The piano lesson has ground to a halt with the stories Rachel's holiday adventures. Will Mr. Richards have the fortitude to resist his pupil? Or will he provide the same service he gave her mother?
They are weak bonds, those that pull together the many features that make a man. Lose hold of those bonds, and the norms that protect us from the many surrounding dangers in society fly away in opposite directions. And so Rachel had loosened my bonds and I stood, and loosened my belt.
‘Mr. Richards, what… what are you doing.’
The practice of training that the teaching profession had developed in the modern world had overwhelmingly moved away from the technique of physical punishment, but every teacher without exception is drawn toward it at some point in their career, when confronted by an obstreperous child. And it was in my current madness that the notion of ignoring this practical method of control seemed anachronistic. I gave no answer to the large chested trollop who had tormented my afternoon, but glared aggressively at her.
‘You can’t Mr. Richards, I’ll, I’ll tell Mummy!’
I pulled on the buckle and the leather curled around my waist and left the loops of my trousers with a loud smack, causing the girl to start and slide herself away on the unworn leather of the stool.
‘Your mother is as filthy a whore as you, you little pussy!’ The words left me easily, for truth flows when the passions are roused. ‘Not a “little girl” or a “young woman”’, I continued, ‘but a pussy, and a big pair of fucking tits!’
‘Mr. Richards!’ the girl slid from the dual stool and now stood, cornered by the piano, the bay window and the wall. Anyone in the garden at leisure, or working in the post rain sunshine, would now have been party to my immediate, ruinous actions. ‘why are you saying such things, please don’t!’
‘A pussy that needs a proper fucking cock!’ I informed her. She looked down at the location of this aforementioned organ and stopped, stunned. The tip had escaped the waistband of my strained underpants and as I was now beltless, my trousers gave enough of an opening to make the rolling skin at the top visible to her. It stunned her rigid.
‘Many times this afternoon I have told you to stop telling your filthy tales Rachel Barton, and have you?’ I reached out to the flimsy line of buttons that attempted to constrain her cushion like breasts and diverted my attention to those signifiers of femininity, running my fingers underneath and around their lovely round form an over her expensively procured garment. ‘No, you have not.’ I growled as I began to unbutton the half fastened blouse.
‘But, Mr. Richards, I’m really sorry, really sorry!’
I was not only endowed with a reproductive organ of a quite incredible size; nature had also found it within her powers to also provide me with an active metabolism, with which any prospective adipose tissue would be carved away. It might be that the two gifts were interconnected, but it left me with a fine, muscular physique, one that raised eyebrows from females of all ages. And as I undid one button after another, Rachel’s face began to flush with a desire I did not expect, and with which I did not approve.
‘What! Are you becoming aroused little girl!’ I scolded. ‘You filthy little bitch!’ I swept aside the two curtains of her shirt just at the point where her breath puffed out her chest in with a new influx of desire. Her breasts displayed themselves to me in all of their post pubescent glory.
As creation and the wonders of natural ***********ion had provided for me, so those same forces had provided for her. Skin, collagen and other membranes seemed to abide by no known biological laws with this girl. Breasts, that by rights, should have hung like soft water balloons, thrust themselves toward me. The nipples, pointing vaguely upward and outward, alighted on wonderful, rounded sweeping structures that danced and bounced with her fear and desire. They were the ultimate feeding station for her future young.
My expression of delight in finding such a wonder, transferred itself to Rachel. However, the satisfaction of her wishes was not an avenue I was willing to walk. I glared into her face and grasped each ergonomically perfect handful, rubbing my thumbs over her proud nipples. I was excited by the reddening of her cheeks, and the inescapable look of fear on her face. I drew my hand back and struck her left breast firmly. A loud smack echoed around the room.
‘Huh…ow!” she cried, staring straight into my eyes. I repeated the blow.
‘You are a dirty, disgusting, rude and badly behaved little girl!’ I growled. Striking the other breast, which remained it’s natural colour.
‘Oh, Mr. Richards, I will be good! I promise I will be good!’
I removed her offending blouse and moved my head down to observe her bounty more closely. Her left breast formed a cone in my hand, the nipple protruding between my thumb and forefinger. I stuck out my tongue and licked the end, sending a shudder through her body and causing a light whimper from her.
‘Please don’t, Mr. Richards. Please don’t lick my nipples. Please!’
It was inevitable that such talk would have exactly the opposite of her desired effect. I greedily popped the other, very prominent nipple into my mouth and pinched the first tightly.
‘Nngh!’ she expressed. Her face tightening with illicit feelings.
‘You must be punished Rachel!’ I growled after detaching from my delectable morsel. ‘It is For your own good!’
‘But I don’t want to be punished!’ The little girl whimpered.
My hands left her and I moved them to my fly buttons. ‘Get on your knees girl!’ I instructed.
‘I’m sorry sir, so sorry.’
‘I think that it is too late for that Rachel.’
I undid my fly, allowing my under-pressure penis to make a bid for freedom and moved my fingers to my shirt buttons, the garment of which I promptly removed, while glowering at the nervous pupil before me. Her eyes moved to the expanse of my chest and the natural definition of my stomach muscles and betrayed a flash of excitement in the midst of the fear I wished to instil.
My heavy cotton trousers fell from my hips and onto the floor. I stepped out of them, and while my underpants were necessarily not of the modern, skimpy variety, they still struggled to constrain the writhing package within, which peeped over the top, impishly. I was unhappy with the look of lust this sight had delivered, and pushed the truculent schoolgirl to her knees using her exposed shoulders. ‘Lower them.’ I instructed.
‘But that would mean I will be able to see your, your…'
’Cock!’ I completed her sentence. ‘You will be doing more than looking at it girl!’
Her hand nervously moved to the side of my underpants and her fingers looped around the waistband, moving the strong fabric against the underside of my partially exposed glans. As the rough elastic scraped along the underside, the edifice lowered, seemingly growing all the while, until finally the entirety of the encapsulated head, shaft, hair covered root and low, dangling balls were visible to the half naked teen. The underwear disappeared past the knees and followed the same fate as their outer garment.
Her twitching shoulders betrayed a forbidden wish to know my monster better. It was not the reaction I thought necessary. I wanted her to cower before it, on her knees. I wanted her to tremble with anxiety. What I saw was a girl who, though familiar with male organs, was presented with one of a size that intimidated, yet excited her. I slapped her across the face in order to generate my wishes.
‘Eeek!’ she squealed, and her face changed from lustfully placid to shocked and disturbed. This was much more acceptable.
‘Wank it!’ I ordered.
‘But, I don’t know how Mr. Richards.’ I knew this was not true and slapped her again. I repeated my instruction in more detailed form but with the same stern expression.
‘Take hold of my cock and move the skin over it backwards and forwards, you little slut!’ I demanded.
She complied with the first part of my instructions, with room to spare, with an inch of shaft visible below, between and above her small hands that struggled to fold around my manhood’s circumference.
‘Like this Mr. Richards?’ she asked nervously. I smacked her across the face for the third time. Just so that she would understand who was in charge.
‘Now, up and down little bitch!’ I spat.
It didn’t take long for my sap drenched bell end to make an appearance. It shone into view as my foreskin flapped back and forth with Rachel’s enthusiastic manipulation. There was a very slight possibility that this little girl might assume some kind of control in this situation and my mind circulated around the possibilities in which this eventuality would not occur. ‘God! You filthy bitch!’ I growled at her. ‘You are a dirty slut, just like your fucking mother.’
‘I’m sorry Mr. Richards, but I’m not very experienced, I will be better, I promise.’
This girl was far from inexperienced. This girl instinctively understood pressure and tempo. I was anxious to move to a less tolerable punishment. I grasped each side of her head firmly. ’Now, suck it!’
‘Put it in my mouth Mr. Richards?’ she had questioned me. I did not like this. I slapped her again, this self confident cheek would not do.
‘Yes, in your fucking mouth!’ I said aggressively.
‘But it is so big, I won’t get it in.’
This was obviously not said to excite me, how could it? She was a mere schoolgirl. Surely it was a statement of fact from the girl. Yet, despite these protests, I pulled her head toward my fiercely horizontal penis and pressed her reluctant mouth against it’s point. After a number of bumpy attempts, her lips finally yielded and the wonderful glow of her soft insides expressed themselves over my bell end. Immediately, her tongue began to investigate, traversing the expanse of my wide glans, delving and exploring. But, no sooner had she started, she stopped. It was obvious to me that the trauma of being force fed this monstrosity was overwhelming. She tried to emit her protests as I forced it deeper, and I began to become satisfied with the correction that I delivered to her. Her hands started to slap my buttocks, but this was simply a signal for me to begin moving my hips out, and swiftly back in. I was fucking her petite mouth, the sensation was glorious and raised my eyes to the heavens above.
‘Fuck! Yes, you little tart. Take it!’ I Bellowed as low pitched groans of discomfort from the girl waved over my buried penis. I looked down and was surprised to see exactly how much of my shaft was, or to be more accurate, wasn’t visible and this depth was mirrored by the new soft constriction that I felt gently pinching my bell end. My cock was so deep that it had entered that further realm. It was treatment that her mother had applied to me all of those years ago. On several occasions, she had spent our entire session of intercourse in such activity constantly monitoring my elevated state and adjusting her pace and enthusiasm accordingly. In spite of my utter distaste for the mores and manners of that woman, those attributes, and the other more advanced techniques she possessed, had kept me devoted for far, far too long. Now, it seemed, her daughter had inherited the same natural skill. As soon as my mind realized this disturbing reality I withdraw my penis in a big sweeping movement. It scraped out, gently touched her chin and bounced, hard and elastic pointing at her chest.
The exit was followed by a line of thick drool that dangled from her bottom lip and her eyes, wet with crocodile tears, followed my manhood’s beat, up and down.
‘Mr. Richards, your cock was in my throat. I couldn’t breathe!’ she stated. Though giving all of the outward appearance of desperation, I still felt that this girl was not succumbing to my chastisement in that manner I wished. I slapped her wet face again.
“Dirty bitch!’ I whispered aggressively. ‘I am supposed to teach you lessons.’
‘Yes Mr. Richards, sorry Mr. Richards.’ The girl replied.
I sat back on the leather stool and thrust my penis outward toward her.
‘Take those big fucking tits, and wrap them around my cock!’ I instructed. The girl whimpered a little from my tone, but slowly complied, placing her hands underneath her large, free moving breasts and moved them forward to encapsulate nearly all of my fierce upright pole.
From what must have been instinct, she allowed some of the cock generated sputum to land on my penis and then looked up at me tearfully. ‘Mr. Richards,' she asked pathetically, ‘what do I do now?’
The notion that she could not put two and two together in this situation I found surprising, but nonetheless, I gave her a step by step de***********ion her required duties. ‘Move those big fucking tits up and down and wank my cock with them, you stupid bitch!’ I replied.
As with her masturbation and fellatio, Rachel was a natural, it seemed. As the inner quadrant of her marvels kissed away at my long cock, so my foreskin flip-flopped backward and forward over it’s vulnerable interior, lubricated by the pre-applied spittle, and her sweat, on this humid day.
It would not be a surprise that this act of external copulation generated wave after wave of poorly withheld pleasure in my nervous system. So much so, that I began to feel the very first indications of the ultimate end that would surely, in time, come. But my young charge could not feel what I felt, how could she? So it came as some surprise that upon the very first flush of these feelings, Rachel, obviously quite arbitrarily, slowed her previously frenetic movements, and thereby hushed the delivery of my delight.
I gulped as the brakes went on and issued a groan of timid frustration. I must reassert control, I could not let this little vixen become comfortable. I commanded her again. ‘Stand up! You little fucking tart!’
‘What are you going to do Mr. Richards?’ Rachel asked.
I gave her a definitive answer. ‘I am going to strip away those little panties of yours, you are going to open up your pussy lips and I am going to stick my tongue deep inside that dirty fucking cunt!’
Rachel’s face changed from fear to shock as she heard my graphic de***********ion. This was the effect I wanted and taking the opportunity, I manhandled her upright, turned her and undid the zip on the back of her short skirt. The garment fell away to the floor and, once discarded I fulfilled my promised action with regard to her underwear. I pulled them down violently and turned my protégée in order to better observe her region of delight.
My wife’s vagina, when she is in the mood to allow free observation, and though small and rather misshapen, is flanked by a pair of off-coloured, rather meaty flanges. It is only on special occasions that both I and her have the necessary excitement to engage in cunnilingus, such is the visual barrier. Samantha Barton however, had a vagina of such striking symmetry, and outward parts so delicate that it was very difficult to tear oneself away. She also had no inhibitions when it came to showing me, and possessed the sweet taste that my wife did not have. That drew a lover along. Like a bloodhound. Her daughter in this respect, did not disappoint, with the additional benefit that while Samantha’s fine red flesh did not autonomously react to the touch, presumably by overuse, Rachel’s did and quivered under my mere breath.
I pushed her back so that she sat on the end of the piano stool and, as her bare bottom met the green leather her arms rotated behind to stabilise her position. This caused her legs to lift and separate and her chest from which her breasts had previously cantilevered, became an inclined platform from which those of large orbs rose, like dough. Her elevated breath caused them to tremble, and her sweet puckish nipples to pulsate red with desire.
I looked down at her legs, which relaxed into their new semi elevated pose, and swept my hand up the inside of her right calf, past the knee, then lightened my touch with my nails on the inside of her thigh. I looked intently into her face. Her lower lip had protruded and reddened further under my touch. I repeated my action with her other leg; the girls face lifted, her eyes closed and that prominent bottom lip trembled. In my current mood, I wanted that trembling to be in fear. I descended to my knees and placed my hand on each inner thigh, pushing them apart. ‘Now, girl! I Do what you were told and stretch that pussy apart for my fucking tongue!’ there was no immediate response from the girl apart from a mild and pathetic little yelp. This satisfied me but I felt more encouragement was need. ‘Stretch out your fucking cunt!’ I repeated in a threatening tone. She moved her arms, lowering her torso, and her little hands moved in a V to the skin either side of her rouge-washed pussy, while she gave little whimpers of distress. At last the skin began to move asunder and the wonderful cleft that will I am sure, in time, give so much wonderful pleasure to so many, drifted wide. A new and wonderful scent wafted from the new opening which enticed, with it’s dark depths. I breathed in and allowed the air into my nostrils and into my lungs. That oxygen of hers was food to my madness.
‘What, what are you going to do Mr. Richards?’ I found the notion that she had forgotten my carefully explained process inexplicable. I struck the inside of her thigh. The expanse of her flesh in this part projected this sound, with the loud sharp scream she emitted, around the room.
‘I am going to stick my tongue into your cunt, you stupid bitch!’ I scolded her, she responded with an irrelevant protest.
‘No, no…please, please…Mr.Richar…'
My mouth made contact with her juicy vagina with a crash, and my tongue immediately went to work resulting in a series of husky wordless cries from the girl. ‘Hor, hor, hor…' she wailed deeply as I investigated her insides.
Rachel’s mother had been the education that I had neglected when I was young. Her husband at the time was never at home and therefore, with Rachel away at school during the week there had been plenty of opportunity to pursue our illicit affair. It was in these sweet wonderful times, before I had properly assessed her troubling character that she had introduced me to the more exotic pleasures of sexual congress, those delights for which, prior to her, I had absolutely no knowledge and certainly no inclination. When faced with their execution, in my naïve former state, I had balked in a manner that Samantha Barton found amusing. Disturbingly amusing, if I recall them in my quieter moments.
However, this moment was not one of my quieter moments as Rachel’s cries began to transmute from gravelly exhortations to full blown screams and my mouth's attention moved to her little clitoris, which had naturally emerged. So close were her sounds to those of her mother, that my right hand began to wander up to that part of her body which had provided such a source of ignorance to me. It’s digits tinkled across her taut hands, down past her right bum cheek and down to the increasingly warm leather of the stool. I needed better access to my goal, so placed both of my hands on the underside of her knees and lifted and widened their spread. ‘Put your hands here!’ I forcibly moved them to replace mine and pressed her thighs back, either side of her chest. This was a contortion that she easily adopted.
I continued my meal now with far fewer obstructions and Rachel did not relent in her vocalisation.
I recalled that such was Samantha’s experience, she made ingenious use of various scents and oils during sex. Some oils relaxed skin, some caused constriction, some caused a sudden frenzy of passion and some allowed access to forbidden regions. At this point in time however, with Rachel oozing her thick love juice over the next target area, I felt such fripperies unnecessary. Rachel’s screams intermingled with a gasp and an attempt to speak as my stiff index finger finally found her lightly puckered anus.
‘Mr…Mr. Richards! Her shaky voice protested, that’s…that’s my bottom!’
‘You deserve it you little slut!’ I growled as my finger tip rotated around the dull coloured wrinkles.
‘’But that is what…' her protestations went unfinished as the ridges on my fingerprints vibrated over the little forbidden opening. ‘Mr. Richards…you can’t…' this time with a surprisingly lack of resistance, my finger disappeared into her to the second knuckle. It triggered a cry of unexpected maturity from the girl. ‘Nurrgh! Fuck!’
I began my meal again, with the added thrill of a wriggling movement alien to that which Rachel’s generated, in that sweet tasting pussy of hers.
It was certainly not the object of this energy we were both expending, but the little girls screams started to become more staccato and her thighs started to shake. These are good solid signs for very experienced lovers, however to me their significance went over my head as I increased my intensity of licking and finger thrusting. The inevitable and unrecognized moment came suddenly with a wall of liquid that first met my face and then jetted into the air. It was followed by guttural animal sounds that made the undampened piano strings ring out and a series of shocks and shivers that vibrated those lovely breasts. I lifted my head and looked at the source of the fountain. It opened and closed at me, like the mouth of a carp.
I was tempted to move be on to the next stage of this girl’s punishment, but kind hearted as I am, I allowed her a short period of acclimation. ‘Oh, Mr. Richards!’ the girl said, at last after recovering her breath. ‘That was so, so…' I stood between her now descended legs and let my cock drop between them with a wet thwack. Naturally, I anticipated some expression of fear from the prostrate and post savoured girl. All I received back was a wide eyed stare of devilish excitement. I hit down again with my truncheon, clubbing the little vixen’s private parts, hard. However, this only made that flush on her cheeks deeper, and that pouting mouth more tremulous.
I reached forward and slapped her round face thinking this would stop this insolence, it only changed her face into an expression of untamed lust. Pulling her to her feet and turning her, I decided on a more corrective approach and without too much effort I coerced her I to a position where her knee supported her weight on the stool, her left leg stabiliser her on the floor and her breasts dangled, stretching half way to the green leather. I reached around and squeezed them hard, feeling their weight, then slapped them both hard, enjoying the little cries of pain she croaked out.
In the midst of this discipline, Rachel began to arch her back and those parts that were hidden to me swept into my visual range, it strongly swelled my feelings of lust in a way that twisted my madness further, I connected again, hard on her rump, then felt the soft downy hairs that decorated the valley to her pleasure realm, and slapped hard again. The little minx turned her head toward me after issuing her screeches and dropped her eyes soppily, ‘What are you going to do Mr. Richards?’ are you going to…to…stick it in my pussy?’ Such presumption deserved another hard slap.
Oh course she was right, but due to my size and the girl’s youth, I was sure it was not going to be easy. When making love to Mary, my wife, I almost invariably resort to using a sequence of dildos with her before attempting entry, much like a machinist would drill a series of pilot holes. Even then the helmet of my cock would squash up like plasticine before disappearing into her tight tunnel. The younger Barton obviously possessed the same genetic characteristics as her mother, their lineage certainly forged in a sea of penile monsters. As my cock moved towards her, her vaginal reception relaxed and blossomed, producing a new layer of viscosity, ready for it’s new, expected ordeal.
I began contact with her damp folds with a series of firm wipes, which I used to spread some of that natural lubricant over my drying glans, however I was shocked to discover that on the third of fourth traverse of this glistening valley, my bell end lodged and changed direction. Such was this girl’s receptiveness, that my penis entered, like a wheel in a pothole, and stuck, ready the be driven home, ‘Eeek!’ Rachel squealed, ‘I can feel your dick inside me Mr. Richards!’
So, with my penis now lodged inside her wet cunt, I was fearful of causing real pain to the poor creature. Her limited experience must only allow her to accommodate a limited amount of intrusion, so I pushed forward wearily, fully expecting the solid, delicate limits that my wife possessed. Rachel groaned and gasped, and I pushed. Slowly and surely my surprise grew as none of that expected resistance materialised and the whole edifice was sucked in to that deep well of girlhood. I stared down in astonishment as the root of my enormous tackle vanished and my groin made contact with the wide expanse of her taut, firm backside.
‘Oh, God, Mr. Richards. That feels so deep, it feels so deep in my little cunt!’ the girl exhorted. I couldn’t quite believe it, and the new feature turned my madness from that of the justifiably correcting, to that of pure adrenal lust. The retraction of my cock gave even more pleasure as her indecisive tunnel muscles quivered their obviously unpractised capabilities. ‘Oh, fuck, Mr. Richards, that feels so lovely.’
I was past chastisement with this little floozy. I was beginning to enjoy the forgetfulness of the situation and further explored her capacity with a series of sharp strokes out of my natural rhythm that punched my cock into the girl aggressively. It had been a technique taught to me by her mother and caused piercing shrill cries of delight from the girl whenever I applied them, which, as I found my balls beginning to churn with a week of pressurized, pent up semen, was often.
‘Oh, fuck Mr. Richards,' the girl cried, trying to turn her head to look at her collaborator in this disgrace, ‘I think I am, I think I am…going to cum.’ I was excited by this revelation and was about to join the girl in our last lusty festival. However, on the first twitch of my prostate, signifying the start of the collapse of my efforts, I whipped my penis from her and gasped for breath. Both I and she remained in the near side of the mountain pass.
I turned her over and I spent the next few minutes recovering with sighs and gulps from the near death experience we had just swerved. I played with her tits, feeling the glistening sweat on the skin, tracing the lines of perspiration into the valley between them and climbing the peaks to each side.
Rachel needed more though, and as I concentrated below, I felt a touches on my dangling scrotum. Both of her hands played deliciously with my balls. ‘Please, Mr. Fowler. Put it back in. It felt so nice, and I want to cum this time.’
I didn’t recognize it at the time, but control had shifted. Maybe I should have put my penis away and left that house. Maybe I should never have started this. Both thoughts flew through my brain as Rachel drew my now throbbing cock towards her. It re-lodged and I thrust forward, hard.
My recollection of this sequence of lovemaking was uncertain. Every ounce of my energy was devoted to the most honest sequence of movements a man can make. Without the out of control passion I had developed they were movements of physical labour, but with that passion, they were actions of the most sublime and cultured artist. I was not ready for Rachel’s next request.
‘Mr. Richards, do you want me to milk your cock?’
I could not believe it when waves of compression and relaxation moved up and down my deeply buried cock. ‘What! What!’ I have expressed aloud.
‘Oh, yes, Mr. Richards. Your cock is so good to milk!’
There was no way that she could have learned this from a bunch of teenagers on holiday. My mind whirled, it could only be…only be…her own mother! She must have taught her these skills.
The truth descended in a orgasmic catastrophe. My balls clenched, my prostate fired and the sperm that had been frothing inside my testes burst out inside the vagina of the fertile, buxom little girl, and squirted upward into it’s upper regions, soaking her reproductive organs with my valuable and potent sperm.
These deliveries were deep inside and the young girl dramatically gasped and cooed as they were made, and all of the time those tremulous vaginal walls worked their obviously well practiced magic and I shouted my dying pleasure into the warm air.
As the mist cleared and the light of what I had done dawned on me, Rachel propped herself on her elbows and widened her legs, and I meekly withdrew my cock which plopped out with a soft thud on the leather stool. My disengagement was followed by a small dribble of sperm from Rachel’s loose twitching vagina. It was the very tip of the iceberg of what I had pumped into her.
My God! I thought, what had I done. But now at least I might conceivably still escape, somehow. I was wrong. Very, very wrong. Rachel gleamed back, past my head.
‘Hello Mummy!’
I froze in sudden fear.
‘What in hell’s name is going on here!’ I heard Samantha Barton scream.
‘Mummy, Mummy, I've been good girl. I’ve done all of the things you said I should do.’