Teach Me Dirty(67)

“Don’t ever be sorry for trying, Helen. You’re doing great.”

“I so want to be good at this…”

“You are good at this, you’re good at everything.”

She giggled. “You’re good at lying.”

But I wasn’t. I’ve never been good at lying. She was good, she was excellent, not in technique so much as desire. She was an open book, vulnerable and authentic and unadulterated, and it was magical. Helen was magical. She took a steadier approach, taking me into her mouth slowly, back and forth as she tried to find her rhythm.

“That’s it…” I said, taking her hair. “That’s nice…”

She was a keen student, as always, and she sank into her groove, sucking gently as she moved in rhythm, her lips tight around my shaft, her tongue a butterfly of pleasure. Her mouth made soft, wet noises, and they were delicious enough to drive me insane. I picked up speed around my cock, gripping her hand and guiding it in time with her mouth, until I was bucking with my hips. Reaching the edge.

“Taste me…”

Her eyes met mine and they were wide with understanding. She pulled away and nodded, letting me take over the rhythm of her hand around my cock.

“I’m close…” I said, and she opened her mouth and licked her lips, and the sparkle in her eyes made me warm and fuzzy. She was stunning. Absolutely breathtakingly stunning.

My thighs tensed, and my cock jerked, and she was waiting, unworldly and beautifully trusting and full of nerves.

She flinched as the first spurt hit, coating her pretty lips and dribbling down her chin. She closed her mouth in shock, but I was too far gone to stop, and the next spurt caught her right across her face. It was a comely mess, and all the more so when a third spurt caught her in the eye. She blinked, once, twice before she wiped away the smear, and she was giggling, laughing at herself.

“I think it’s safe to say I messed that up…”

I was smiling, laughing a laugh that was nothing more than a hiss of breath as my body came down from my release. “It was your first go. I messed up as much as you did.”

“You didn’t,” she said. “I liked it, anyway.” She blinked again. “My eye is stinging, though. Is it supposed to sting? And it’s salty, isn’t it? Really salty.” She licked her chin. “I can live with salty… I like salty…”

“It’s better to avoid your eyes. Does tend to sting, unfortunately.”

“I need more practice…”

“I’m never going to say no to more of that, Helen.”

The mood changed as she registered my choice of words, and I took a breath and she did, too.

My beautiful girl was beautifully dirty; the tops of her thighs dry with blood and sex, and her face splotched with cum, and humour and an irresistible hint of self-consciousness.

I pushed myself up from the bed, and reached out a hand. “Come,” I said. “Let’s get you all cleaned up.”

***

Helen



I screwed my eyes shut and let Mr Roberts lead me, and I was laughing. My eyes were stinging, and my cheeks felt weird and clammy, and I was still sore and sensitive between my legs. But I was happy.

Oh my God, was I happy.

He led me along the corridor, and through a doorway, and there were tiles under my feet. He dropped my hand, and I opened my eyes enough to take in my surroundings. His bathroom was as artistically disorganised as the rest of his house, with plants trailing from the windowsill and paintbrushes resting on the basin. I watched him reach into the bathtub and turn on the shower head, and he tested the heat of the water, only pulling back the shower curtain when we were good to go.

I stepped up into the bath and into his arms, and it was so warm there, cocooned in his grip as the shower rained down on me. He tipped my face up to the cascade, and I held my breath and closed my eyes as his fingers washed away the stickiness and the saltiness and the stinging.

He smoothed my hair under the water, teasing out the lengths before grabbing a bottle. He lathered shampoo into my scalp, then carried on down, frothing me up with body scrub that smelled of tea tree and citrus. I enjoyed the moment, moving wherever he guided, as he washed me and stroked me and pressed his lips against my wet skin. His fingers felt like heaven as they soaped my breasts, tweaking and coaxing until I could feel myself rolling into him. I gasped as his hand slipped between my legs, but he was so gentle, soaping me up and washing me down, leaving no part of me unclean.

But I didn’t feel self-conscious.

I felt loved.

I wanted to do the same for him, but he was tall enough that he had to crouch for me, and I was giggling all over again. His hair was surprisingly long when it was wet, curling down around his shoulders. I loved the feel of it around my fingers.

I loved the feel of his wet skin against mine.

He was hard again as I soaped him, and I wondered if he’d take me again, but he didn’t. He pressed me against the tiles and planted his mouth on mine, and kissed me, and I kissed him. And I wanted to pinch myself, over and over again, just to make sure this was really happening.

Finally, when we were a sud-free zone, he kissed the top of my head and turned off the faucet.

He reached for a towel and wrapped me up, and twisted my hair up into a second towel.

And then he sighed.

“I can’t believe I have to get ready now.”