Here’s another episode in my story cycle, Juliet Takes Flight. I’d love to know what you think of it! (And I’m very entertained by some of the formatting — check out the mock-iPhone text conversation!)
Juliet Takes Leave
An Erotic Student-Teacher Tale
Together with Ken again, and well-fucked for the first time in months, I feel as if I am smiling with my whole body — even the parts that are sore.
He is grinning up at me, his lips curved around my left nipple, which dangles down into his mouth. His tongue drawing up a feeling that seems to come from past my cunt, past my toes. My cunt gives a little flutter, which sets my sore ass twitching too, and I groan.
Giving my breast a quick, gentle ghost of a bite, he sits up, there on his desktop, and gathers me in his arms. “C’mon.” He swings his legs down and lifts me, like the world’s most debauched, possessed bride. “Let’s take a shower. I’ve got something to show you back at the house.”
“Thought you’d already showed me something.” I can’t resist licking the small, diamond-hard nipple that presents itself.
“Fuck.” He gasps and sways, then lifts my mouth to his. “Don’t want to drop you. And… You were the one showing me something just now.”
I grin as I tuck into his neck. “Did I?”
“Oh, fuck, yes. You wanted to blow my mind? Objective achieved.”
“Yay!” I giggle in my little cocoon of Ken.
“So…” He climbs the stairs that lead backstage to the dressing rooms.
I feel the black curtain that hides the entrance flow over me, over us, and goose pimples spring up all over my body. Little skin hard-ons, Jordan likes to call them.
“So. You liked my letters. The stories.”
My whole universe rumbles as he chuckles and walks. “I’m glad. Which was your favorite?”
I can tell he’s teasing — that he has to know which of the stories meant the most to me, did the most to me — but I decide to play innocent, though I no longer am. “Well,” I sigh, as if we were back in his poetry class and he were asking me to give my opinion on a series of sonnets, “I guess I liked the last one the most — ”
He chuckles again.
“ — but that first one?”
Kissing me on the head, he murmurs, “You were just homesick.”
I had spent four years totally focused on going to college — the last two desperate to go to the small Midwestern school in the middle of nowhere with the fabulous writing program and the beautiful stone buildings.
And yet when my parents and my sister dropped me off at that very college, all I could think about was the people I left behind.
I texted with Jordan and some of our other friends a lot, but I didn’t get much mail, especially at the beginning of the year, so the RA had to bring me a note telling me that there was a package waiting for me at the office. “A large envelope,” he said. He handed me a slip.
I frowned. A large envelope? I hadn’t ordered anything…
Then I saw Ken’s return address on the slip, and all but ran down to the dorm mailroom. The RA’s laughter followed me down the hall. “Boyfriend finally write?” he called.
If you only knew, I thought.
I promised you that I’d write the story of my first time with Dana, my teacher and first lover. Never let it be said that I didn’t keep my promises. But I have to tell you: writing this, it’s had me as nervous as the virgin I was back then. Palms sweaty, shivering. The only thing that’s kept me going is remembering your face when you asked me to write this for you — how could anyone ever deny that face anything…?
“Oh, god, Ken, I…” I try to burrow closer, though I don’t know that it’s possible. “I’m amazed my fingers didn’t fall off.”
“Huh. I really had to try hard not to think of that, writing them, or I wouldn’t have been able to write them at all.”
“Didn’t want to think of me,” I sigh as breathily as I can manage, “lying on my back, my legs all spread, skirt around my waist, those pages in one hand and the other hand — ?”
He silences me by lifting me to another kiss. “No,” he grunts. “I didn’t want to think of that at all. Or every page would have been splattered with my cum.”
As I groan and get ready to see if I can get some of that cum to splatter somewhere more useful, he sets my feet on the cool tile floor of the girls’ dressing room showers. “Girls’ room?”
He presses me up against the tile wall, the smooth chill a wonderful contrast to his warm, muscled hairiness. “Night after I wrote the first story, the one I promised you about Dana?”
“After I’d sealed the envelope. I sat there at my desk, my cock in my hand…” I can feel that cock beginning to harden again against my belly. “Thinking of Dana, some. But thinking of you. Of you, in here, taking a shower after a show. Water flowing over…” He ran soft fingers down my chest, making me shiver. “Came in here and — ”
“Ken.” I can see him, as he no doubt was able to see me. I can see his left hand wrapped around his dark red cock as his right holds him up against the wall. Can hear him moaning my name. I start to reach for that wonderful, thick cock (Mouth next, or hand, or cunt, or between my —?)
He stops me, and gives a growl. His gaze pierces mine. “Shower first.”
After that first package arrived, I read and reread the story of Ken and Dana’s first… lesson so many times that I could have recited most of it from memory.
My nice roommate Franny, who was already engaged to a boy back in Alaska, teased me mercilessly if very nicely for carrying the letter with me everywhere.
She walked in on me twice — to our mutual embarrassment — reading it with one hand between my legs, lying on my bed just as I described to Ken. Franny decided I was pining for my own boy back home (which I admitted I was, though I didn’t bother mentioning that by no definition could I consider him a boy) and said she totally understood — but could I at least find somewhere a bit more private?
From then on, I made a great deal of use of the dorm bathrooms, and of the drama department’s dressing rooms, which, unlike the ones in high school, could be locked. I discovered that sitting in front of the make-up mirror, my feet up on the table, I could watch my growing excitement out of the corner of my eye as I read that first story — and all of the later ones.
It was surprisingly exciting.
Not as exciting as it would have been to watch Ken bring me off. But the best I could manage under the circumstances.
Franny had shown me some of her fiancé’s letters, and I couldn’t imagine masturbating to them, full as they were of details about his own classes and occasional expressions of sticky sentimentality. To be honest, I couldn’t imagine Franny touching herself at all, since she had made such a point of mentioning that she was saving herself until after the wedding that they had scheduled for after his graduation, two years in the future.
In the mean time, I had… Well, I had a bit of Ken.
One night in October, our hall held a kegger. Which seemed weird for a freshman dorm, but there you go.
When we stumbled back to our room, Franny asked me what it was like for boys — did I know?
“What’s what like?”
“The whole… virginity thing.” As always when we talked sex, Franny had her serious, studious face on, but she was flushed and I could make out her nipples through her buttoned-up top, which was more than a bit disconcerting. “I mean… Is it really… hard for them?” She giggled at her own double-entendre.
I blinked. “Uh. I guess.” Fuzzy-headed as I was, I thought back over what little I knew. “I don’t think… I mean, don’t buy the whole blue-balls thing, okay? I mean, yeah, they get horny like anyone, but they can…” I made a vague jacking-off motion and she giggled again. “I mean, you could ask Joe.” Her fiancé.
Now she turned beet red. “Oh, wow. I could never talk with him about that!”
I frowned at her. “Really?”
She shook her head.
“That must suck,” I said, and was surprised when she giggled again.
“Suck!” she snorted, sounding more like a twelve-year-old than a college student. Then she got her serious face on again. “But… I mean, you talked to me about how, even though you were scared, how nice your first time was — ” Which it was, though I’d left out a lot of the details, obviously. “ — but is it as scary, you know, for guys? I mean, was your boyfriend as nervous as you were?”
“Oh.” I paused and, drunk as I was, tried to think about what I could say about it. “Well, yeah, they are. I guess… I mean, I wasn’t, you know, his first. Not by a long shot.”
Franny’s eyes got very wide. “Didn’t that bother you?”
I thought about that and shook my head. “Nah. It’s actually kind of nice, when one of the partners can be kind of a teacher. You know?”
She considered that for a bit and then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah. I guess it does.”
We tumbled into our beds not long after that, but our conversation and the alcohol had me thinking about that damned story from Ken again. Lying in bed, listening to my roommate snore, I visualized a young Ken as I’ve seen him in pictures: hair dark and covering his brows, face smooth and serioius. Thinking of him down on his knees, his face buried between Dana’s thighs…
I had to stuff my free hand into my own mouth to keep from screaming when I finally came that night.
I can’t say, then, why it shocked me months later when I walked into our dorm room and found Jason, the terminal virgin who lived across the hall, in exactly the position in which I’d imagined Ken: down on his knees, surprisingly long cock in his hand, happily lapping at my roommate’s crotch.
“Did you really write her about me?” I ask. The water of the shower is flowing over us, and we’ve soaped each other and rinsed each other, but somehow haven’t gotten out of the spray. I have Ken’s balls in my hand. It always amazes me how heavy they feel after he’s come. It seems as if they should be lighter.
He is the one with his back against the wall now, his face utterly relaxed. “Dana?”
I nod, and lick at Ken’s nipple, evoking a shudder, a twitch of those heavy balls.
“Huh. Yeah.” His eyes are lust-heavy, half-closed.
“Did she ever write back?” I ask, lifting my wrist to my mouth and lapping up his juice.
“Yeah. I’ll show you the letter. Basically, she wanted to make sure that you were getting off, that it wasn’t just me.”
“She didn’t!” Suddenly I feel very naked. Which seems silly, because, after all, there I am in the shower with my love — what would I be wearing? Which makes me embarrassed.
Laughing, he pulls me against his wet, clean, slick body. “Yes, she did. She said, and I quote, ‘Just because you’ve turned into an old goat doesn’t mean you can’t put that sweet tongue of yours to use on that sweet young girl!’”
“Oh, God, Ken!”
“Yeah,” he snorts, “she always had a way with words.” He kisses me, and I feel naked again, but now that is not such a bad thing. He turns us, so that I once against stand with my back to the wet, no-longer-cold wall. “I wrote her back and told her not to worry, that it was still my second favorite sex act, that she’d taught me well, thank you very much. That I was pretty sure you were satisfied.”
I agree loudly, embarrassed though I am to think of Ken, my older man, talking about eating my pussy with Dana, his older woman — the first pussy he ever tasted — and spread my legs as he drops slowly to his knees.
I am so…
I am so fucking lucky….
The fall zoomed by. I was astonished that, though I was only taking four classes, I seemed to be working twice as hard as I ever had in high school.
I loved the professors. I loved the people in my classes. I even loved Franny and Jason, though their we’re-not-having-sex act made me very uncomfortable.
My acting prof talked me into auditioning for a production of Midsummer Night’s Dream. I was cast as a fairy. (I do serve the fairy queen, to dew her orbs upon the green suddenly struck me as intriguingly nasty) I loved the grad student director. I loved the cast.
I missed my friends from home. I missed Jordan. I missed Ken.
From: The light of your life, fire of your loins
Was going to write you a letter, but I kind of like the idea of you reading this at your desk while the freshmen meander in.
I’m in the women’s dressing rooms. I’m naked. I’ve got your story about you and Dana on the make-up table where I can read it, my laptop on one thigh and my hand working away at my pussy on the other, but I’d really, really rather have you here.
I’d really rather have you kneeling between my legs, or eating you while you sit up on the make-up table, your cock sliding through my lips.
But I have to do without these things. Oh, woe is me! I have to wait another two months to see you. Why, oh, why do have to go visit your boring family for Thanksgiving??? However will I survive until Christmas?
I know! Write me more stories. ALL the stories. I want to hear about all of the other women who got to play with you before me, and what they taught you. I want to know EVERYTHING.
Will you write me the stories about you and your lovers, so that I can sit here, fingering myself, dreaming of you fucking me, spreading me, making me scream?
Have I gotten you hard? I hope so. Thinking of you reading this with your cock in your hand has got me sooo close. I think I’m going to hit send and put my laptop down now before I cum and send it flying.
The night after I sent that email begging him to write more, I was walking back from Midsummer Night’s Dream rehearsal when my phone rang. The previous summer, Jordan had set Ken’s ringtone to “Wannabe” — If you wannabe my lover/You gotta get with my friends…. A silly song from a silly group, but it made me laugh every time I heard it, thinking both of my friend and of my lover. I pulled the phone out of my pocket and squealed, “Ken!”
“Allison.” His voice was low, rumbly, and made me feel like his student again.
“You sound well.”
“What have you been up to?”
“I’m, uh, on my way back from Dream rehearsal.”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. The director has us fairies doing this whole Balinese dance thing. It’s really cool.”
“Nice,” he said in a way that sounded suprisingly not nice. That sounded surprisingly dirty. “Any cute guys in the cast?”
“Ken.” He always asked this. It was beginning to piss me off.
“Yes. Several. Mostly gay or involved, and it wouldn’t matter even if they weren’t.”
“Aren’t you going to ask me about cute women?” He usually did that too, which also pissed me off.
“No.” He was silent for moment. A long moment, so that I began to fidget. Then he asked, “Do you want to know what I’ve just been doing?”
“Of course.” I found that I was standing there, holding my breath, looking west.
“Well, I finished rehearsal too. Twelfth Night.”
“They’ve been gone nearly an hour.”
Right, I thought, high school. Rehearsals right after school.
“Do you want to know what I’ve been doing since the cast left?”
My breath caught at the edge on his tone. “Yes?”
“I’ve been standing here at my desk. Rereading that fucking email that I got from you just before all of my fucking freshmen children trooped in. I’ve been standing here, with my very, very hard cock in my hand, thank you very much, thinking about bending your naked body over this fucking desk and ramming my very, very hard cock into you. Very, very hard.”
I stood there, phone to my ear, my breath steaming my glasses.
“If I ever get another email or text like that from you during school, Allison?”
Two more breaths. “Yes, Ken?”
“Allison.” I could feel his voice more than hear it. “If you ever do that again, Allison, I promise you, I won’t ever fuck you here. In the theater. Till you scream.”
“Oh.” Three breaths. “Okay.”
“Sorry.” How could he have known? I hadn’t told him how much of a fantasy that very scene (bent over the desk, staring up at the small stage…) had been for me since long before he and I ever became lovers. How much of a fantasy it still was. “Sorry.”
He didn’t respond for a second, but I thought I could hear a smile. “Allison?”
“You are. The light of my life. The fire of my loins.” He savored that last word like chocolate.
Standing there in the cool November night, I felt heat flow through me. “I’m glad.”
The next story arrived three days later.
What do you think? I’d love your feedback!
We’re working on the next full Allison/Ken release, “Juliet Takes Takes a Chance,” which will be available as an ebook and an audiobook, and will take Allison down a whole new road….
And we’re still looking at “Juliet Takes Off” and thinking about ways to get it un-banned. (ETA: DONE!) We love being able to put the BANNED ON AMAZON AND KOBO label on the cover, but we’d much rather be able to sell it everywhere! If you’d be willing to talk through ideas, I’d love to pick your brains.
- Dear Juliet (kdwestwrites.wordpress.com)