0 comments/ 9572 views/ 1 favorites Sound Experience By: ProfessorR Copyright by ProfessorR © by Prof. Richard W. (formerly of the University of ____________) SOUND EXPERIENCE My dear friend Sophia -- she's an administrator at the School for Social Expression out in Marin County -- asked me to record this recent case for their library. As you may know, the institution's real name is the School for Sexual Expression. She's busy aiding in the education of the young nerds-who-would-be-studs -- and some imaginative women -- who sign up for their hypnotic and NLP training program, so I haven't seen her for a while. I was reminded of the project by an e-mail from a couple of young friends from Nevada. As the story unfolds, you'll learn how they ended up there. ========================= You may recall a couple who we met on the California Zephyr, a long time back. Karen and Cam were heading to California. Eventually they moved to a small town on Puget Sound where they bought a boat rental firm. And they have a couple of cabins to rent on an island nearby. You're probably wondering where all this is leading! Business is slow this year, but they're hanging in there. They had some last minute cancellations, so they invited me to come and stay for a while. I can work on my research there just as well as here, and it's interesting to meet new people, see new places. I can imagine you smiling at that, yes, I did meet an interesting librarian while doing research in town, and yes, she comes to spend the weekends with me, but that's not what this case is about. Karen and Cam recently hired Rick, a young Army veteran, to handle the charter boat that they offer. During fishing seasons, there's a lot of business for them and they needed help. He was in Afghanistan not long ago and is in great shape, handles the equipment smoothly and works the lines with skill. He grew up around boats and told them that the whole time he was over there, he kept thinking about water. Cam has been satisified with his work, but Karen worried that he might be suffering from PTSD. She didn't really have anything substantial to go on, just wondered about how he kept to himself and didn't participate in the town's social life. A couple of young women from the town had asked her about him, and that got her to thinking, worrying. Karen was looking for just the right situation for me to be able to observe him, so she could get my opinion. I had to explain that I'm not a psychiatrist, but she assured me that it was nothing official that she wanted, just an opinion. And, she explained, she had found the perfect situation. I found it hard to concentrate on what she was telling me, because my librarian was on her way from town to my cabin and she had accepted being hypnotized by me last time we were together. I was eager to see the striptease that I had given her as a post-hypnotic suggestion, and it suddenly occurred to me that I had not specified that she should hold off on her unveiling if someone else was with me. I'm sure from our experience in the sleeping car suite that Karen is a free-thinker, but I didn't want to embarass anyone. Fortunately, she wrapped up just before my librarian arrived to unwrap. I have to admit that I could not remember everything that Karen had told me, because my local friend was so excited by the effect that her striptease had on me. It was really her fault; she went down on me with such enthusiasm that I could think of nothing other than how sensuous her lips were around my cock. Nevertheless, I found myself on the dock the next morning, bleary-eyed, watching Rick checking the equipment on the Water Nymph II. That was the name of the charter boat -- Cam said he didn't know why it was named that, but it would have been bad luck to change it -- and maybe it was really because it was attached in brass letters on the stern and he didn't want to pay to remove it. Rick told me that we would have two passengers this day, and that they were late. He sounded annoyed. "They're a couple of women on a high fashion photo shoot!" he shouted, as if that was reason enough to be irritated. He tossed the end of a rope onto the coil that he had been carefully forming. It flopped to one side and he knelt to straighten it out. It occurred to me as I watched, that Rick in tight jeans, a loose-fitting shirt and his boat shoes should have caught the eye of more than our two local girls. I tried to remember what Karen had told me about this charter, but my mind was too full of the look on my librarian's face earlier this morning when she realized that I could command her to have an orgasm and she would. She could not believe it at first, so she kept asking for it over and over. Don't they usually have an entourage? I asked myself. If I could have recalled what Karen had said, I would have known that this was not the official shoot, just a trial to look at some locations. We were supposed to take them out to the little island with the cabins and the photographer would pose her model in various scenes. Then they'd come back on another day with the hairdresser, make-up artist, lighting technician and so forth to do the photos that would appear in a Well-Known magazine in this country and overseas. Just as Rick looked at his watch again, we heard the sound of a car coming up the drive. We scrambled up the steeply-sloping ramp to the parking strip; me in the lead because I had a head start, but Rick's powerful strides brought him up behind me as the two women started to pull stuff from the trunk. It was quite a collection, and the older woman, who I guessed was the photographer, had her head down while she dug for something. The younger woman -- there was no doubt that she was the model -- was already holding a bag that I supposed was her make-up kit. "May I give you a hand?" I offered to the photographer. "Uhh..." she started to reply, and then Rick and I were startled to hear it change to an expression of surprise, followed by a sharp expletive as she hit her head on the edge of the trunk. "Richard Williams!?" she exclaimed in a murmur, if I can use a confusing pair of words. "Chloe Demeter!?" I exclaimed, in a much louder voice. Rick and the model -- Brandy Adams was her name -- looked at us and then at each other. I realized that the model had not really been paying attention, and now Rick was getting annoyed again. He watched Chloe and me start towards each other as if to embrace, and then we shook hands instead. "Chloe and I were very close when she was starting out as campus photographer back at the University of _______________." I explained. "Very close!" Chloe laughed, her lips opened wide. Even without make-up they looked as inviting as ever against her flawless face. "Oh, that's interesting." We all turned to see that Brandy had spoken, though not very convincingly. Rick assumed a disdainful pose, either for us or for the model. "Let's get this crap on the boat," he said to me. I shrugged at Chloe and she handed me a couple of boxes of equipment without saying more. "Maybe we'll have a chance to talk while we're on our lunch stop," I offered. "Okay." She was going to keep her professional shield up, I supposed. And, that made sense given that she or her client was paying for Rick and the boat by the hour. Or rather, eight hours flat rate and then a charge for every half hour over that. We trooped down the ramp, with the model carrying her small case, me lugging a couple of boxes, Chloe carrying one of those silver-sided indestructible camera cases, and Rick easily handling the rest. When we got to the boat, the model stepped. "Do I have to step across that?" she whined, as she looked down at the sloshing sludge between the dock and the boat. Rick rolled his eyes. "I'll help you across," he volunteered, setting down his load. Easily, he grabbed her around the waist before she could answer, and swept her up onto the deck. "I can make it myself!" from Chloe. I was glad that she said that, as I enjoyed watching her Rubenesque figure moving energetically. So, I thought, she hasn't slowed down. We piled the stuff on deck against the cabin, and then Rick took us on a tour of the Nymph. Brandy had a strange habit of being unable to simply go through a door, pausing and stepping into the door frame three times or so before entering one of the cabins. Later, I learned that this was a condition known as obsessive-compulsive disorder, but at this point all I knew is that it drove Rick nuts. Somehow, we managed to determine that the master bedroom cabin would be Brandy's dressing room, while Chloe would use one of the crew bunks as her workspace to organize her equipment. Rick set about hauling the luggage -- photo gear and the outfits that were to be modeled -- below deck, and I caught up to him to ask if I could give him a hand. He had stopped to pick up some items that had spilled out of a stylish tote bag and paused to look at a marked up document that looked like a thesis of some type. "What do you make of this, Prof?" he asked. He offered me the thesis and I read the title aloud. "Reverse Demand Curves and the Market for Commercial Sex." Rick's eyebrows went up and I cleared my throat. "I think we need to get their stuff stowed. It looks like an MBA thesis to me. An unusual MBA thesis." I thought for a moment, then explained "there are so many of them on meaningless subjects. Maybe this one will get published." I slid the paper back into the tote bag with some of the other spilled items and finished helping Rick. It turned out that I was not the only one to offer help. Chloe offered to cast off the lines, letting Rick make a smooth start at the wheel as the motor revved up and the Nymph headed into the choppy waters of Puget Sound. I found myself enjoying watching Chloe, who pulled a purple jacket over her shoulders as we swung into wind that cut across the open stretch of water that we were crossing. I was reminded of how much we had enjoyed a trip to an ocean beach years ago. For a while the three of us sat around enjoying our miniature cruise, while Rick concentrated on the channel ahead. Then he called out "... about 20 minutes to the island..." Chloe asked Brandy to get changed for the first shoot. The outfits were numbered in order, so it would not require much thought. Brandy disappeared down the steps to below deck, wincing as she headed into the cabin, and Chloe busied herself setting up some of her gear. I offered to help her, but she wanted to do things in her own way. "What are you grinning at?" Chloe asked me as she deftly turned a lens into its mount on her camera body. I liked watching her fingers firmly grasping the barrel. It made me think of other things than her award-winning photography, though. "Just remembering that you could be pretty self-sufficient." I was remembering her hands gliding over her breasts in a pleasurable rhythym when she had mounted me for what she teasingly called an "organ transplant" -- my organ transplanted into hers. "And you like that, don't you!" She said that with a naughty look in her eye, but then turned back to her work. And, it was good that she was organized and her model a quick change, because we were gliding up to the dock on the little island. I learned that the first shots would be set up on the boat. We had not done them while underway due to the motion of the craft in the open Sound, but this island was far enough off of navigation routes that Chloe could set things up so the shots would make it look as though Brandy was out to sea. With the boat tied to the dock, the background for her photos was not going anywhere, though I wondered how she would deal with the slight motion of the Puget Sound waves. Rick was puttering with the radio, tuned, we soon learned, to the weather frequency. In a minute he came over to Chloe and me. "It should be clear for a couple of hours, but there's fog and rain coming in. They changed the forecast on us." "We'll just have to make good use of our time," Chloe remarked. "How are you going to get your model through all her clothes changes when she takes forever to go through the door of the cabin?" Rick said in a sarcastic tone. Chloe's green eyes flashed as she started to say something, and then she had second thoughts. Just then, Brandy appeared, dressed in what I learned was a "Bermuda Floral" Tankini. Rick and I found it hard to keep our eyes off her. I noticed Rick taking a second glance and then turning away to busy himself with some moulding that was coming loose. While Chloe and Brandy worked out their first shots, I moved over next to Rick. "You're bothered by something?" I said it as a question, but it could have been a statement of fact. "Yeah, how'd you fucking guess." Rick snarled in a low voice. I said nothing. He fiddled with the loose moulding some more. It seemed to calm him. His thoughts finally organized, he spoke. "All of the time I was over there, I was thinking about getting back here and having a girlfriend who looked like this airhead." He threw a screwdriver to the floor, then thought for a moment and carefully picked it up and put it aside. "I mean, I wasn't looking forward to her being an airhead, I was imagining someone who could accomplish things. And who would respect me accomplishing things." "So?" "I guess I'm angry at myself. How do I know if she's really an airhead or not? That book -- that thesis -- looked pretty thick. I mean, deep. But before I knew anything about her, I screwed up by laying this attitude on her." "And have you done this with other people?" "Yeah, it's hard not to when you start thinking about what trivial stuff they were doing while I and my buddies were trying to do our jobs and stay in one piece-- one live piece." We were interrupted by Brandy passing us on her way to her uncertain passage through the cabin door. "Has it ever occurred to you," I asked, "that she has things in her life to overcome, too?" Rick was silent again and turned away. It was not an angry turning away; I could see that he just wanted to think. Brandy came up the cabin stairs in a one-piece suit that was "designed to whittle the waist with a graphic that fooled the eye into focusing on the narrowest part of her body." Not that she needed the help, and of course, this effect tended to cause Rick and me to notice the widest parts of her body. Chloe tut-tutted me under her breath, laughed, and then a light dawned on her. "Rick, I'm going to have a male model for the actual shoot, but would you mind standing in for him? You'd just be in the background, like you're working on some boat thing." Rick started to object, and then had second thoughts. Perhaps my glaring at him conveyed a message. "Okay. Actually I AM WORKING ON SOME BOAT THING." He could not resist saying that, I suppose. Brandy bristled. "How can I project the air of a woman who is enjoying a care-free day on the sea when someone so UNPROFESSIONAL is behind me? Even if he will be out of focus." Brandy turned to stomp off to her cabin, only to be thwarted in the effect by her OCD difficulty in going through the door. "I love nature, the ocean, being outdoors, but I can't do this advertising job when it's raining or foggy," Chloe said through the now closed cabin door. "Our time is running out. You are a professional, let's get this done." "I want to do the job with you, but I can't come back through that cabin door again." Brandy was too upset now. "Brandy, the professor's going to come in and talk with you. He's an expert." "Talk to her? I'm not that kind of expert." "I didn't say what kind of expert. What matters is that you're an expert. Hypnotize her, maybe?" "I can't cure her." "I don't need a cure, but if she doesn't come out of there, I'm going to need a miracle." Rick leaned down the stepwell to tell us that some of the clouds were visible now. "Okay... Rick, I need your help." I said it in my most expert tone. A plan was emerging in my desperation. "Wait right outside the door and when you hear me call you, come on in. I'm going to put Brandy into a trance and then I'll need your help to get her through the door." The cabin door had a ventilation transom, so Rick would be able to hear without me shouting. Rick's military experience came in handy. As he grasped the urgency of the situation, and recognized my commanding tone, he fell right into line. Chloe was at once amused and appreciative. Chloe called down: "Brandy, Professor is going to come in and talk with you. Okay?" Brandy had calmed down and agreed that as she could not come out, I should come in. Cautiously, I opened the door, finding Brandy on the edge of the bed. I sat down on the small, boat-size chair opposite her. She looked afraid, perhaps afraid that she was ruining the shoot, perhaps the usual fear of hypnosis. Perhaps -- it suddenly struck me -- that she was angry with herself for alienating Rick. "I'm not an expert on curing your issues with the doors, Brandy." She nodded in understanding. I sat there for a moment, our breathing gradually synchronized as she absorbed the thought. "All I can do is to help you get through this afternoon, by helping you be what you want to be. Does that feel right?" She nodded. I could tell that she took the modeling seriously, so I assumed that she would find it appealing to be led into being cooperative with Chloe. As I took her into deeper and deeper stages, I learned that she had been hypnotized before, as part of some therapist's work on her obssesive-compulsive disorder. It must have been a direct assault on it, because it obviously had not worked, but she did go under fearlessly. Soon, I had her agreement that she would take directions from Chloe, and that her doorway issue did not prevent her from (eventually) getting where she needed to go. And then she agreed to talk candidly with me when I brought her out of her trance. We carried on a normal sort of business conversation about the importance of cooperation. Finally, I had to ask about Rick. Yes, my curiousity got the best of me. "If Chloe asks you to, can you work with Rick?" "Yes." "What have you noticed about Rick?" "At first, I thought he was a jerk." "Can you imagine him being better than that?" "Yes. I noticed how well he handled the boat. And watched his hands so firmly winding up that rope." That was interesting, I thought. I asked another question about it. "The rope resisted being coiled. Instead of getting angry, he almost taught it to curl, so that it began winding the way he lead it to. He only got angry when I mocked him." Her eyes glowed and I noticed that the tankini did not cover the way her skin flushed as she recalled his hands teaching a rope to curl. I wondered what else she would want him to teach to curl. "Are you interested in Rick as a colleague?" I wanted to get myself back on track, not lead Brandy further astray. But my question brought out an unexpected turn. "Yes." Okay so far. "For my start-up." "Huh?" is what I wanted to say. "Yes, when I'm finished with my degree, I plan to open an Old West "sporting house" in Nevada." She paused and then added brightly, "I already have a couple of women who are English Lit majors and a Music Appreciation major lined up for after graduation. It's the only way they'll ever pay off their student loans in this millenium. And, I think that the Lit majors both want to get book ideas from their experiences." "How does Rick fit in?" "I'm going to need a man who is handy with tools. And, the ranch I'm looking at buying has a lakefront." She looked at me archly, and queried "how would you feel about going out on a boat with Chloe, her Ella what's her name CD's and a Music Appreciation major to talk with you two about them? I'm planning on offering all kinds of education-themed weekends. Somehow, I have an intuition that Rick could handle anything, including that boat." Sound Experience "Somehow I have the feeling that you're suggesting doing more than music." Brandy winked. "And I shouldn't talk like an airhead to you, should I?" I agreed. "Really, I know that Ella's last name is Fitzgerald, and Chloe loaned me her duplicate CD's." "I think that you're ready to go topside." She agreed. I headed above so that she would not have an audience for her door threshold crossing process. She was up in a few minutes. "It's that miracle that we needed," Chloe whispered to me as she moved to a different angle. Rick was behaving himself and Brandy sparkled. "Rick," Chloe asked, "would you mind taking off your shirt to make it look more realistic?" I shuddered, thinking that he would tell her how unrealistic it was on Puget Sound to take off his shirt with fog and a storm coming. Instead, he did as asked. Brandy went below for her next outfit. She emerged in a two-piece bathing suit that left little to the imagination. Well, actually, that's a cliche, because we all were imagining a lot of things when we saw her. Chloe's artistic specialty, I learned, is the human form in all its configurations. She was in her element here, and I think that included Rick in her art. Trying to see him as Brandy had described, I realized that he was fit, but looked like a guy who could accomplish things, not someone who spent all his time at the gym or on muscle beaches. I wondered if Chloe would get the same results with the professional model booked for the actual fashion shoot. Brandy did not pay a great deal of attention to Rick as they worked, but Rick could not help paying attention to Brandy. He was posed with a paint brush, as he was supposed to be painting anyway, but kept dripping the creamy white paint. That was fine with Chloe, who was clicking away and didn't care if he actually painted something or not. Chloe was issuing a series of instructions that kind of lost me, but Brandy understood her jargon, and before I could register that Chloe had said something about the "Continental Edition", our young colleague had whipped off her bra and tossed it aside. Rick's jaw dropped and I suppose mine did, too. "One of the great things about this bikini," Brandy explained confidently, "is that it still shows a lot of style when you're on a Mediterranean topless beach." I felt a certain amount of pride in having helped her professionalism shine through. "Right. I hadn't thought of that," Rick gulped as he tried to resume his pose, narrowly avoiding a glop of paint that oozed from his brush. Rick was not going to have a career as a model, but it occurred to me that he might be willing to learn how to work with Brandy. "How about perching on the railing, Brandy?" Chloe paused while her model climbed on the railing. "This'll be the last series, people, we're losing the light." Just like in the movies, I thought. Chloe is old enough to know how, what, where and why; young enough to still care." Chloe snapped the shutter a couple of times, and then it happened. She asked Brandy to toss her head back. Somehow, the perfectly toned body of what I now privately knew was a very clever woman flipped over the rail and into the choppy, cold water of Puget Sound. Later, I learned that she had taken dance classes, besides the excercise program common to her profession. And more importantly, I learned that she was a regular at her condo's swimming pool. Before she even hit the water - it seemed - Rick had kicked off his deck shoes and was slipping out of his slacks. Chloe tried to shout to him something about Brandy being a good swimmer, but couldn't say it clearly and fast enough. Rick was over the side and churning toward her. Brandy was floundering around, but -- interestingly -- calmed down as Rick swam with powerful strokes to her side. I resisted a chuckle. "You airhead!" he laughed. This time he said it with a smile. "I thought you were going to drown." Brandy splashed water in his face and laughed, too. "Didn't you hear Chloe saying that I was a good swimmer?" "I wasn't thinking about what she was yammering about." Chloe's black hair - no gray yet - disappeared over the rail as she leaned over and called to the two. I caught myself remembering how she had looked leaned over a chair a long time ago, her Rubenesque figure, curving elegantly like a figure in a classical painting, and how I had taken her there. "You two kids quit playing in the bath and get in here. Haven't you noticed how cold that water is?" Well, they hadn't, but now they swam back to the boat. I ran to get towels. When I returned, they were shivering, but mobile. They stripped -- what was left to strip -- and Chloe and I wrapped them in towels. "You'd better get down below and warm up," she urged. Somehow, I felt that they would not need encouragement. Brandy took Rick's hand and led him to the gangway. Chloe and I watched them go down, oblivious for the moment to the mist that was starting to surround us. As they turned to go into the cabin, Brandy stopped and froze. I suddenly realized that I had hypnotized her to cooperate with Chloe to get through the door, not Rick. Damn! But Rick was a man of action. He simply picked up Brandy and carried her despite her exclaimed objections through the doorway. Their towels fell away as she squirmed to resist the mysterious power of the doorway and they were completely exposed to each other again -- and for a moment in the doorway to us. I didn't even realize that I had taken Chloe's hand. "Let's get my gear put away," she whispered. "Why am I whispering?" she laughed. It was the fog, now blanketing everything, giving us the feeling that something mysterious was happening. Down below, there was no question what was happening. Our youthfully fit and exuberant colleagues had not thought to close the cabin door, and Brandy's exclamations had turned into mutual laughter first, and now as we stowed the last equipment, we heard sighs that suggested that Rick's hands were teaching something more than a rope to respond to his touch. "I think we're spending the night here," Chloe remarked. "I don't think that Rick will be in mood to sail us back, and it probably wouldn't be safe to do that anyway. "I think that Rick has the keys to one of those rental cabins. Karen told me that we could duck in there if the weather took a nasty turn. And this seems to fit the description." I held out my palm and demonstrated that the fog was turning to drizzle. "I'll try to get them from him." "He's awfully busy right now." We heard more sighing from the cabin. "Rick," I shouted around the cabin doorframe, "I need the keys to the cabin. Where are they? Or can you just toss them out." There was no reply, other than a giggle from Brandy. "That isn't going to work," Chloe said. "But I have an idea." Self-sufficient as always, she had come up with a subtle plan while I had tried the obvious. "You hypnotized her to cooperate with me, didn't you?" she asked. I agreed. "Did you notice how Rick seemed so cooperative with me, too?" I started to agree and then it hit me. I didn't know where Rick was when I hypnotized Brandy and suggested that she cooperate with Chloe. What if he had been affected by the post-hypnotic suggestion, too? "So you're going to see if they'll stop what they're up to and get us the keys?" "Sort of, but don't they need some kind of reward for good post-hypnotic behavior?" "That would be good, yes." Without further discussion, Chloe marched to the cabin door, looking in at the entangled couple. I followed and leaned over her shoulder, scientifically curious and voyeur all at the same time. "Listen to me," she said and then paused. Sure enough, they stopped their caressing and kissing and looked up. "We need the island cabin keys. Where are they?" "I'll get them," Rick volunteered, and climbed off the berth. His penis, which had been fully ready for eager Brandy, began to sag as he rummaged in a dresser drawer for the keys. Brandy began to pout. Rick handed the keys to Chloe and started to turn away in disgust. "Wait Rick, I have one more request." He stopped in his tracks. "I want you to have a great time with Brandy. And you'll be hard for her whenever she wants." Brandy's pout turned to surprise and then a smile. Rick started toward her, his slack penis swinging aimlessly for a few steps, and then with a surge it rose purposefully. Brandy licked her lips and stretched out catlike as Rick climbed back on the berth. He reached around on a shelf above and fished out a foil package; it was a condom. "Well," Chloe said as she turned toward the stairs, "I think they'll be okay. That must have been the easiest post-hypnotic suggestion you ever saw." "No, actually there was one easier." We picked up some of our gear and I helped Chloe onto the dock. The boat was rocking with more than just the wave action. "What was that?" Her green eyes caught the dock's lone light with puzzlement. Her flawless skin, without make-up, looked beautiful -- and drizzle streaked. "Remember when we were in college?" Memories of our youthful enthusiasm were coming back to me, and I was now sure that they were coming to Chloe's mind. She "hmmed" as she tried to think of the word that was percolating up from her subconscious. "It was a word, some word. The trance word! Yes! Ohmygod, yes!" She grinned as she remembered how I had helped her to relax for her first attempts at fellatio, my first time to receive it. With her outgoing, friendly nature, everything else had gone smoothly, but though she wanted to try it, she needed to get over her feeling that "good girls don't do that." I unlocked the cabin door, my fingers fumbling a bit with nervousness, like the college guy that I remembered being. We entered the room and fiddled around with light switches that didn't work and then finding matches for the wood and tinder that was already set in the fireplace. An oil lantern worked, after a smoky start. "How are we going to work this?" I queried. There was one bed, covered with a purple-toned Pendleton blanket and a couch. "I don't want to assume anything." Her eyes flashed in the firelight. "Purple is my favorite color," she offered. "I remember that purple chemise you wore." "You do? That was sooo long ago..." Chloe's voice drifted off. Perhaps we both were remembering now how I had swept it up off her hips, finding her pantyless and powerful. Everything had happened so quickly back then: in seven or eight minutes I was coming deep inside her, quenching her heat with the semen that I had so painfully saved up through the week. We were both drenched in the joy of creation afterward, but wanted to do more, to prolong our pleasure-powered voyage into complete unity. "So, then guess what color my panties are!" Chloe winked. "How am I going to find out?" Actually, her question seemed more like an answer to me. I knew how I was going to find out. "Go ahead, Richard," she purred now, "say the trance word." She perched seductively on the edge of the bed. "So many years have passed, it may not work...." and then I said it. Chloe nodded once and then fell into a light trance, but that was all that we needed. When she awoke, she would not only want to eat organically, as she had told me, but now she would want to eat a willing organ. "Remember how sensitive your lips can be," I told her and she agreed. "Remember that you learned to take an orgasm from your lips," I told her and she agreed. It was all true. When her anxiety had been set aside, she had learned from experience how much she could enjoy, enjoyment that other girls in her dorm could only have disbelieved or disapproved had she tried to tell them about it. All they knew for sure was Chloe's sudden confidence in so many things. "And now when I give you the sign, you will awake, feeling rested and ready to enjoy your femininity." I took her in my arms and all of the good feelings came back. "Remember the dorm lounge in the middle of the night?" She did. "I never knew that a zipper could be so loud." Then, slipping her zipper down so that I could offer my first caresses to her clit was a dangerous move. Tonight, we were undressing each other in the cabin, but remembering the college struggles to discretely expand our pleasure territories without alerting the other necking couples scattered around the large room, or alarming the house mother. "There are some advantages to being a mature adult," I thought as Chloe stood to let me slip her -- yes, purple, panties down her thighs. We were back on the bed now, cuddling, kissing, my hand cupping her vagina, and then I was leaning back and Chloe was coming down on me. I firmed ever fuller as she drew me deep inside; a feeling of a powerful bond grew between us, a bond that we now both knew had carried through time. I watched her shoulders moving rhythmically as she bent towards me, enjoyed the grazing touch of her aroused nipples, and saw that her lips were reporting their own messages back to her. Blinded by the pleasure and disoriented, my hands wandered aimlessly over Chloe's soft skin, now touching her full breasts, now her shoulders, now her hair. Finally, I was on the brink, and I wanted all of her. I pulled away from her hungry lips and motioned for her to position herself. I was hard and ready. My precum was flowing, smoothing the way in. Later, I thought about how much we had learned in the intervening years, including the secret role of precum in aligning a woman's enzymes for pleasant results lasting into the week. But none of that was on my mind now. Evolution was in charge now and I wanted to take this woman. Chloe let out a sigh as I penetrated her. It was the first of many, as mature lovers enjoying the benefits of time and experience. The wood fire crackled and danced as we matched the rhythyms of our bodies, but my mind was focused on the heat that flashed around me inside her. It was time to set all the tantric tricks and experience aside, to truly penetrate Chloe in spirit, as well as in body. She had wanted to be swept off her feet, but now it was time to fly WITH her. Her powerful muscles clenched around me, but I moved as Creation intended, gliding inexorably within her on our mingled flows. Her coaxing vagina teased and caressed my firmness, but I still held back. My pumping surrounded by her tender vagina lips produced the earthy sound that we remembered. I wanted to hear her saying what she used to say when our gentle lovemaking had turned to animal fucking... "Give it to me," she hoarsely demanded. "C'mon, give it to me!" She clenched me powerfully, inside and out. Perhaps that was my trance word. I thought that I whispered "I'm coming" -- but maybe I shouted it. Later, Rick claimed that he heard that word while Brandy was drifting off next to him. Now, a white jet produced of today's exciting events shot deep into Chloe's readiness. I continued to move, enjoying her skill at milking the remaining drops of my semen. Tonight, I knew, Creation would reward Chloe for her decisions with beautiful, restful sleep as I soaked into her being. And in the morning, Evolution would offer her a bounce to her step and a confidence that would last a long time as confirmation that she had chosen well. Actually, in the morning the first thing that we were offered was coffee by our cheerful young boatmates. I must have forgotten to lock the door the night before -- my mind was on unlocking something else -- and they had tiptoed in and found the coffeemaker. The electricity was on now and the fire had died out. Chloe popped out from under the covers to run to the bathroom for a minute and I noticed Rick looking brazenly, and rather favorably, at her rear. But, I wasn't worrying. On the boat trip back, I would take Chloe's help to add something hypnotically to Brandy's knowledge. Rick was going to discover that his now lover would give him the blow job that he had only been permitted to fantasize about in Afghanistan. ========================= Oh, you asked me how I felt about it. Well, I knew that with Chloe it would be fun, but what caught me off-guard was the deep sense of connection that I felt. And I realized that my subconscious had been way ahead of me in expecting that. How did I know? It was because I was so ready for her-- as I slipped so easily into her I realized that both of us had been preparing for this experience, our bodies that is, even while we had tried to maintain our professional attitudes. And when we shared breakfast before sailing, it felt special to know that the nutritious meal would prepare me to offer her more pleasure. So, yeah, I'm looking forward to seeing her again. ###