Old-Fashioned Values (7 page)

Or had it just unlocked it for him? The thought that Sally wasn’t enjoying this as much as he was—that maybe she was just going through the motions, or even that she was scared of him—made him frown.

“What?” she asked softly, as he pulled away and looked at her seriously.

“Do you really want me to say? I mean, to tell you?”

She smiled, and her sheer prettiness, so much more arousing with her lovely little breasts showing over the bra he had taken partly down, took his breath away. “Tell me what?”

“About this stuff. About… what I want.”

She nodded. “Yes,” she whispered. “I mean, I don’t know why, but last night after I got back, and I had this really awkward conversation with my roommates…”

“Did you tell them?” Mark asked, suddenly worried.

Sally nodded. “But don’t worry. Cassandra was kind of a bitch—” Mark watched her search his eyes to see whether that word was going to get her spanked, but he nodded to let her know not to worry. “But Rachel was great, even though I think she thought it was weird.”

“And you?”

“Well, I would have thought it was really weird until it happened, but now… well, that’s what I was saying. I lay in bed thinking about what it meant that I had gone along with it, and that it made me, um, well it made me, you know, feel more, um, strongly about you.”

“Sally, I love you.”

“Oh, God. Mark, I love you, too.”

Then they just held each other for a while, and then they kissed, and finally Sally finished her thought, as their foreheads touched. “So, I think the thing is… is just that I like it when you tell me what you want. Especially when it’s about, um, this stuff.” She blushed and closed her eyes, and he kissed her again.

* * *

The next three weeks went by in very similar fashion. They had dinner together nearly every night, and went to the movies once and out to eat once. Sally would come up to Mark’s room to study and watch TV, or they would go to the library.

In Mark’s room, they would lie on his bed, and Mark would continue Sally’s instruction in what she still called ‘this stuff.’ For the first of those three weeks, it was just like that night when her sweater came off for the first time.

Then, that Friday they went out for pizza. Mark had decided that they were going to cross a border that night, and his cock got so hard just thinking about it that he almost felt like he didn’t have enough blood in his brain to reason clearly.

As they were finishing up the pizza, Mark said softly, “I’m going to have you do something new tonight.” Sally looked down at her plate and went bright red.

Chapter Eight

“What?” Sally whispered. She had been just the tiniest impatient that Mark hadn’t advanced what she secretly called—only in the deepest recesses of her heart—her ‘sex lessons.’ Instead, the kissing, and the taking off of her top, and his gentle fingers and tongue on her breasts had taken on a sort of ritual quality, though on Wednesday he had told her to take off her bra, and, trembling, she had of course obeyed. She had wondered whether he was finally going to touch her down there, where the lessons seemed to leave her aching. Even to acknowledge that she ached down there made her blush, though.

But why should she blush? Her parents had done everything they could to raise her and her younger brother and sister to be comfortable with their bodies. When the time had come for sex ed in health class, her mother had supplemented the curriculum with lengthy embarrassing talks. Maybe they had tried to make her
too
comfortable about sex, and instead of having it completely demystified, the way it seemed to be for Cassandra, sex for Sally had become
more
mysterious, as she pushed away from her parents.

However it was, it had left her with the will to surrender herself to Mark. As their courtship (that was the way Sally loved to think of it to herself) continued, and she became more familiar with, if no less ashamed of, the feelings his touch and his voice awakened in her, she also became very, very grateful for his having needed to take English 15 for a distribution requirement, and having sat next to her that very first day, and having in some sense claimed her heart by typing on his laptop and turning the screen so she could read it.

I’m Mark Weaver. Nice to meet you. :)

She had blushed then, too, of course, but she had typed back:

Sally Lanchester. You, too. :)

He hadn’t even written that he was a senior, nor had he even asked if she wanted to go for coffee. After class, he had hurried away with a smile and a little wave, and she had wondered whether he might have thought her cute. She loved that it had taken him two months to ask her out, and when he had finally done it he had asked her to see
Measure for Measure,
a play they had read at the start of that English course.

“So,” he had said when he picked her up at the front door of Castle House. “I’ve been waiting to ask you out for ages.”

“Really?” Sally tried hard to keep the thrill out of her voice, and play it just the littlest bit cool. “Um, why, um, didn’t you?”

“Well, two reasons, I guess—three, actually, but I won’t tell you the third for a while, I think.”

The third, Sally now knew, was the spanking. He had hesitated because he knew what he wanted, and he wanted a girl who would accept his loving discipline, and that meant it had taken much longer to make up his mind. The first two, he told her then, were that he wanted their first date to be something special, like Shakespeare, and that he wanted to let her find her feet in college.

“I wanted to make sure I didn’t stop you from enjoying your first few months.” Sally had protested, but really she had ended up very grateful, having seen several of her new friends get completely taken up in relationships whether with other freshmen or with upperclassmen.

But now here she was, with him, in his dorm room every night, having sex lessons.

And Mark looked back at her over the last few crusts of their pizza, with a smile on his face. “You’ll see,” he said.

And Sally did see, because after her top and her bra were off, Mark said. “I’m going to take off my pants.”

“Oh…” Sally said, of course blushing once again. “Mark… I don’t know if… if I’m ready for that kind of thing.” Suddenly the strangest thought came into her head. What if Mark spanked her for resisting him… for refusing to touch him… down there, the way he wanted? The thought filled her with the strangest mix of shame and arousal she thought she had felt yet. Surely she was not ready to… to touch one of those?

“I know it’s new, Sal,” he said softly, playing with her left nipple, rubbing it gently between his thumb and forefinger until she thought she would faint with the still-new pleasure, “but I think it’s time.”

“What will you… I mean, will you make me…” She closed her eyes.

“I’m just going to have you touch me there, tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Mm-hmm.” He paused, and Sally wondered if he would elaborate, but then he said, very quietly, and perhaps also a little hesitantly, “But I think I’ll have you do other things, soon.”

“Oh, God,” Sally couldn’t help saying. Part of her wanted to ask about the other things. Part of her knew what the other things—the naughty things Mark was imagining her, Sally Lanchester, doing—must be. But the feeling that spread through her body when Mark said that he would ‘have’ her do them, seemed to set fire to the already-very-warm place between her thighs.

Then, as if in a dream, she watched Mark unbutton his jeans and unzip his fly. He would leave his underwear on, wouldn’t he? She had snuck a peek into his dresser to settle the boxers or briefs question in favor of her own preference—boxers, but she had never seen him in them, and she kind of wanted to… kind of. But she wasn’t going to get to, tonight, because he was pulling them down, too, inside of his jeans, and instead of his underwear, she saw his… no, she didn’t want to use the word from health class, the anatomical word, but she still couldn’t think the other word…

“Put your hand on my cock, Sal,” Mark said. “Very gently.”

He had turned so that he was almost lying on his back—as much as he could in the narrow bed. Sally hesitated. It was so different from the health class pictures, or even from the few semi-dirty pictures she had seen, and the times she had found her eyes drawn to that part of a man on a nude picture or a statue. She had known that they got hard—yes, of course. But she hadn’t been able to imagine what it looked like. Now, in the light from Mark’s desk lamp, she saw his… cock, standing up from a little nest of dark hair.

No, of course he wouldn’t spank her if she refused to touch him there. And she wanted to touch him there. She glanced up from his lap to see that he was watching her look at him, very intently. Suddenly, imagining that he
would
punish her for disobeying, she put out her hand and gave the thing a little pat. It bobbed a bit, and Mark made a little sound that might have meant that it felt good.

Sally giggled, and Mark laughed. “Let me show you,” he said softly. “Just watch.” He moved his left hand from where it had been gently cupping her breast, and moved it to his own cock. Something about seeing him do that felt terribly wicked to Sally. She never masturbated: her mom had finally given up in despair on the hints about the possibility of self-pleasure that she had started giving Sally on her eighteenth birthday and had continued daily for nearly a month after that. It didn’t feel wrong morally or anything—it just kind of felt wrong to her.

Now Mark had his fist around his cock, and he pumped it gently, moving his hand up and down. Sally realized what the motion must be an imitation of, and felt the blood rush to her face at the thought, and of what it meant for… well, for her own future—her own future down there where the sight of Mark masturbating for her instruction made her burn even as it embarrassed her so much.

“Now you try,” he said, seizing her hand gently and moving it back to his cock, wrapping her fingers around the shaft with its very soft, loose skin, so different from anything she had ever felt before. She felt that she had almost pulled away, but the authority of his gesture seemed to settle that: this was what Mark wanted, and so Sally would do it. Mark was having her please him as he saw fit and as he liked. Sally was Mark’s girlfriend, and so she had to do what he said, touch what he wanted her to touch, give him the pleasure he demanded of her.

She tried to imitate the movements she had seen Mark use—up and down steadily but not quickly; sometimes all the way down, other times just up at the top. She watched the tip of his cock, with the little helmet-shaped part and the little slit where she knew his seed would come out, appear in her fist and disappear. Fascinated, she saw a little drop of liquid appear there.

“That’s it,” he said. “There you go. Good girl.”

She made a little cooing sound in her throat at these words, not intending to make it but simply because of how the words affected her body.
Good girl.
To have her boyfriend, her wonderful boyfriend who had spanked her, call her a good girl because she had pleased him where men most like to be pleased, made her whole being seem to melt along with the melting feeling she had down below her waist.

“Do you want to make me come?” he asked. Sally frowned a little, but then she realized that the tone of his question wasn’t really questioning, but purely rhetorical. “Make me come now, Sal. Put that hand on my balls, hold them gently, and jerk me off with the other hand. Go ahead.”

Balls. Jerk off.
The words sounded strange in her ears, but she knew exactly what they must mean. She moved her right hand down carefully, and felt in the curly hair the little sack. At the feeling Mark gave a small, manly sound of pleasure in his chest. Moving so that she was sitting cross-legged on the bed, so that she could use both hands, which made her conscious again of her own nakedness on top as her little breasts swung slightly with the motion, she did as he had commanded with her left hand and began the pumping motion again.

“Good girl,” Mark said again. “Look at my cock. Look at what you’re doing.” Sally glanced up at his face, and watched him reach out his own right hand to fondle her left breast again, which made her whimper a little at the feeling of his fingers on her nipple, but also at the way he so casually touched her private places, because he wanted to and because he could. “Look at my cock, Sal,” he said again. “You’re going to get to know it much…”

His cock gave a little jerk in her hand, his hips spasmed, and then the seed shot out, so high that it made her giggle, though some landed on her hands and even a tiny bit on her breasts. The rest got on Mark’s shirt, but he didn’t seem to care as he gathered her into his chest, lying on top of him. The feeling of that embrace was heavenly; Mark’s face wore a beatific smile, and he kissed her gently, over and over.

“Thank you, Sal.”

“You’re welcome,” she whispered.

“Did you like doing that for me?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said, nodding into his chest and then turning her cheek to rest against the cloth of his shirt. “Feels a little sticky.” She giggled.

“It comes out in the wash,” he said.

“Oh.” She thought, and then asked a question that sounded strange when she spoke it, though it sounded right in her head. “Should I wash your shirt? And… your sheets, maybe?”

Mark laughed. “Oh, Sal. That’s so sweet.”

“I guess it’s a little weird, but… I kind of want to? And then maybe I could borrow your shirt for a while?”

“Why?”

“To sleep with.” Sally realized suddenly that she wanted that more than she had known when she asked it—much more. “Please? And, um, maybe I won’t wash it until I give it back, actually?”

Chapter Nine

John Gammon was very pleasantly surprised to hear the confident tone in Mark’s voice on the phone.