“Oh God Jane, you’re such a naughty slut.”
Jane was being naughty and she knew it, edging him again so close to coming in her mouth he was actually pulsing before she pulled off. She held his rocklike pillar vertical from its base with her finger and thumb while watching his face. She blew against it as one might cool hot tea. This was all new to Jane but sure she wasn’t ready for him to come.
His breathing mollified and Jane used the fingers of her other hand to gently stroke his balls, drawn up tighter than she expected. They gradually relaxed and her smile, when she began sliding her tongue up the length of his manhood, gave her pleasure away. That’s when Alex called her a naughty slut.
It was like music to Jane’s ears. The effect she had on this young stranger made her heart leap. She rose a little and shared her joy by kissing the angry swollen head and taking it between her lips for a few milking like sucks before releasing it with a comically loud pop.
“Such a beautiful slut.”
Alex lifted his head with his hands from behind to watch her run her tongue in circles around the swollen dome. Jane’s breasts were nearly spilling over the top of her French lace bra. She glanced down to assure herself everything was in order. Satisfied, she took his erection back in her mouth teasingly keeping the center of her cleavage eclipsed by his shaft so he got only glimpses.
“Take off your bra.”
“Moh.”
“What was that? I couldn't make out what you said with my cock in your mouth.” He chuckled at his own joke.
With her mouth covering a third of his swollen length Jane rattled her head side to side signaling dissent.
He began to speak, the first syllable of some complaint cut short when Jane slackened her jaw and suddenly lowered her face to cover another third of his shaft.
Things stalled while Jane waged war with a gag. He put a hand on her head but she brushed it away wanting to win the battle on her own. After her throat obediently calmed to allow his swollen head to slip through the narrows her lips crawled further to bring her nose near the skin of his abdomen. After another pause, another adjustment, Jane pressed her face firmly against him.
“Jesus,” was all he could say. Jane loved it. She loved hearing him almost speechless in labored breath.
Jane impaled her tender throat on his shaft three or four more times until the specter of her gag loomed again. She pulled off suddenly in a gasp for breath trailing gooey strings of deep saliva. His shocked expression made Jane smile before she dove completely back onto the stony velvet.
The sensations of this cock in her throat was unlike anything Jane had ever felt before. Her husband's dick, even when engorged on a hundred milligrams of Viagra, barely reached her throat. She'd hang her head off the edge of the bed and let her husband pound at her face as freely as he wanted without fear of gagging.
This thicker and longer cock however pulsed fully alive along the sensitive deepness of her mouth and stressed an invasive feeling of fullness even beyond her throat. She made mental notes of the sensations knowing her husband would want to hear about them later.
Her fingers, lightly dancing along his scrotum detected another tightening of his testicles, directing her attention and alarm to possible ejaculation. She pulled her mouth free.
With a moan of frustration he immediately took hold of himself with one hand. Jane gripped his wrist digging her fingernails in hard. “Don’t.” She wrapped her other fingers around his balls and squeezed threateningly.
He let go.
“You’ll come soon enough.”
“You dirty whore!” He slammed his frustrated head back onto the pillow in resignation, then laughing, “You wonderfully dirty whore.”
—————||||||—————
Jane's husband had been talking seriously about her taking other men for over a year, and teasingly for much longer. He stressed she was young and at thirty-five in her sexual prime. “Your sexuality deserves a larger universe.”
Jane was suspicious. She worried Shawn had tired of her sexually and wished to free her so he himself would be free for other women.
It took over a month before Shawn managed to convince her that wasn't true, that he was genuinely interested in exploring the taboo of cuckoldry. “I've never desired another woman since the day you walked into my class.”
That was sixteen years earlier. She was only nineteen, a college sophomore, an exotic beauty of immigrant parents. Maybe because they were from two separate cultures, her father from Milan and her mother from Mumbai, they raised her carefully and closely. Jane was still a virgin.
Shawn was already a tenured professor of sociology. Intriguingly brainy, sophisticated, mature and a scion of a wealthy family he swept Jane off her innocent feet on her very first day in class. In reality he was no match for her exotic beauty but then she was no match for the worldly older man.
Even though his intentions were clearly dishonorable from the very first time Shawn invited her to dinner at his house she went, but didn't relinquish her virginity until their fifth Saturday evening together. Jane too much loved the attention of being courted by the professor. She enjoyed the tête-à-tête of their dinner conversations that continued late into the night before she walked back to her dorm. She cherished the notes he passed to her as she left his class which she read and reread almost as if they were poetry. Jane craved his touch and his kisses while at his house even as she knew they were all part of a full frontal assault on the hymen her parents reared her to protect.
The pain of her tearing was real but brief as the sweet sensation of Shawn's penis sliding on the slick combination of vaginal fluid and blood drew her body into complete and utter surrender.
She was wondrously in love and eager to do it again and again, both to make Shawn happy and to relive the sensations. Shawn was a knowledgeable lover whose passion for her and her lithe smooth skinned body had no limits. Shawn skillfully cultivated Jane’s sexuality which blossomed like a rose dazzled in sunlight.
They remained discrete. Aware their affair was against university policy they never appeared in public together. Most weekends, unless they went away together, were spent sequestered at his colonial house near campus.
One of Shawn's interests, along with sociology, was historical erotic literature. He owned a significant collection. That fifth Sunday morning and the many more that followed were spent in an upstairs library lit by blades of sunlight knifing through its tall windows. Shawn read to her from heavily bound books about, as often as not, heavily bound women.
Jane cherished those Sunday mornings wrapped naked in robes. She loved the tenor of his voice, the rich black coffee and the little clouds of dust that swirled up in the light as he turned the pages. Each Sunday was a romantic epilogue to a weekend of torrid lovemaking before she dressed and returned to her dormitory.
Jane threw herself into the vigorous studies of her double major, History and Literature. Outside of class where she was an energetic student and spirited debater her quiet and somewhat withdrawn demeanor combined with her exotic beauty to create a tantalizing enigma for countless campus suitors. She had never been prone to flirtatiousness so had no trouble resisting. One by one, in their defeat, each boy eventually wrote her off as cold and stuck up, or lesbian. A number of girls showed interest too but Jane, while cordial, remained aloof.
She was aware of the perception other students held of her but only smiled at the fire that constantly flowed through her veins and burnt in her loins stoked by her love for Shawn and what was in effect her secret minor in Eroticism.
Some readings were confusing at first. If not for Shawn's full lyrical voice and command of the language he might have lost Jane over the difficulty of the Roman erotic poets Philodemus, Ovid and Priapeia.
It was much easier for her to relate to the 16th century French novel Thérèse Philosophe which depicts a young girl being initiated, much as herself, into a relationship of philosophy and sex and she absolutely adored Fanny Hill. The tales of De Sade, Shawn possessed wonderful translations of Justine and The 120 days of Sodom, with their details of unimaginable acts of sexual domination and sexual violence made her squirm uncomfortably at first, but as she listened, wrapped naked in a soft velour robe her body responded in ways she had no control over.
Shawn could barely hide his surprise and pleasure the Sunday morning Jane rose, removed her robe, draped it over her chair and knelt head upon the seat with her naked bottom on offer.
