Excuse me … have you read the Kama Sutra?

[Miltone]

This is a closed thread between Chanaud and Yours Truly. But please feel free to read along.

The Anxious Grad Student

A shyly handsome college grad student with a reluctant smile approaches the front desk of the Pennington-Shelburne research library at Northwestern State University. His shirt and slacks and deck shoes indicate that he is from a comfortable, well-to-do family. The tall librarian with striking Eurasian looks peers up at him over the rims of her half-glasses.

“May I help you?” she asks, her coffee colored eyes sparkle with flecks of cinnamon and wash up and down his lanky frame. An appreciative smile creases her face.

“Um, yes you may … well, at least I think you can … you should …” The grad student shuffles his feet uncomfortably, his deck shoes squeaking against the well-polished parquet flooring.

“Is there a particular title in which you are interested?” the librarian asks. There is an air of confidence in her voice, as if there isn’t any reasonable request that she cannot satisfy. Although she is obviously older than he is, he finds her very attractive, which only makes his request that much more difficult and spikes his nervousness.

“Um, yes. I’m one of Professor Fowler’s grad students and I need to check this book out.” The young man clutches a pink request slip in his hand. The paper is slightly crumpled and damp from his sweaty palms.

“And just what book would that be?” the librarian asks. When the young man hesitates, crumpling the request slip even more, she stands up and reaches toward him. She pauses, her large dark eyes raising to lock onto his.

“Um, this … is, um … the book … I’m … looking for,” he says, his voice a stilted jumble of nerves, his fingers fumbling with the request slip.

With an accommodating smile, the librarian reaches over and takes the slip from his relieved hand. She deliberately lays the slip out on the desk and flattens it with her hand. He notices that her ring finger is bare. His handwriting is strong and block lettered.

“I see that you must be working in Professor Fowler’s Psychology of Sexuality group,” the veteran librarian says with a light air of humor shading her voice.

“Um, yes … I am,” the student says shyly. “How did you know?”

“All of his students eventually get around to requesting this book. It’s very popular on campus for obvious reasons. Let me check and see if our copy is available.”

The librarian sits back down and turns to her computer. As she clicks her way through the virtual stacks he cannot avoid looking her over. The warm gaze of his liquid blue eyes washes down from her shoulder length auburn hair to her tailored blouse down to her snug black knit skirt and her bare tanned legs, even down to her sandaled feet. He grins appreciatively upon noting that with the recent spate of hot weather she must not have been wearing a bra as her nipples are sharpened into points and press against the soft fabric of her blouse. When she looks back up at him, she must have realized that he is checking her out. He blinks his eyes and looks down and away, feeling his cheeks blush. She smiles.

“Why, yes. You’re in luck. Our copy of this book is currently in. Would you like me to retrieve it for you?”

“Oh, yes, please. Thank you,” he answers, exactly the way his mother had taught him. Be polite. Always say, “Please,” and “Thank you.” The librarian seems to appreciate his courtesy and respect.

“I’ll be just a moment,” the librarian says. “Just wait here and I’ll be right back.”

He grins and nods appreciatively. He also watches as she turns her back to him and walks toward a cabinet on the wall behind the front desk. He finds the sway of her ass very alluring as she saunters across the domain of her work area. What is there about an attractive older woman to an early 20s college grad student with hormones raging? He can’t take his eyes off her. Her scent, the sound of her sandals striking the flooring, the wiggle of her body is almost mesmerizing. After retrieving a key from the cabinet, she turns back to him. There is a momentary pause as her eyes narrow and she looks him up and down. Then a wry smile curls up the corners of her mouth.

“Would you care to come with me?” she asks.

“Um, yeah … if it’s like … all right and all,” he stammers.

She waves him around the desk and waits as he hurries to catch up to her.

“It’s just a short walk down this hall and around the corner,” she says, noticing that his blush hasn’t faded. “The rare books room is normally off limits, but it’s kind of a slow day and you look like you might enjoy a little treat.”

“Excuse me,” he says, his voice nearly cracking with anticipation as they walk down the hallway side by side. “But have you ever read this book I’m looking for?”

“The Kama Sutra?” she says. “Oh, I have heard about it, but I’ve never had the opportunity to actually read it.”

“Oh,” he says, running his hand over the worn embossed leather binding. “Well, I would have thought you had already … I mean being a librarian and all.”

 

[chanaud]

Ms. Chanel Chanaud

“This book was forbidden in my school,” she answers wistfully, her eyes faraway to another world. He has the feeling she was recalling her childhood. He’s imagining her tall and lanky and beautiful with her graceful hair flying around her youthful face. A few short moments pass. She brings herself back to reality and smiles. She cocks her head at his mask of confusion and smiles broadly. She has such perfectly even teeth. She explains. “I was raised in a Catholic boarding school, so anything that suggests sex of any way was considered taboo, including the classics.” Her fingers strokes the leather suggestively, threatening to intertwine with his.

He clears his throat nervously, his Adam’s apple bobbing uncontrollably. Again that warm winning smile returns. It comes so natural, he can tell. “That’s a shame..” the young grad student says. Nervously, he shuffles his feet a few times.

With his hand still holding the large leather bound, Chanel brings the book to her face and smells deeply. Her eyes close in rapture, her nose flares. “I love the smell of leather, don’t you?”

“Here smell..” She leans in and offers it to him.

The combination of old leather and her perfume is a lethal erotic combination. The palms of his hands start to sweat. He was getting hard. Is she the Goddess he dreams about often?

“Close your eyes…” she instructs him. Tell me what you smell?”

 

[Miltone]

Mr. Joseph College

“Smell? What do I smell?” he asks. The filtered air in the Rare Books Room is circulating slowly. Although he always had the impression that such places were cold and dank, this room feels rather warm. Maybe it is the close proximity of the librarian's long beautifully manicured hands to his as they hold the rare book. He closes his eyes and inhales slowly. “I … I smell … history … romance … a deep dark sensuality … a warm feminine fragrance …”

“That last part is probably my perfume,” the Librarian replies with a sweet little laugh. Joseph is very aware of her presence and attuned to the radiance of her closeness. Their fingertips brush together lightly as they each trace over the thick embossed leather binding that has been polished over the years by the hands of avid research students and professors. The next innocent touch of their fingers sends a light snap of electricity through each of them. They are both startled and then recognizing the effect of static they both laugh. He is quite absorbed by her laugh and doesn’t realize that he’s staring. She doesn’t seem to mind and in fact seems to relish the attention. Perhaps it has been quite a long time since a man, even one so much her junior as he, has looked at her in quite this way.

“So … um … do you like working here?” he asks awkwardly.

“I love it! I’ve loved books ever since I was a little girl,” she responds.

He laughs a charmingly boyish little chuckle. “So do I. I had rheumatic fever when I was young and had to spend the better part of a summer in bed while my friends were outside skateboarding and stuff. Reading books sort of became a refuge for me.” His sudden confession brings a look of interest to her face. He is quite aware of the depth of her gaze as she examines his face.

“Sometimes I start reading a book and just lose myself in it,” she says in a slow dreamy voice. “Books can take you to such wonderful and fantastic places you might never reach otherwise.”

“Yes, they can,” Joe says absently. He is suddenly aware of her eyes locking onto his. Something passes between them, a feeling, an impression … something that he can’t quite qualify. Then he realizes that he has placed his hand on top of hers. The Librarian clears her throat and he removes his hand.

“We should go,” she says chastely, moving toward the door and reaching for the door handle. But the handle is loose and slips out of the jamb while the outer handle clatters to the floor outside the room.

“Shit!” she swears.

“What happened?” he asks.

“I don’t know!” she replies.

“What do we do now?”

“Do you have a cell phone?”

“Uh, yeah,” he says, fishing through his slacks and pulling out a handy little picture flip phone.

“Great! Now all we need to do is call someone and let them know we’re trapped in here.”

“Yeah, but who do I call?” he asks.

She realizes that she doesn’t know the number of any of the staff. When she directs him to dial the main library number, he gets an answering machine and leaves a message. As a backup, he calls his roommate and has to leave a message also.

“Well, I guess we’re stuck here for a time,” she says, realizing that the room is getting rather stuffy with the two of them in such close quarters. “But we aren’t short of entertainment,” she says cheerfully looking around the room.

He looks puzzled for a moment and then smiles. “Oh, I get it … with all the books.” His laugh is sincere and genuine. He fidgets for a moment, clinging to the book that has brought them to this room and trapped them inside.

“Yes, all the rare and great masters, Chaucer, Shakespeare, Beowulf …” The librarian says, looking all around the room. Ironic that all her life has been in books, reading them, organizing them, retrieving and replacing them, and now that she is locked in a room full of them, her first instinct is to want to leave. She looks at the grad student and measures the look of appreciation in his eye and realizes that it can’t be all bad.

“So,” he says, running his hand over the worn embossed leather binding. “Well, maybe this is your chance.”

“My chance?” she asks.

“Yes, your chance to read the Kama Sutra.”

She laughs at first, but then must have seen the earnestness in his expression, and her face grows deep with interest.

“Come here and sit with me,” he says with an inviting wave of his hand at the lone small table in the room. He pulls out and holds a bentwood chair for her. He watches her sit and cross her legs tightly, her skirt riding up her nicely tanned thighs. As he sits, she leans forward to rest her elbows on the table affording him a brief glimpse of her firm proud breasts in the unbuttoned neckline of her blouse. There is room only for them to sit beside one another. Joe opens the cover, dramatically, like raising the curtain for a live performance. The frontispiece is a colorful woven paper, the pages are thick and heavy, and the type is fairly heavy but fluid and easily read. Noting the profuse illustrations, he grins. “This looks like the kind of book you only need to look at the pictures.”

“Whoa!” she says, her eyes widen as the book falls open to a full page illustration of a man and woman in full sexual congress. “I wouldn’t think that is physically possible … is it?”

“Let’s read and find out,” Joe says, skimming to where the Position of The Wife of Indra is explained.

“Maybe we should start at the beginning,” she says. “I’m Chanel.” She extends her hand toward him. He accepts it in his and squeezes it gently.

“I’m Joseph, but my friends call me Joey.”

 

[chanaud]

Channel

http://kamasutra.webz.cz/p2_6_1.jpg

Such a firm handshake from a little boy’s name! So deceiving from his lanky youthful body masked in his baggy jeans and oversized t-shirt.

Chanel’s own handshake is tight and firm, full of promises.

Their heads join as they look at the wondrous pictures.

“Have you tried the Wife of Indra before?” Chanel asks breathlessly.

“Ermm.. no.” Joey squeaks out. He shifts uncomfortably, his shoes squeak loudly on the wooden floors. He clears his throat and asks, “Have you… have you tried…. the Wife of Indra before?”

“Yes, I have." She answers with a demure smile.

"What's it like?" He asks eagerly.

"Well, it's a difficult position to start. It requires great flexibility, and a large penis to reach maximum stimulation. But once you get into the rhythm, it's wonderful."

Joey gulps. The Adam’s apple is red and bobbing. “What do you consider large?” He asks nervously, his eyes round and deeply enthralled with where the conversation is going.

“Anything under nine inches won't do,” she whispers huskily, her large brown eyes look up at him through thick eyelashes.

His gulp echoes in the silent chamber. Then he sees her wink and he instantly feels relief. His face is red, his naivety is clearly on his face.

She reaches out and tussles his hair. “I’m just joking, you silly goose.”

Then her face changes. She grows serious. “One can’t ever put a measurement on the size. It would depend on the size of a woman’s vagina, and how easily she can accept the size of her partner.”

Again, she brings up the word!

Chanel hand is brushing away imaginary auburn tendrils. Her voice is low, growing husky with each word. Her eyes are staring at the picture displayed so lewdly before them.

Then in a faraway voice, she whispers, “Notice where his hands are. How he’s stimulating her, making her ready for him. Notice how her vagina is opening, ready to receive him.”

Her long, slender fingers are playing with the pearl buttons of her blouse. There seems to be a sheen to her skin. Joey swears it wasn’t there before. When she notices him looking at her, she flips her hair and cocks her head to one side, her slender neck seems to reach out to him.

“Are your pants buzzing?” She asks.

“Buzzing?”

“Yes, your pants are vibrating.”

“Oh!” Joey reaches in his pocket and retrieves his phone.

The voice on the other end was loud and clear.

“Hey, man, what’s going on?”

“Brad, you’ve gotta help me.. I’m stuck in the Rare Books Section at the library.”

“Rare Books, eh? Does Professor Chanaud still maintain that section?”

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

“She’s a hottie! Why’d you think I spent the whole last summer reading all those books? Did you honestly think I was in interested in Jane Austen? Hey is she there with you?”

“Yeah..”

“And you want me to save you? No fuckin’ way, man. I’ll do you a favor by not saving your poor ass.”

Smiling, Chanel turnsher head and seems interested in Hemingway. Her tall slender back was facing him. She stood with the perfect pose. Her black skirt accented her narrow hips. Joey imagines holding her hips while he bends her over…

“Call me when you’re done. Then I’ll rescue ya. I know… I’ll save ya when I think you’re done. Bye.”

“Hey, Brad. Wait!”

Click.

Chanel turns. “So Brad's your roommate. I remember him, he’s a handsome young man. So eager. A perfect pupil.”

 

[Miltone]

Joey College

“Brad’s a good buddy. He’s helped me a lot,” Joey mumbles.

“I can help you too, you know,” she says, her exotic almond shaped eyes flashing. “With your reading that is.”

“Oh, yeah … right,” Joey responds. He pictures her turning fully around and sauntering toward him, her painted fingernails flicking loose the pearl buttons of her blouse, the white fabric falling away revealing her perfect breasts. She leans toward him, her pert breasts jiggling in his face framed seductively with skimpy tan lines. Joey blinks a few times and he realizes that she had simply returned to the reading table and his brief raw daydream flickers quickly away.

His pulse races. Surely her experience far exceeds his meager college ranking. Of course he had played varsity hockey and had fumbled his way satisfactorily through a few dates with an eager vivacious coed or two. But this woman, Professor Chanaud, was in an altogether different league; all of her frank talk about penises and vaginas was having a decided dizzying effect on him. And Brad hadn’t been any help at all.

Joey centered his eyes on Professor Chanaud. All of her virginal library science professor pretense had been stripped away when she had pointed out the importance of the graphic illustration. As she returns to the chair beside him from browsing through the first editions of Hemingway, she is evolving into an enticingly seductive woman. She doesn’t so much sit as alights into the chair, like a songbird or a butterfly settling onto its perch. Perhaps his daydream isn’t so farfetched as another of the pearl buttons on her blouse is fallen undone, revealing another dazzling glimpse of her firm cleavage. His eager eyes shift back to the graphic erotic illustration in front of him.

“But … but in this picture … she isn’t looking at him,” Joey says in puzzlement. “Isn’t that kind of strange?”

“Perhaps,” she responds as she turns back to face him. He feeds off the energy she exudes in her simple turning movement. “But notice how her arm is folded up behind her head as she submits to him.” She raises her arm similarly, her back arching, her breasts trusting proudly forward. “Now, if it were me, I would be looking right into your eyes … that is, were you and I about to, you know, commence with the Wife of Indra.”

His hands finger the pages of the old rare book nervously. He flips back many pages toward the beginning and his eyes dance along the first lines of the second part, scanning quickly the translated wording. He reads.

“Man is divided into three classes according to the size of his Lingam. Woman is divided based on the depth of her Yoni,” he chuckles ignorantly reading the ancient text.

“Oh, yes, the Hindu words for penis and vagina,” Professor Chanaud answers. Each time she says the words, he flinches. Each time he flinches, her eyebrows arch, not disapprovingly like say, Miss Habbermill, his fifth grade school teacher, but with a prurient interest that only tickles his senses and make his pants buzz for a reason having nothing to do with his cell phone. “As you can see, if you actually read the text, Joey, there is a symmetry of size that impacts each potential encounter.”

“So … um, like, size … it really does matter?”

“Absolutely,” she says without batting an eye or wrinkling her nose, her vivid cinnamon eyes burning through his liquid blues. “There has to be a balance, the proper measure between the length and girth of his penis and the depth and suppleness of her vagina. See the text here, describing the various combinations, when his lingam exceeds the size of her yoni, they achieve a high union, when he exceeds her greatly, it is called the highest union … ”

“I thought you said that you hadn’t read this book before,” he asks, leaning heavily on his elbow and looking at her more than at the book. She smiles demurely, but there is a mischievous edge to her grin.

“I haven’t, exactly,” she says slowly, drawing her words out seductively. “I had a very worldly professor when I was in university who taught me that sometimes it’s more important to have experienced the content of a book than to simply have read it.”

Joey looks at her hand, dangling delightfully near her neck, her long slender fingers toying with the collar of her blouse, her painted nails grazing at the base of her neck, her complexion glowing and glistening. He feels warm and hears a thundering in his ears. It’s just his pulse. But still, he scoots his chair closer to hers. Suddenly he feels it, the radiance of her presence and the warmth of her body. He swallows the lump in his throat.

“So, um, you … have … experience?”

She leans back quizzically and smiles, a grin that rips right through him. He is playing so out of his league, whiffing on lob after lob, but he isn’t about to quit now. Her head tilts again to the side.

“I don’t think that experience has all that much to do with it, Joey,” she says, her voice low and dusky, a sexy rasp of heated breath and emotion. “It’s more a combination of what you have and what you do with it.”

“What I have and what I do with it?”

“Or what I have and what I do with that,” she says with that eternal smile. “So what are you, Joey, a Hare, a Bull, or a Horse?” Her eyes drop down to his lap and he feels the heat of her gaze lengthen his erection.

“Um, I don’t know … I’ve never had any complaints … usually compliments,” he says awkwardly, thoroughly embarrassed, his voice cracking. She reaches over and runs her hand lightly over his lap, her slender fingers tracing the outline of his lingam.

“Mmm, yummy! I think we’re talking bull or horse here,” she says, withdrawing her hand to brush back her auburn bangs from her forehead. She grins, “Definitely not a hare.” She then looks back to the book and Joey looks her over, his eyes descending along the supple lines of her body, the pert firm curves of her breasts appealingly pressed against the fabric of her white blouse, the tuck of her waist, the flare of her hips, the hem of her black skirt riding up her tanned thighs.

“So, um … what about you?” he asks nervously. “What would … uh … your yoni … be classified?”

“Oh, I’m a deer, on the small side,” she answers quickly and matter-of-factly still reading the text. “That would make ours a high union or maybe the highest, depending on the actual size of your erect penis.” She glances back at his eyes inquisitively. His erection throbs violently and feels like it has grown to the size of a horse’s. She is so worldly, her every move so sensual, but he struggles to remain calm.

“That’s good isn’t it?” he says the words stumbling out of his mouth.

“Certainly, better than the low union where the man is smaller than the woman. Why, it says here, ‘High unions are said to be better than low ones, for in the former it is possible for the male to fully satisfy his own passion without injuring the female, while in the lower unions it is most difficult for the female to be satisfied by any means.’ ” He watches Chanel read the text, the way her lips form the vowels, the way her tongue flashes between her straight white teeth. “But then there is the matter of the force of passion or carnal desire either small, middling, or intense.”

“Intense,” he blurts out. “I’m definitely intense.” He can feel that intensity welling up unabashedly inside his body.

“I wasn’t asking,” she says grinning. “But that is nice to know.” She turns back to the text and leans in to read another passage. Joey is quite aware of her nearness just a breath away, the heat of her body radiates outward toward him.

“What about you?” He returns her lingering gaze and senses the answer for he can measure the flecks of a great passion in her eyes.

 

[chanaud]

She looks at him with the steadiest eyes, capturing his attention to her. Nothing in the world exists, but her.

“It starts off low, very low,” she starts with a seductive whisper.

Slowly she crosses one long, lean leg over the other. Joey swears she had paused midstream just long enough for him to give him a glimpse of the dark tunnel leading to heaven.

“Then it builds to middling…”

Her leg uncrosses. Her knees are slightly apart. She leans back on her chair, her breast round and proud thrusts out. The very tip of her tongue licks the outline of her lips, leaving a sheen. He watches in fascination. His erection grows with every breath. A muscle resembling a hard knot throbs just above his jaw. Oh, he's going to be a fun one to teach. He's so ready and eager to please. He will be the perfect pupil. Chanel wants to kiss that hard throb, to lick him all over. Chanel feels the moisture building between her legs. The heat of her passion was rising until it just shrouded her whole being. She wants him bad. Her constant glance towards his erection tells him so.

“It stays on middling for a period of time, building….building…building…”

Her voice grows. Her legs widens easily from the wetness. The scent of her excitement hits him. Her fingers pull on her blouse revealing two perfectly round globes. Her finger traces her breast bone and travels down between her breasts.

“Until the passion is so intense, we both explode.”

She ends with a shudder; her nipples are clearly fully erect, practically poking holes through her thin linen blouse. Joey wonders if she had just orgasm. Her excitement is so powerful, he has to grip the edge of the cherry wood table to contain himself. .

Chanel smiles. He’s ready. More than ready. She crooks a slender finger. Mesmerized he follows. She slides off her chair.

They meet in a passionate kiss….

 

[Miltone]

Joey

Humming from the force of their kiss, Joey leans in toward Professor Chanaud. Except she isn’t acting like a professor, at least a professor of library science. Her lips melt his into a liquid orifice through which he feels her tongue pass. This isn’t the kiss of a college coed or a high school cheerleader; this is the kiss of a woman, a grown experienced complete woman, the kind that he has never known. When he reaches to pull her close insensitively, she backs him away.

“Now, Joey, be patient … let it build,” she says in a dusky sexy voice. His rampant erection throbs painfully between his legs. “That is the pleasure of the embrace, you see, taking the time to let your force of passion to become equal.”

“But I thought … that’s um, what women wanted … you know, someone strong and … and … forceful,” he says hesitantly, timidly, petulantly.

Her hands move over him lightly, combing through his hair, trailing down over his neck and chest sending waves of tingles through his body.

“Like many young men, I’m sure that you haven’t learned the beauty of restraint yet.” She smiles at him warmly. “The best experiences come when you move slowly and appreciate your lover’s body and being.”

“Like when you compliment them?” Joey asks.

“Compliments are nice, yes,” Chanel answers with a grin.

“Well, um … I think that you … um, have really nice tits,” Joey says clumsily.

“Thank you, Joey. That’s sweet, but sometimes the best compliments are those of the eyes and the hands when you look at the feature of interest and perhaps touch it lovingly.”

Her words burn right through him. His hands feel heavy like lumps of clay. They also are damp from anticipation. She looks down and frees another pair of pearl buttons on her blouse. Looking up into his eyes, she takes his sweaty trembling hands and moves them underneath the soft linen of her blouse and places them on her breasts. Joey looks down at the firm swell of her breasts captured so ineptly by his hands. Her skin is so soft and tender, the flesh beneath so firm and supple, and her nipples so erect and stiff. He gawkily moves his hands in a slow circular pattern, fighting off his usual impulse to roughly squeeze and pinch. Her body looks so beautiful as he touches her; he feels his excitement build.

“The look in your eyes right now and the tender stroke of your hands, tells me much, Joey,” Chanel says. “That is the great compliment.” As his hands continue to explore her breasts, she reaches out to touch his body. “There are many erogenous zones to explore … the neck … the chest … the arms … the back … the waist … the stomach …”

Professor Chanaud’s hands touch him lightly every place she mentions. Each caress of his quivering muscled body sends a new and different sensation through him. He was so used to the urgent fumbling of his young girl friends as they quickly grabbed for his dick, that he wasn’t prepared for the simmering arousal that Chanel was building inside him.

“See? Isn’t this wonderful, letting the passion build slowly?” she says, her words spilling softly from her moist red lips.

Joey leans forward and offers his mouth to her for a kiss. Their lips brush together and meet again with a renewed passion. She moans as their tongues touch and wrestle playfully. His hands still explore her breasts; his fingers circle her taut puckered nipples. She moans again and her hand moves slowly lower.

 

[chanaud]

Lower, lower, the tips of her fingers slide down and under his polo shirt and up his naked chest, lifting his shirt over his head and tossing it across the room. The cool air was a sharp contrast to the burning heat emitting from his skin, Chanel’s own desire for him grows. Smiling, Chanel kisses his abs. Joey gasps. His hand reaches out automatically to her hair wanting so desperately to grab it by tight fistfuls, but stops midstream and loosens its grip to soft caresses. Her tongue is light as a feather and yet so powerful by the sensations it was causing. He yearns for more, but didn’t know how to communicate it, so he moans. A deep guttural moan.

“Mm…your flesh is salty and spicy at the same time. Such a delightful blend, so exotic..,” she murmurs huskily to his bare chest.

Her own body rises with her tongue, stopping at his nipples. She gives it a flick of her tongue. He gasps instantly as his body jerks up. Never had his body reacted like this before. Is this normal, he wonders silently.

“Sit back and enjoy… enjoy all the sensations, allow me to feast on your body,” Chanel says after watching the confusion masking his face.

And with that, she takes a puckered nipple between her moist lips and sucks gently.

“Oh….yesssss….” Joey calls out wildly, his body flailing out. Chanel alternates from one nipple to the other, sucking softly then hard, her tongue circling wild eights, and pulling on them until he feels like they might be ripped off.

“Stop…stop!!” He calls out. He grabs her roughly and tosses Professor Chanel on the hard desk. In one deft movement, he lifts her skirt and tugs at the miniscule black thong. Then he plunges deep in her and slams in and out.. in and out. She screams out with each thrust, her long legs wrap locks around his waist, encouraging him. His tongue jabs in her mouth in unison to his cock. His eyes are thin tight slits, he’s trying desperately to hold on.

“Open them. Open your eyes,” she instructs him. Lost in his own ecstasy, it fell on deaf ears. She tries to bring him back to her. Her French manicured nails scrapes his chest. Only the sound of his skin slapping against hers was heard.

In and out…

In and out…

Until the room spins, he throws his head back and screams out in ecstasy.

Spent, his body lays heavy on her, their breaths become one. Still, Chanel lays patiently until his body becomes a cool, moist sheet.

“I’m sorry…” he murmurs in embarrassment.

 

[Miltone]

Joey

“Well, a sexual intensity like that,” the sultry professor says slowly, “Is nothing to apologize about.”

“I … I just … just … couldn’t help it,” Joey says, his tone still somewhat apologetic. “You turned me on so much.”

His hands stroke through her hair, then glide over her body feeling the soft warmth of her supple skin. He sees her fiery lips curl into a wry smile of pleasure mixed with a subtle anticipation. She rocks her hips gently sizing up the length and hardness of his throbbing young manhood. There is an advantage to having a young man in the prime of his sexual capabilities and his eagerness and readiness amuses her.

Joey looks about them. The room filled with ancient and rare books has a dank musty smell to it, yet the perfume Professor Chanaud is wearing is seductive and the scent of her arousal is deeply stimulating. He pushes up from the table and his liquid blue eyes sweep down over her body and his fingertips follow, dancing over the firm mounds of her breasts, tracing the boundary of her tan lines, circling the proudly erect nipples. There is a dampness to her sleek warm skin that entices him. He feels an urgent need to do something, do something more than what has just happened.

His erect cock slips from her sodden sex as Joey eases his body to the floor. He crouches between the spread of her long legs. The puffy folds of her pussy, rouged with the excitement of their recent sex, glisten with a creamy sheen. Chanel rises up, propping her torso up on her elbows, her sparkling coffee colored eyes watching the young man closely as his hands explore the length of her legs tenderly, working slowly upward until he reaches the apex of her lush thighs. Her skirt is pushed up to her waist. His strong fingers hook around the waistband of her damp thong and tug it down her long legs. It goes flying across the room.

“Joey, you don’t have to …,” she says as he lowers his head toward the aromatic split of her sex. “The Auparishtaka, or mouth congress, is considered fit only for eunuchs and unchaste or wanton women.” Joey’s lips close snuggly around her labia, bringing a groan from deep within her. “Uhhhnnn, but if you really want to … have oral congress with my yoni … please … go ahead.” Chanel moans greedily as first his lips press against her folds spread open for him and then his tongue emerges. She gazes down as he laps at her enthusiastically like a thirsty puppy. “Mmm, yes! The Licking Of A Delicate Flower,” Chanel sighs remembering the illustration from the book. “Mmm, yes!”

The mingling flavors of her drenched pussy mix into an intoxicating elixir; the more Joey tastes, the more he wants. His tongue traces the ridges of her inner folds and plunges deep into the wet velvet of her inner depths. He feels her hand fall upon his head, her long fingers raking through his hair, clasping his head, guiding him, drawing him nearer. The tip of his tongue finds her clitoris, massaging both sides of her delicate and dainty pink shaft, and when his tongue gently strums the underside and the emerging bud, Chanel explodes.

“Oh, fuck, Joey!” she screams. “Oh, gawd, yes!”

Her limber legs hook over his shoulders and the heels of her sandals dig into the flesh of his back as Chanel rocks her hips and grinds her pussy against his face. When she falls back against the desk, Joey looks up between her trim thighs and watches as Chanel pulls selfishly at her nipples, pinching and rolling them, her eyes are closed and her mouth is open and panting. With an intent and newfound skill, he turns back to her sex and laves her slavishly, worshipping her insatiable mound with a variety of thrusts and flicks of his tongue until her thighs clamp tightly against his ears and her body tenses up as an exhilarating orgasm erupts.

“Oh gaaawwwd! Yesss! Yesss! Yesss!” Chanel hisses with a tremulous voice as her body rocks and shivers as a quaking wave rumbles through her.

Joey licks and sucks at her until her flame is extinguished and Professor Chanaud pushes up from the desk and beams down at her willing student. She grins at the sight of him squatting between her legs, his shorts pooling around his ankles, revealing his otherwise naked lean and muscular body. And his youthful cock, still gleaming with her wetness, remains erect. This glimpse of a young virile man tickles her fertile sexuality. Taking a page from the Kama Sutra through which they had just been looking Chanel urges him to stand and slithers off the table and settles between his legs.

“The Sucking Of A Mango Fruit is such an exquisite act,” Chanel coos soothingly, her hands gliding up and down Joey’s thighs and caressing his taut abdomen. “And I am sooo hungry this afternoon.” The heat of her smile tears through Joey as his throbbingly erect penis dangles before her face. Chanel sweeps her open blouse from her shoulders and tosses it aside. “But that is only part of it, Joey,” she says as she looks up into his liquid blue eyes. “There are eight delicious stages … let me show you.” Then she grasps the base of his cock and her delightful pink tongue flickers out.