Opal Andrews - The chamber of pleasures

He stared at me a moment. Then he nodded, said he'd see that I received a copy, and we parted to go to our next hour's class, he to teach and I to listen to someone else.

That was on Friday, the first day of school; on Monday he handed me the book in a fake wrapper. It is a very thick book, published in a new translation, and it begins rather slowly.

After that it is the juiciest, most sexy thing I ever could have imagined, even when the sex stops while the reader has to stumble over de… I mean over Sade's long lo-o-o-o-ong lectures.

It seemed to me that he was avoiding my eyes in class, so one day I saw him having a coffee in the little restaurant a half-block from campus, Tonio's. I went in and stood beside his table. He was reading. He looked up, then pulled off the heavy-framed black glasses he wears.

"Hullo, Miss Oldenkamp!"

"You should call me Vicky off campus," I said.

"It beats Victoria," he said, glancing around. "Sit down."

"I can't sit down, Mister Grayson, I'm on my way home." I was standing close to the table, and I pushed against its corner, watching his eyes drop. The table's corner pushing into my thighs stretched the fabric of my skirt very tightly and outlined not only my thighs but belly and bulging vulva as well.

"I just wanted to tell you that I've nearly finished Justine, and I love it. As soon as I finish it I want to start again; is that all right? I mean can I keep it that long?"

He gazed up at me. He had asked me to sit, and he was after all Faculty and I a student, so he hadn't risen. Some would. He's different.

"You love it? Really."

I nodded. "I read little pieces of it every night," I said. "I save it for when I'm through studying or whatever." (Whatever, in a couple of cases meant screwing.)

He smiled, studying me. "It is a night sort of book, isn't it?"

I smiled right back. "Yes," I said, "very useful!" Within a few minutes we had decided that he was coming over Saturday night, since I had rented an old ramshackle farmhouse… three rooms and a kitchen, with white doorknobs and all… and discuss the book with me.

It wasn't wise, what with him being Faculty and all, and a new Faculty member at that. He'd only had his Master a year, and this was the first college teaching job he'd landed. But where I live, as I had been warned by the real estate man, a sickening creature who tried to fondle and so didn't get to, is rather remote. And I do love the space and the fresh air and the trees!

Two hours after Charles Grayson arrived I was naked and on my knees before him. We achieved our rapport that fast. The book helped. Dear Justine!

"And how does it feel, being naked and on your knees before a man?" he asked, in his quiet way.

"It feels good."

He bent and snapped each of my nipples with his fingers, flicking his forefinger off his thumb the way some kids snap paper wads in High School. It stung.

"Ummmmnnnnhh! Ohh."

"And bow does that feel?"

"Good…" I whispered. It did. And the nipples were firming rapidly. I was sure I was already wet in the vag.

He set forefinger and thumb to each nipple and began to squeeze. Pressure mounted. I began to whimper and moan, with my lips set together.

"And how does that feel?"

"Um-m-m-mm-m-n-n-n-nh-h-h-h… g-g-gooo-oo-ood…"

He straightened, standing over me, and then walked over to sit down in the over-stuffed chair near the fireplace I don't use.

"Come over here."

I started to get up.

"On your knees. I want to watch your tits jump."

I went on my knees. The wideset globes of my bosom swung and shivered, and bounced and jumped, and he watched them all the way over.

This time, rather than hurt them, he bent and fondled and pressed and adored them with his hands, and I snuggled up against his legs, and when I raised my head he kissed me. We kissed a long while, with our tongues highly active. All the while he rubbed my bare back with one band and cupped my naked breasts with the other, squeezing and bouncing them. I knew that their availability and their firm bouyancy delighted him, and his hands delighted me. So did his wonderful expert mouth and tongue. He kisses beautifully, just beautifully and wonderfully.

"Un-nn-nnhh," I gasped, hugging his legs, "o-o-o-ohhh… would… would you… um!… like me-e-ee!… to… ahh-h-h-h, darling!… to suck your cock?"

He squeezed the tender white globeshapes of my breasts and pushed his thumbs into their tips telescoping them partially into the bulges they jutted from.

"Suck me? Suck my what?"

"Suck… ummmm! Suck your… ah-h-h-h-h-hhh… big… hard… dick."

I cried out as he slapped me, just like that. I looked up tearfully. "Cock," he said.

"Darlinnnnnggg…"

"Say it again."

"Say it all. Tell me what YOU want to do, bitch, my sweet little slut Vicky, don't ask me if I want YOU to do it!"

I gazed into his eyes. Very softly I said, "Let me suck your cock."

"I will let you suck it, but it won't be you giving me head, Vicky. It will be me raping your face."

I shivered violently. Oh, wonderful man! Delicious phrase! Raping my face! Beautiful concept.

"Yea."

He nudged me back with his knees, stood up, and stripped without haste. It bobbed forth to bounce before him, pointed almost straight up above his shining, large testicles in their furry container. On impulse I stretched myself on my knees to kiss them. First the right and them the left.

"Lick," he said, and I licked them until they were wet with saliva. Slowly, he sat down again.

"Kneel up," he said.

I knelt up. He fondled my breasts, gently and lovingly. Then he cupped my chin with his hand. His thumb pushed at my lips. I opened them, and be thrust his thumb into my mouth and wagged it around. I opened wide, liking the feel of it, the thought of what he was doing. Then I sucked his thumb.

He smiled slowly, nodding. "Yes," he said, "I believe you might do, at that."

"Do?"

"Shut up and get that cunt-pink tongue on my cock, bitch, until I'm ready to rape that cunt-pink mouth!"

Shivering in delight, I lowered my face swiftly to his glorious erection. I wished that he'd feel me between the legs; I was sure the secret slot there was an absolute lake. I loved his words, his voice, the things he said and wanted and… ordered.

I kissed the big deeply-red knob… I licked it. I stabbed my tongue at the tiny slitted hole in its tip, I felt it bob and tremble in my hand.

He reached down to tug my hair, and I looked up at him, questioningly.

"You don't want it," he said. "I am going to rape your face. You're helpless, you don't it, but you don't dare resist or try to bite it."

"Oh yes!" Ecstasy was coursing through me in hot liquid thrills that felt like hot water had been poured into my belly and the slit at its base. I wriggled against his legs.

He seized his own shaft, holding my bead with his other hand, his fingers entwined in my hair. He held his beautiful organ up before my face.

"Now, lick it!"

"Umm-m-m-m!" Submissively I put out my tongue to touch the tip of it, to taste its almost-clear liquid secretions. "Ummmmmm!" I ran my tongue around it then, making delicate little circular movements around the engorged crown. Desire flared in my belly, like a rising flame of lust. I licked way down the shaft, tapped one swollen testicle with my tongue, then licked back up again.

He could not be still. He lurched forward, still holding both my hair and his own mighty bludgeon of purplish-red flesh. It came at me, that little tip-slit like a single reddish eye staring at me, seeing its way to its goal: my mouth. It came. I held my teeth apart but firmed my lips to heighten the illusion, for both of us, of rape. It nudged against, my lips.

"Open that mouth and make a cunt of it."