinds of bells and whistles should have been going off inside my head, but the Jack had my better angels silent. "Sure," I drawled. I have a sofa you can sit on for a while." "Cool. Do you have an extra towel?" I want to rinse the chlorine off." "O.K. I'll give you your privacy in the bathroom and watch the game," I replied. Em padded off to the shower and started singing "The Queen of the Night." I knocked on the shower door and said, 

"Emily. If you attract the attention of the management with your beautiful voice at this hour, I'm going to have a hard time explaining why I have a 17 year-old girl in my shower."

"I'm 18 now. Remember, my birthday was last month." How had THAT day eluded me? 

"Still, there are other guests. That might like to sleep." 

"Okay, Mr. Killjoy, I'll stop. But the acoustics are great in here!"

I went back to my basketball game. I stared at the screen, but my thoughts lingered on my star student in the shower. I though about how beautiful she looked in the red and black outfit earlier, and how adorable she looked in the robe. Against my will, my cock started to grow. I heard the water stop and Emily bounced out of the bathroom in the robe I had just been imagining. "Who's playing?" she asked. "North Carolina and Tennessee. From Alaska, of all places." 

"Boooooooooring!" She grabbed he remote off the bed beside me, flopped down on the pillow next to mine, and started to flip channels. She landed on a movie that had just started, "Poison Ivy." "I love this movie. VERY scary." I nodded and prayed she hadn't noticed the bulge in my pajama pants.

Em coughed and grabbed the glass out of my hand. She took a drink of my bourbon, widened her eyes and said, "Whew. That's got a kick to it. Dad only drinks beer, which I hate, and Mom marks her wine bottles so I won't get in to them." Em paused, looked into the glass, saw only ice cubes, frowned and continued, "I drank all of yours. Let me get you some more." Before I could protest, Em had bounced off the bed and gotten another one of the little bottles out of the mini-bar. She poured the brown liquor into the glass and clambered back on to the bed, handing me the drink and leaning on my chest with her still wet auburn tresses. I tried not to look, but her jostling made me keenly aware that she had left her sensible, one piece swim suit in the bathroom to dry. I groaned inside my head.

Emily shifted around until she had made herself comfortable, her bare legs meeting mine below the knee. We sat in silence as we watched a teenage Drew Barrymore befriend fellow high school student Sara Gilbert, work her way into her family's life and start to plant the seeds of seduction in Gilbert's wealthy father. Poor Tom Skerrit never stood a chance. I didn't either.

Emily would occasionally grab the drink from my hand and take a quick sip, then reach across my body to put it back. On a couple of occasions, the soft underside of her forearm grazed my now fully erect, pajama clad cock as she pulled her arm back to herself. The first time, I was sure it was just an innocent mistake. I moaned softly the second time she did it and looked at the mirror across from the bed over the dresser. She had a little grin on her face that made me certain she had NOT done it by accident. Then she stunned me with a question.

"Do you think I'm pretty?" she softly asked. "Oh, Em, of course I do. I've watched you grow from just more than a little girl into a beautiful, graceful, young woman." My voice was low and strained, and Em could tell the tension was getting to me. "Then how come none of the guys at school ask me out?"

"Honestly?" I replied. "You seem much older than your age, and 17 year-old boys are probably scared to death of you."

"Your sweet to say that, but I think it's because while I have a nice body, they don't think I'm sexy. Am I?"

"Are you what?"

"Sexy, you silly man!"

"Of course you're sexy. You just don't carry yourself like someone who is interested in sex. That probably doesn't make any sense. I've had a little too much to drink."

"It makes perfect sense. But I AM interested in sex." She reached her hand across my body to take the glass from my hand and dragged her whole forearm and the cold, wet glass across my groin, slowly and with pressure this time. "Very interested." 

She took a sip and did it again on the way back across my body, this time leading with glass of ice. Only this time, she didn't put the glass back in my hand, but reached all the way across my body and put it on the night stand, her robe covered breasts leaning into my cock. On the way back, she paused her head near my cock, blew softly and warmly down the length of the shaft, then turned her head towards my face and smiled widely. "You have a big problem down here. A VERY big problem," she cooed. "I have a problem too. I'm still a virgin, and I don't want to be. But the boys at school are right about one thing – I'm not interested in sex with THEM. I need someone who knows what he's doing to teach me. You're far and away the best teacher I have. Teach me this."

"I can't," I feebly protested. "You're my student, you're too young for me, and you're mom's my office manager. Not to mention that I'm married. You know my wife, for crying out loud. Those are all great reasons we should NOT do this."

"They're reasons, but nothing I can't get past. Yes, I do know your wife, but not as well as my Dad knows her. I saw her van at his house Thursday after school. I was supposed to have play practice, but it got cancelled. Dad gave me some money to do a little Christmas shopping since rehearsal was cancelled, but I left it at home. Susan took me by the house to get the money, and I saw Mrs. R's van in the driveway. Guess I know why rehearsal was cancelled. I went in quietly and got the money off the kitchen counter. I could tell by the noises coming from upstairs that they were having sex. Dad sounded like he was in pure agony."

I stared at her, dumbfounded at her revelation. "I also looked at dad's cell phone history when he was working in the yard. Almost every call was to or from a number identical to your cell, except for the last digit. It was a two. My cell is only one number off from my dad's. Who has the number after yours?" It was at that moment I realized she was telling the truth. "Still worried about the Mrs.? I didn't think so."

With that, Emily turned her head back down and gently kissed the underside of my fully erect shaft through my think pajama pants. "Am I doing this right? I don't know much, just what I've seen in the movies or read in some of my mom's novels."

"Ohhhhhh, that feels great. More, please," I begged softly. Her hands unsnapped the fly on my pajamas and she pulled my thick, uncut eight inches out. Then with her French tipped fingernails, she gently scraped the tip and then the underside of the ridge around the tip. My head flared immediately, and a little pre-cum came out. With her index finger, she started at the little drop and pulled her finger down the underside of my fully erect cock, ending at the base of my balls.

"Scrape them with your nails, ever so lightly, then pull them gently between your thumb and forefinger," I instructed. Em did as I asked and I began to pant slightly. When my balls released through her fingers, my head snapped and I groaned in blissful agony. That elicited a smile from Emily and she reached up with her fingers to do it again, this time taking the thick head of my cock between her lips. And pulling up with her head as she pulled down with her fingers. The "pop" was simultaneous, and more pre cum came out of my cock. She repeated the process, taking a little more of me in her mouth and increasing the pressure of her fingers with each repetition. Finally, she increased the pressure to the point that she could not easily pull my balls through the circle of her thumb and forefinger. She kept pulling my balls taut with her right hand and scraped the taut sack with the fingernails of her left hand, my shaft, buried deep in her pretty little mouth. When she finally pulled all the way off, still holding my boys tightly with one hand and scraping them with the nails of the other, she said, "Kind of salty, but tasty. Is that all that comes out?"

"Nooooo, that is most definitely not all that comes out. When I cum, there will be a lot more, and it will be thick and milky white," I answered.

"Why isn't it coming out now?"

"Partially because I'm trying not to cum yet, and partially because you've just been teasing it so far. If you set your mind to it, you could probably get all of it out of me fairly quickly." 

"How would I do that?" Emily asked sort of lazily.

"Increasing the speed and pressure with which you suck or stroke usually leads to the man finishing faster. And by stroke, I mean either inside or outside your body. I have to warn you, I don't have any condoms, so I'm not going to put my cock inside you."

"Aw man, how will I have an orgasm then?"

"You will. I promise."

"I want to see the white stuff."

"Then you have some work to do."

"What do I need to do?"

"Go back to what you were doing with your mouth and keep up what you're doing with your hands. It'll come out soon enough."

Emily went back to work happily. I encouraged her by telling her how amazing it felt, and coached her on how to not go to the same depth and pressure each stroke, and to twist her head as she came off my cock. After a good 10 minutes of this, she stopped again and asked why I hadn't cum yet.

"You haven't asked or told me to come yet."

She stared down at my cock and said, "Please, cum for me." Nothing.

She sucked a little more and said the words again with my dick in her mouth. I moaned in ecstasy at the sensation, but still didn't oblige. She pulled off and removed the scraping hand from my balls and shook her finger at my cock, and reprimanded it, "Bad boy! I told you to cum!" With that she spanked my still taut sack three times hard. Now I was the one who would attract the management.

"Ahhhh!"

"I said, cum!" She removed her other dainty hand from around my balls and started pumping my dick with her fist while spanking my balls with the other hand. Cum started gushing from my body. She showed no mercy, and kept pumping it until no more semen came forth.

"That looks messy. What does it taste like?"

"Lick what's on your fingers."

Emily complied, a little gob of cum sticking on the outside of her unmade lips. "Yummy. VERY salty. Is it bad for me?"

"No, just all protein. I need to get cleaned up," I said as I started to get up and go to the bathroom. "I'll be right back."

Emily pushed my back by my chest and said, "No, I'll clean it up. I could use the extra protein." She started licking my shaved balls from the bottom and continued the tongue bath all the way up to the tip of my cock. Then she took the head in her mouth and sucked what was left out of the tip. I was SPOTLESS.

"So how do I get to have an orgasm?"

"Come up her and let me help."

Slowly, I started kissing her lips deeply. I cradled her face with one and roamed her exquisite body with the other. I slipped my hand inside her still belted robe and circled the outermost flesh of her left breast with my index finger. She shuddered at the near miss of a sensitive area and I grinned. I moved my hand over to the other breast and repeated the process. I lightly ran my fingertips down her taut stomach till I hit the belt in her robe. I slowly untied it and pulled the belt off the terry cloth robe.

My hand slid further down and found her fresh, virgin mound. I moved around a bit and rubbed her beautiful, young legs. I reached her ankles and gently pulled her down to where her feet where near the side edge of the bed.