Teach Me Dirty (28 page)

“Ow,” she breathed. “It burns… a nice burn…”

I took her breast in my hand and I squeezed her, pinched until her hard little nipple was rolling between my thumb and forefinger and she was rocking her hips. And then I spilled wax on her, right there as she moaned, and it was beautiful.

I loved the patterns on her skin, the creamy rivers of wax hardening on her soft flesh. Her nipples looked so tender, tight with anticipation of their beautiful punishment, and her face was innocence and devilment in equal measure, nerves and excitement combined. I put the candle aside and unbuttoned her jeans, shimmying them down her legs and onto the floor before I took her knees in my hands and parted them wide.

Her cute little panties were bunched into her slit, and the fabric was damp and cloying. I ran my thumb between the folds and she let out a beautiful moan.

“Such a pretty wet pussy.”

She gasped as my thumb found her clit.

“So sensitive… it’s going to look so beautiful.”

A tiny murmur as she registered my intentions, but her hips rose so willingly for me to pull down her panties. I held them to my nose and took a breath before discarding them, and her scent made my cock jerk in my trousers. I reached for her waist and shunted her forward in her seat, so her ass was balanced on the edge, her feet braced on the floor. I licked my fingers slowly as she watched, then pushed two inside in one strong push. She took them, and groaned, and I fucked her like that, slowly and deeply. Her excitement made my fingers so slick, my movements solid as I angled them to find the right spot. Her breath turned shallow at the sensation, and once she was drifting into the pleasure I picked up the candle.

She flinched as wax splashed the tender skin of her thighs.

“Ow…”

“Good girl.”

Streaks of beautiful white wax, dripping and rolling so slowly over her skin. I timed the heat with her breaths, with her movements, and with the steady thrust of my fingers, and she rolled with me, rolled with the sharp little floods of heat. Tiny drips coated her belly, splattering her so perfectly, and she began to whimper as she knew what was coming.

“Keep your legs spread wide.”

She nodded, and closed her eyes as I lifted her feet and placed them against my chest. Her weight shifted, her balance precarious and dependent on me. Her legs were taut as she spread her thighs, and she was bared to me, her beautiful wet pussy glistening.

She cried out as the first drips hit her, and her thighs clenched so tight they shuddered.

“Oh, God… Mark…”

“Don’t be scared.”

She took a breath. “I’m not…”

I marked her pussy with a line of wax, and she quivered.

“You look so beautiful, Helen.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Spread your pussy for me, nice and wide with your fingers.”

I watched the breath from her open mouth as she stared at me, and her dainty fingers did what they were told. The bud of her clit was swollen and needy, her slit so pink and wet for me. She bit her lip as I moved the candle there, squeaking out cute little whimpers of nerves.

“Ready?”

I felt her tense up. “Yes, Mark,
sir
. Oh God…”

Tiny drips splashed her most sensitive places and she shuddered and moaned and rocked in her seat, but she was smiling, making such delicious utterings of shock and excitement and pain.

“That’s my girl.”

I reached for another candle, and red wax met white, and turned pink, pink swirls and splashes on her tender pussy, and streaks on her gorgeous thighs, and her chest was heaving, head tipped back.

“Mr Roberts… please…”

“Good girl…” I teased the wax at her pussy, and the downy hairs of her pulled tight and made her squirm and wriggle. Then I let myself free as the muse called and demanded more. Swirls of red wax across her breasts, splashing her nipples with colour, and she was beautiful. I lit more candles, blue and purple and green, and I decorated her, my beautiful girl in splotches and swirls, colour on colour, blending and pooling on her skin. And then I touched her, I touched her pretty pussy until she bucked at my fingertips, until her eyes were glazed and her breath was short, and the patterns on her breasts rose and fell for me, a living canvas.

I pulled my tie loose as she watched, and she held her legs high as I cast aside my shirt. Her feet landed back on my bare chest, and the skin on skin burned me up. I loosened my belt, and pulled out my cock, working it just a little. I braced myself, hands against the back of the chair, my face in hers, as the head of my cock found her waiting.

“Yes…” she hissed. “Oh, God, fuck me, Mark… please fuck me…”

But I surprised her.

I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her to the floor with me, guiding her on top as I kicked off my trousers. She straddled me, her warm pussy pinning my cock to my belly, and she rocked back and forth so naturally, teasing me so gently that the pleasure was excruciating. She was a goddess above me, her hair shiny and soft in the candlelight, eyes twinkling as her fingers traced the wax swirls on her body.

“Pretty patterns,” she whispered.

“Pretty patterns on a beautiful girl,” I groaned. “You’re such a good girl, Helen. You were perfect.”

“I really wanted it,” she said, and her breath was raspy. “I loved it.” Her fingers explored me, fluttered down my chest to my belly and up again. Soft tickles around my nipples, and her eyes ate me up. “I can’t believe you’re really mine…”

“Take me,” I said. “Find what feels good for you.”

The hint of a blush on her cheeks made my cock twitch under her.

“You want me to ride you?”

“I want you to use my body to explore your own. Find what feels nice for you, Helen.”

She raised herself enough to take my cock in her hand, and guided it to her slit. I held my breath as she held hers, exhaling as the tightness of her inched its way down to consume me. It was torturously slow, and blissfully divine, and her expression of wonder was the most beautiful thing in creation.

“This feels so good…” she rasped. “It feels so nice…”

I groaned as she took me all the way inside, fighting back the urge to thrust and buck and plough her sweet little cunt. Her movements were fluid and feline, but shy, so shy at first. She circled her hips in gentle motions, adjusting to the swell of me inside her, and it was bliss.

“Your pussy is divine, Helen.”

“It feels nice like this…” she breathed. “I feel so full…”

I reached for her breasts, flicking my thumbs across her waxy nipples as she found her groove. Her movements became more urgent, more pronounced. She arched her back and pushed forward, and my cock pulsed inside her. She moaned and ground against me, and instinct took hold of her, she became needy in her rhythm, her lips parting in sweet sounds of lust.

“Oh, Mark… I feel you… I really feel you.”

“Take me, Helen, I’m all yours.”

She braced herself, back arched and her hands on my thighs, sliding up and down my cock so slowly that I had to grit my teeth. And then she shunted, just a little, and the angle changed everything. She circled her hips and whimpered and I knew she had the spot. My thumb brushed her clit and she cried out.

“That’s right, Helen… that’s it…”

“It feels… it feels… strange…”

“Go with it…”

“It feels…
I
feel…”

“Just go with it, Helen… that’s perfect…”

“Oh, Mark… it feels so nice… it feels so fucking nice…”

And then she was lost to me, a grinding, squirming, delicious bundle of pleasure. Her nerves disappeared, and she rode me, deep and frantically, consumed by the promise of orgasm until her hands were frantic, too, her nails digging into my skin as she attempted to pull me into her. I followed her lead, and bucked my hips, and she squealed.

“Oh fuck! Yes!”

“Find that spot, Helen…”

I thrust again and the noise from her was feral. “Fuck…” she whimpered. “Oh, fuck, yes! Fuck me!”

My hands took her hips and they held her there. And then I fucked her, thrusting into her as she bounced on me, and she was a whimpering, squirmy mess, and it was perfect.

“I need to pee…” she said, and her eyes were wide and mortified.

I smiled. “You don’t.”

“I do…” she insisted. “I need to pee…”

“Trust me,” I said. “Just don’t stop.”

And then it happened for her. A look of bewilderment flashed across her eyes, and she groaned, and pinched my thighs in her fingers, and the urges consumed her and burned her up. She was incoherent as she wriggled, making noises that made no conscious sense, but that I understood completely, and her whole body tensed and jerked on mine.

And I fucked her. My God, how I pumped her sweet pussy.

She gripped me like a vice, and when she came it was the most intense pleasure I’ve ever felt. Her tight little cunt squeezed me and milked me and sent me toppling over the edge just as she went.

Perfect shock on her face, perfect shock and raw emotion, and pleasure, and even a hint of fear of the unknown.

I pulled her hands from my thighs, and I took them in mine and I squeezed them tight.

And there was white behind my eyes, and the pounding of my heart in my ears, and the world felt so far away.

“Mark… I… just…”

“I know…” I said. “I know…”

She turned to jelly as the rush subsided, her limbs quivering and weak. I pulled her onto me and held her tight, her head on my shoulders and her ragged breath against my neck.

“Beautiful, beautiful girl,” I whispered as I stroked her hair.

“I’ve never felt like this…”

I smiled and breathed in her hair. “It’s just the beginning, Helen.”

I was still inside her, my cock still twitching, and I never wanted it to end, never wanted this feeling to leave me.

She made little whimpers, and they were somewhere between giggles and sobs, and when I angled her face to mine her eyes were wet, but she was smiling.

“Are you ok?” I said.

She nodded. “I just… my heart can’t contain this…”

I smoothed her hair and a tear rolled down her cheek as she smiled, and it was the most crazy beautiful expression.

“I love you,” I said, and I meant it.

The creature in my arms was more than I could understand, more than I could rationalise or fathom. She was beauty, and life, and soul. She was the promise in the morning light and the curious shadow of twilight. She was the ghost of winter in the autumn shade. She was the green of freshly mown grass, and the scent of cinnamon on the breeze. She was indigo pink, and rain on my cheeks. She was a sacred treasure and nothing less.

I wanted to protect her. Wanted to love her. Wanted to consume her, and tear her apart and make her whole again.

I wanted to possess her. Wanted to worship her. Wanted to wrap her soul in mine and keep her there for all time.

“I really love you, Mr Roberts. I really, really love you,” she said. “I love you so much I don’t even know how to bear it. And I’ll never leave this. I’ll never leave you. I’m yours, and I’ve always been yours, and I’ll be yours forever.”

And I believed her.

My God, I actually believed her.

Helen

Soft sheets and warmth and morning light. And him.

I smiled before I opened my eyes, and he was there waiting.

“Rise and shine, sleepy head. Big day today.”

“Every day with you is a big day.”

“You flatter me, Helen, you really do.”

He was already up and showered, his skin damp as I pulled him back into bed with me. Wet curls tickled, trailed a path to my stomach as he pulled back the covers and kissed his way down. He stopped when his warm breath teased my pussy, and I groaned.

He laughed a gentle laugh. “You are an insatiable little vixen.”

“You do this to me.”

He got to his feet, and pulled me with him. “Later.”

A fizz of excitement zipped up my spine. “So, tell me, Mr Roberts. Where are we going on our big day?”

I watched him towel himself, and it was magical. The tiny things were magical. All the little routine things I’d dreamed of for so long. Mr Roberts was such a proper man, strong and lean, and all grown up. His legs were long and toned, and his shoulders were broad and finely angled. And his ass. His ass was just perfect.

He reached into his wardrobe and pulled out a shirt.

“Are you checking me out, Miss Palmer?”

I smiled, and felt the flush on my cheeks. “I can’t help it, I’m liking what I’m seeing.”

“The pleasure is entirely reciprocated.”

And that’s when I realised the nervousness had gone from me. I was standing, naked and morning rough, in front of a man that made my heart dance in my chest, without even the slightest concern for modesty. And that was him, too. His calm appreciation, his loving touch, his praise and flattery and his integrity. I felt safe with Mr Roberts. Safe, and loved, and confident.

He made me feel confident.

It felt so nice to feel
enough
, where before I felt so lacking. It felt so nice to be
me
.

My skin still felt soft and cherished, lathered in citrus body wash and peppered with kisses as he’d washed his patterns away before bedtime.

He pulled on a pair of dark jeans that paired perfectly with the lighter blue of his shirt.

“Dress warm today, Helen. We’ll be doing a bit of walking.”

He had a sock drawer, and it was colourful and cluttered and zany, and it made me smile. He raised an eyebrow. “What?”

“Just you,” I said. “Just everything.”

“Are you envious of my collection? Life’s too short for boring socks, Helen.”

“Nothing about you will ever be boring.”

“Say that when you’ve watched me do a crossword for three hours straight.” His eyes looked me up and down and he sighed, and it sounded happy. And then he clapped his hands. “Time waits for no one, Miss Horny, you’d better get your pretty little ass into some clothes before you tempt me back out of mine.”

I could hardly sit still in my seat, my tummy a ball of excitement as we joined the motorway.

“Where are we going?” I put on my best smile. “Surely you can tell me now?”

He shook his head. “Wait and see.”

“But I’m excited!”

“I should hope so. That’s the intention.”

“Somewhere far away?”

“Hopefully far enough.”

The thought made me soar.
Far enough
. Far enough to be together. To hold his hand, and kiss him, and smile and laugh and be a proper couple.
A proper couple
. It was a dream. A crazy dream.

I watched the signs pass us by as we headed further north. Up past Worcester and Droitwich towards Birmingham. Birmingham was big. Big enough to be anonymous. Maybe that’s where we were going.

I asked him a zillion questions. I asked him about his best memories, and his most embarrassing moments. I asked him about films, and music, and childhood holidays. I asked him about his childhood art projects, and his favourite animals, and the ten things he’d put in room 101.

And then I told him mine.

And he laughed, and he smiled, and he listened. And he really wanted to know. I could see it in his eyes.

He wanted to know me.

“Sachets,” I finished up. “I hate them.”

“Hate them enough to abolish them forever? Why so? Surely they have a convenience, no?”

I shook my head. “Firstly, they never have enough actual sauce in them to achieve anything.”

He held up a finger. “So, you’re talking purely sauce sachets. Not salt or sugar. This needs clarifying, Helen. You couldn’t just blanket abolish sachets and regret it later.”

“Ok, Mr Sachet-saver,
sauce
sachets. You need at least three to actually get enough, and then they’re all sticky and go over your fingers, and you can hardly open the latter ones. And then, where do you even put them when they’re empty? It’s a mess. A stupid, pointless, fiddly, ridiculous waste of time.”

He pulled a face. “I don’t think I can rubber stamp the sauce sachet abolishment, Helen. I’m not convinced their downsides are so heinous they deserve a ban.”

“You’re so wrong.”

He laughed. “I am, am I?”

I nodded. “Totally.”

“So, I’m not allowed to put stupid mobile game apps in room 101, but sauce sachets deserve a spot?”

“Yes. That’s correct.”

He indicated for the motorway exit. Birmingham it was. My tummy tickled.

“We’ll have to take this up another time, Helen. Don’t think for a second this debate is done. ” His eyes sparkled.

He drove us into the outskirts and parked up by the university train station. And then he took my hand, and I couldn’t stop smiling. There were people all around us, going about their business without giving us a second glance, and it felt amazing.

“You going to tell me now?” I said as we took our seats on the train.

“I’m taking you somewhere beautiful.”

And I knew. I just knew.

And I was right.

Birmingham Art Gallery was sprawling and busy and absolutely fabulous. I let out a little shriek as we stepped into the foyer.

“I haven’t been here since I was little,” I gushed. “I made Mum and Dad bring me here for my birthday.” I squeezed his hand.

“I remember. You told me all about it.”

“They have the largest collection by Edward Burne-Jones in the
world
, and I love his work. I love it. And baroque, they have a whole baroque display. And David Cox, too, they have so many of his watercolours here. His landscapes are just incredible. They take my breath away.”

He smiled, and I knew he already knew. Of course he knew. He knew better than me.

“I love the baroque display,” he said. But I already knew that, too. I knew he loved baroque. We’d already talked about it a hundred times.

And that’s when the air shifted between us, and we found that place beyond words, where there was just us, seeing the beauty in the same things, without need to explain it, or dissect it, or rationalise it. We just felt it. Felt the same things.

I watched him as he soaked in the beauty of the paintings around us, and he watched me. Some of those pictures reached inside and grabbed my soul and gripped it tight, and they gripped his, too. I could feel it in his fingers, in the way his hand held mine. He’d smile and it would speak to my heart, and make it flutter. His pleasure made my spirit dance and sing and twirl.

In that wonderful place he was my teacher again, pointing out the detail in some of the finer watercolours, and the depth of the palette in the more dramatic baroque pieces. In that wonderful place he was also a fellow artist, an admirer of talent and brilliance and flair. But mainly in that wonderful place he was my lover. He was the man whose fingertips loved mine, and whose eyes shone with shared delight.

In that wonderful place that wonderful man was all mine, and he completed me.

We were admiring
The Finding of the Saviour in the Stable
by William Holman Hunt when I felt eyes on us. Mark felt them, too, and for a second he was nervous, I could tell. I dropped his hand on instinct, just in case. It was a couple, an older couple, and they were smiling.

“Beautiful piece,” Mark acknowledged, and they stepped closer.

“We love his work,” the woman said. “He’s Ted’s favourite here.”

Ted nodded and gave a little smile.

The woman placed her hand on her heart and looked at me like I was made of porcelain. “It’s so lovely,” she said. “To see you share such a bond with your daughter like this. What a treasure that you appreciate the same things. Our son was never interested, was he, Ted? We tried so many times to get him to come along with us.”

I couldn’t look at Mark, I just couldn’t.

“I guess I’m just very lucky with Helen,” he said. He placed his hands on my shoulders and pressed himself to my back, and I could feel him. His voice was so calm. “I take such joy in showing Helen new experiences. She is such a delight of mine.”

He swayed his hips, and I felt the swell of him press against my ass. My cheeks burned up, but I smiled. I just kept smiling.

“That’s lovely,” they gushed. “So lovely.”

I didn’t know whether to be amused or mortified when they walked away, but Mark was smiling, seemingly nonplussed.

“Alright, Dad?” I poked my tongue out.

“I thought I looked pretty young for my age, clearly I was mistaken.”

“Maybe it’s me. Maybe I look like a pre-teen.”

“You certainly do not.”

He took my hand again, and it felt better. “Does that bother you?” I said. “The age gap thing?”

“That other people notice it?” He shook his head. “No. My guilt has to do with my professional standing, not the difference in age. Quite frankly, Helen, I’m not too concerned with convention for convention’s sake. Age means little to me.”

I saw them out of the corner of my eye, stopping at a painting further along.

“Kiss me,” I whispered.

“What?”

“Go on,” I said. “Please.”

“Are you trying to cause mischief for those poor old people, Helen?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Just kiss me.”

He cleared his throat, and looked around the room, and then he pressed his fingers under my chin, and tilted my face to his. It was slow. So slow. There was the softest brush of his thumbs across my cheeks, and the most tender sigh before his lips pressed to mine.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, and pulled him close, and his hands found my waist and gripped me there. His tongue pushed inside my mouth, and I sucked at him and breathed him in, and wriggled against the swell in his jeans.

And the couple were gone when I opened my eyes.

“You’ll be the ruin of me,” he said.

“So you keep saying.” I smiled.

We walked and talked through lunch without a thought, and it was well into the afternoon when he checked his watch with a start.

“Shit,” he said. “We’re going to be late if we’re not careful.”

“Late?”

“I’ve got another destination in mind.”

I scanned for signs to the exit. “Let’s go, then.”

“Our next location isn’t quite so cultured, Helen.”

I could hardly contain my intrigue.

A sex shop. Not one of those high street ones, either. A proper one. A proper one without windows. There was a woman in leopard print behind the counter.

My eyes were wide as we walked around the displays.

“So,” he said. “What delicious fantasies lurk in that pretty head of yours? Tell me what we should get.”

I was tickly inside. Tickly and excited.

“Whatever you think.”

He shook his head. “I want to know what
you
think.”

A couple squeezed past us, carrying some whips and handcuffs and possibly the biggest dildo imaginable. My voice was wispy. “I, um… I’m not sure…” I pressed into his side. “I want to try everything. Whatever you want to show me.”