Sheila Lane: The Tutor_s Suitors

Paula lay warm and glowing above the sheets, her clean beauty sheened with a coat of perspiration, filming her forehead and round breasts.

She moved slightly, her body making a short stemmed, lacy bouquet of white skin and blond curls upon the immense bed. One flesh-swollen tit rolled out of her frilly nightgown, hollowing its soft way into a curve of an even softer pillow. A wild whim ran a hot sensation down her naked spine, and her finger moved between her legs, hair stroking. But she put the thought aside. Why were her thoughts more often than not concentrated on that moist, lippy spot? Her dreaming lately, had seldom wandered far from the arena of sex… the noticing of that mushy bunch in the tight jeans of the boys in her Sunday School class… that butter-soft mouth of Mike Randall as he sat on the floor before her each Sunday… thinking how that young mouth would feel against her creaming vaginal lips… and would he know enough at his age to dart his tongue out a bit… Ohhh! How that would feel!

No! Don't think that! And then it would stop for a while, but after she got done telling herself how obscene, how filthy those thoughts were, and she wanted nothing to do with such things – it would begin all over again. Maybe this time it would start with the saliva suddenly filling her mouth with the thick outline of that something hanging down Jay Divan's leg when she watched him stretching up to a shelf in class to get the lesson books down. Or something as silly as finding herself sucking on a hot dog instead of biting into it.

It was almost midnight and Paula Swan was still not asleep. Paula's ice-blue eyes glittered wetly in the darkness. She had almost hated her father for his holier-than-thou lectures. Yet, as the years of her childhood had passed, something had happened. The developing of her body, the looking forward to the odor of her father's male-odors when he stood next to her in church.

And then, of course, there was Jim Vickers.

Jim Vickers handling her body in the car, after those meetings. Jim Vickers, built like her father, even smelled vaguely like him. Remembering herself throwing her arms around Jim Vickers' neck, thrusting her hard nipples against him, tossing her head as far back as it would go, beginning a swaying movement that caused her tight body to rub back and forth against him, the closing of her eyes then, and the fluttering of her dark lashes. And on those nights with Jim, everything else was forgotten, and a new air of excitement would grip her, and Jim would reach down and grip her squirming legs, nudging them apart gently. She remembered him, seeing him through the moonlight that strayed into the parked car, looking down at her straining thighs, and he would lean forward, more closely then, to scrutinize the exposed valley of – naked blond-fluffed fringe between them.

And Paula would groan, not wanting to, but doing it anyway, and her own fingers would reach down far and find the throbbing thicknesses of him.

She lay in her bed remembering the firm, flesh curving rigidly from Jinn's belly. Greedily, she would stroke at it, rubbing the soft flesh of her naked thigh against it, feeling the warm, spear-like penis sway back and forth in her grasp. Soon she would feel the sticky wetness shoot out of him, drenching her thighs, trickling down below her butt on the car seat.

"You hot, lovely thing," Jim would grunt, driving himself against her, "You're making me come now… come with me, Paula!" And Paula would sob with desire, wanting to get at his whole body, grasp that lovely thick rod of meat with her lips, but his hands would keep her far enough away that only her wet tongue could dream of tasting the bulging head of his arrogant masculinity. But he would then throw his face on her bared tit and suck sweetly on her aroused nipple,, and with his free hand he would lift her smooth buttocks so that the slit of dewy flesh and light foliage formed a perfect target just twelve inches below his sucking lips.

In her bed, Paula arched her supple back, drifting sweetly off into the hot bath of always remembered memories. She felt it build up in her, and she shuddered with exquisite pleasure. Her index finger thumped madly at her clit while her other hand stroked at her nipple, just as Jim used to do.

"Yes, yes, yes!" she moaned, in the quiet of her room.

She thought of him doing the things Jim had never done.

Fucking her in the ass.

Fucking her in the mouth, coming in great gushes on her tongue.

Fucking her between her breasts, rubbing the purplish head of his penis over the hard nipples.

Her muscles corded and one hand clutched at the still-cool sheet.

A stab of pure pleasure made Paula's entire body convulse as the wild thought of Jim's tongue plunging through the thatch of blond pubic hair, finding what it sought, raced through her fantasizing mind.

The moan that signaled the approach of orgasm rose to a little cry of joy, and she moved her hand from her tit, up into her mouth, and sucked on it, as though it was the real thing.

She kissed the finger with an open mouth, taking the tip of it between her lips, her tongue licking at it violently. She ran her tongue over and around the stiff finger, making whimpers of sheer joy.

And then her mind galloped through the thought of Jim inside her, digging deep while his fingers tweaked her nipples, fingernails running over their tips.

Paula raised her hips to meet the imagined low eying of Jim's cock into her. And she came. And came… and came…

Paula fell asleep then, never having another thought. It was a Saturday night, and the next morning she would appear at her Sunday School class with that pure, innocent, freshly-white smile on her face, and no one would ever dream of the longing that racked her over-ripe body.

Paula Swan shifted on the leather seat of her chair and raised her head from the Sunday school lesson material she'd been reviewing. Her blue eyes met the insolent black eyes of Jay Divan, and she realized with a shock that she had done it again – she had hooked he; heels on the rung of the chair and let her knees spread outward, pulling her short skirt taut across the tops of her thighs and revealing their inner surfaces to the three boys sitting on the floor just a few feet beyond her table. No matter how often she cautioned herself to keep her feet on the floor and her knees tightly together during this hour every Sunday morning, she sometimes found she had forgotten and then the results were embarrassing. She supposed her lapses were caused by the fact that she sat that way at work, but there it didn't matter because nobody could see her legs behind the solid front of her desk. Here the table offered no protection, and since the boys had taken to sprawling on the floor, it was worse than ever.

Her first impulse was to get to her feet and dismiss the class. But that wouldn't do. The lesson period still had over five minutes to run, and if she let her group go early, they'd disturb the other classes and wander off and not stay for services. Dr. Johnson wouldn't like that and neither would Dr. Muster, the new assistant minister and director of the youth program. Both men constantly emphasized the fact that these youngsters were the adults of tomorrow and should start taking their spiritual duties seriously. Paula agreed with them, but she could also understand how the kids felt. She was only twenty herself and sometimes shared their reluctance to spend an hour listening to Dr. Johnson's tired old voice when they could cut off to the beach or the park on this warm, summery day.