Hard Measures

Denise harrumphed and looked up, interrupting her review of his work, but then tried to make an unflustered recovery:

—I think it's time you focused on your future instead of your libido, Quinn.

—Denny! he emoted, pressing a hand to his heart, don't you know how your words can hurt?

She dropped her pen and turned to face him. Silently debating how best to proceed, she said nothing for a moment. The constant fear of exposure she had been living with since their blowjob session had taken its toll; she was emotionally exhausted and knew this could not continue much longer. She needed to win another bet, just to get him to delete those pictures (or—perish the thought!—videos).

—So, this is it then, huh? she said. The last bet?

Quinn sighed.

—I guess so.

—Well, what is it that you want this time, little pervert?

His eyes dropped to her crotch.

—I want to touch your sweet . . . wet . . . eager little cunt.

—You are a vulgar young man, said Denise frowningly.

—So? What do you want in return, tutor-slut?

Her face brightened ruby red.

—You delete all the commemorative material you may still have of our little oral adventure together, she said. Other than that your failure will be reward enough for me.

—Done, he said quickly, as if to lock-in the arrangement before Denise had any chance to change her mind.

After finishing their session, Quinn walked her to his door.

—Oh, when the big day arrives, would you do a little landscaping for me? he said. Just in case? It'd be to both of our benefits if my fingers don't get all tangled in hair, you know.

Her cheeks had never lost their ruby hue entirely since agreeing to the latest bet, but this instant they flushed almost painfully hot. Before she stepped into the hallway, she felt another slap on her butt, harder this time than in the past; with a girlish squeak escaping her lips, she scampered away from her juvenile tormenter. Her modest heels clacked and scraped the polished hardwood floor in a hurry. She felt Quinn's blue-eyed stare fixed on her behind until she rounded the corner of the wide entrance hall and nearly ran into Sophie, the maid, coming up the stairs.

Over the next few days Denise managed to recover her composure and poise. In the evening, at last, she was home and alone: smooth jazz music and scented candles in conjunction with hot water helped to draw the stress and frustration out of her body. Another school year was coming to a close, and all five of her students had shown improvement. She found herself thinking of Quinn the most; even more than Nathan—a good-looking, polite young man with a sure-footed future at an Ivy League college ahead of him. Reluctantly, she let the warm water drain out of the tub. The linen towel patted away the excess liquid clinging to her skin. The lotion bottle was sitting next to her, ready to help her skin's smoothness. As she dried her slick legs (she had gotten them waxed), her eyes drifted to her overgrown bikini area: she had not dared to lay it bare at the waxing salon. Undoubtedly, she mused, Quinn would have some smart-aleck thing to say about it. She sighed, retrieving her Venus razor.

—Do you have any questions? asked Denise.

Sara, one of her only two female students this year (and far less grounded than Lilly, the other one, whose strong earthly bend would not at all aspire to her head-in-the-clouds attitude), took a furtive glance around the room.

—Do you have a . . . um . . . lover? she asked, narrowing her eyes and furrowing her forehead. The whispered tone of her words imbued them at once with a secretive and expectant air.

Denise sighed.

—You need to stop reading those silly romance novels, Sara, she said. Nobody says lover.

The young girl cocked her head to the side and looked out the corner of her eye.

—So, is that a yes?

Denise frowned.

—Your hair is all done up, Sara said, starting to tick off the clues with her fingers. You are wearing perfume and makeup, and you don't normally dress this nicely.

Denise smoothed her mid-thigh skirt.

—I had an appointment today, so I needed to dress this way.

Sara nodded methodically.

—Sure, she said.

Denise rested her head against the steering wheel. The drive to Quinn's house had taken her far longer than the half hour ticking by on her delicate wristwatch (a leftover gift of her ex-fiancé)—or so, at least, she felt. If Sara, her full-on head-in-the-clouds pupil, had deduced that she had dressed for a special occasion, then she must really look like she was trying too hard! She raised her head and pinched the bridge of her nose, hesitant to get out of her car. At first, after she had thrown the hybrid vehicle into gear, her self-loathing had festered, but then, despite her disquietude, an unwished-for excitement took root in her core. Presently, she cursed herself, for her underwear was hopelessly dampened; the whole drive through she had felt like oozing—even leaking—a ticklish coating onto the freshly-shaven skin in between her legs. She took a deep breath, checking her makeup one last time in the sun visor's mirror, before lifting the bag with her teaching materials from the passenger seat and stepping out onto the bluestone pavers.

The housekeeper answered the door. Ascending the stairs, Denise quietly thanked her luck: she would have blushed from head to toe if it had been Mrs. Ross! Quinn's room was marked by its resident's absence when she arrived. Denise set her things down but could not sit still. She pressed both palms against her stomach, looking closely at the set of eight pictures on the room's far wall. Each was a black-and-white photograph of a different (or so it seemed) female torso; half-clad with jeans unfastened and pulled down, pantieless to display clean-shaven pubic mounds and slits. In one picture the model was adorned by a butterfly tattoo on the left hip.

—Hey Denny!

She jumped and squeaked. Quinn was still laughing as she spun to face him, gritting her teeth, for a student to so easily get her goat was galling.

He flopped into his chair and leaned back.

—Can we do the lesson first? he asked. The past couple times I feel my mother hasn't gotten her money's worth, you know.

Denise's mind was infused with that intoxicating mixture of anxiety and excitement. Had she lost again? How—oh, goodness!—could this obnoxious student sit there so blithely, knowing the answer to her fate only too well, and not tell her immediately?

A sly grin lit Quinn's face.

—Plus, it builds suspense, he said, don't you agree?

Denise tugged at her skirt (which, suddenly, felt far too short to her). She was sure her nipples were well-visible already through the thin material of her crêpe blouse. Quinn's eyes, however, strayed to her legs as she sat down and carefully crossed them; leafing through the prepared papers, she made sure to keep her thighs tightly together.

A cold sweat trickled down the side of her neck as she reviewed Quinn's previous assignments: his progress—attention to detail, verbal expression, etc.—was rather impressive! Quinn smiled and looked genuinely pleased when Denise praised him. She pressed a small stack of papers onto the surface of the desk. Her sweaty palm stuck to the top paper.

—These are for review and practice before your finals, she said, and then she swallowed and forced all the confidence she could muster into her voice. Are you ready to get on your knees and thank me for salvaging your future?

Quinn exhaled sharply through his nose and narrowed his eyes. With quick, jerky movements he pulled open his bag and searched its contents. With a flourish he pulled out a sheaf of papers. Denise's stomach flipped over as he placed the papers on the desk directly in front of her.

—Do it, he said under his breath.

She felt crushing despair (didn't she?) at the sight of his winning score. He had won. He had really done it! And now she would have to pay up—with her most intimate parts being the prize. In a dither she worked through the motions of unzipping her skirt. It would be best to get it over with as quickly as possible, she decided. A wedge of light falling through the ajar door drew her eyes as she wiggled her skirt down her legs to her ankles, all the while staying rooted to her seat. Closing her lids, finally, she hooked her thumbs under the waistband of her lace panties.

—Stand up and turn your back to me, said Quinn abruptly.

She wanted to rebuke him, but the wicked situation had kindled an ardent flame within her. Each passing moment nursed that flame and caused it to grow. Sue had been right: inappropriate relationships were the most exciting kind! Denise rose and turned her back to Quinn. A visceral thrill ran through her at being ordered around by her young student. She began sliding her flimsy panties down her flaring hips.

—Slower, he said.

She bit her bottom lip and caught her breath. Her legs went rigid, and she bent fully over from the waist—thank you yoga courses! —and, little by little, lowered her panties down to her high-heeled feet.

Quinn gave a low whistle.

—Nice . . . fucking . . . ass, Double D.

Looking back at him around her closed legs, her inverted face heated to a full blush.

—Have a seat, he said, patting his leg.

Without conscious thought she did as she was told, lowering her bare bottom onto her student's adolescent lap. Licentious panic flooded her mind. This was crazy! She crossed her feet to one side to keep her knees tightly together.

—Come on, Denny, open up! Quinn urged her.

She swallowed hard and gradually, reluctantly relaxed her legs. The young man's hand slipped between and pried them apart.

—Aww, it's pretty, he cooed in her ear.

Denise closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. His words struck a chord, strumming her libido to a higher pitch. O, sweetest melody! But wait, where was the wax to stop her ears—molten in her own fire? She jumped as his fingertips traced along the inside of her thigh. For a fleeting moment, panicked by realizing the import of their intimate course, she squirmed away, but he put his arm around her waist and held her firmly in place. To her surprise, he did not immediately move to push his fingers inside her. Instead, he gently caressed her labia, brushing her newly hairless—and oh-so-sensitive—skin with his fingertips. He seemed to be taking his time, exploring her and savoring the moment of her impeding disgrace in equal measure.

She craned her neck to keep an eye on the open door. A fervent rush squalled through her, encouraged by his breezy strokes. Already primed, her body needed no time to respond. Her tiny pleasure button throbbed with eagerness. When his fingers at last slipped between her labia and found her wetness, Quinn chuckled. Denise could not but succumb; no longer withholding her moans, she laid her face against his neck. She whimpered softly while he was rubbing slow circles around her clit. A wonderful tingling spread from her core, running down her legs and up her spine. Her breathing quickening, the young man's smell invaded her sinuses and became no less intoxicating than his touch. His fingers left briefly, teasing other parts of her body where ample erogenous zones lay wantonly neglected still under the crisp veneer of refined apparel, but always returned to her clit. Her hips bucked to the rhythm of his carnal virtuosity.

—Denny?

—Yes! Yes! she panted into the crook of his neck, feeling humiliated by displaying her own ardor so eagerly.

Quinn rubbed the entire palm of his hand in quick circles over her sex, besprinkling the flesh all around with her wetness, and said:

—If I get into college, I'll fuck you.

Denise bit his shoulder as the first ripple of an orgasm went through her.

—Oh my goodness! she squealed, writhing her hips on his hardened lap.

His fingers dug in, finally, penetrating her sex (which was twitching desperately around them), as his whole hand shook against her.

—Yippee ki-yay, he breathed luridly over her shoulder, crushing one of her prodigious breasts beneath his hand. I knew you'd come for me, tutor-slut.

Denise cried out violently. A forceful frisson, reverberating all through her body and mind, consumed her from within. Her thighs clamped shut around his shaking hand. The squelching sounds of his relentless fingering unhurriedly ceasing, she ground her naked ass in circles against the adamant erection in his pants and thrashed her head, laying in ruin even the last vestiges of her carefully coiffed hair, sweat-streaked and wild.

Once again, Terra had changed its wonted livery, bidding the birds to return to sing their wooing songs in between high-rise and thoroughfare and among the city's scattered green: springtime, the only pretty ring time, was in full bloom. After having enjoyed a little leisure run in the balmy evening air and the benefits of a quick shower upon her return home, Denise presently settled down on her couch and closed her eyes. With a resigned breath, for she had found herself struggling to stay focused on her work these past days unless she helped herself to a clear mind (the latter, alas, being only of fleeting effect), she let her hand drift down her stomach, halting there for a moment before unfastening her pants and slipping inside along the flat valley leading to her hairless sex (she had finally dared to lay it bare at the waxing salon). She bit her bottom lip as she rubbed gently, circled slowly; quivers upsetting her slender legs until she folded them sideways.

Then the doorbell went ringing—and rang, rang, rang.

Eyes wide, she stilled in place, tempted to ignore whoever it might be. The fourth ring drove her into action though. Approaching the door, she refastened her pants, determined to dismiss the solicitor—or whoever was importunate enough to abuse her doorbell so late in the day—with a few terse words and then resume her mindfulness exercise. In her haste she skipped looking through the peephole, instead unlocking and swinging the door abruptly inward.

Quinn stood on her porch with a smile on his face. He stepped inside without awaiting invitation and kicked the door closed. From his back pocket he produced an envelope and held it triumphantly in the air. Denise's stomach knotted, instinctively, as she, catching sight of the expression on his face and the university's crest on the envelope, understood for whom the bell tolled.

Quinn tossed his proof onto her modest kitchen table and then scooped her up over his shoulder. She squealed like a schoolgirl, marveling at his sudden strength (though, in fact, she had lost some ten pounds—none of which seemed to have been derived from her hefty bosom—in the nerve-racking months since their first intimacy). An arm around her legs, he held Denise in place, carrying her into her bedroom with cocksure strides. She squealed again when he dropped her onto the soft mattress. His fingers wasted no time with finding and undoing the buttons on her blouse; instead, he shredded it off her upper body like a true brute. Denise knew exactly what was about to happen, but she did not protest—not even as Quinn, still no more delicately, started to rid her of her remaining clothes. In point of fact, it had been this eventuality precisely she had been fantasizing about just moments before.

Once she was completely naked, Quinn stepped back and smiled as he pulled his shirt over his head. It struck her that for the first time she could take a look at the young man's bare chest. His fingers had been all over her most intimate parts and even coaxed her to orgasm, yet she had never seen him sans shirt! His chest was hairless and well-defined, though not overly developed, consonant with the rest of his sinewy body. Once he stood fully naked before her, Denise fixed her eyes on his already half-erect penis. It swayed back and forth as he climbed onto the bed.

They settled down side by side. His organ felt hot and hard to her touch. It looked huge. His fingers slid up her inner thigh until they found their target.

—Already wet, chuckled Quinn.

—Already hard, rejoined Denise with a cheeky grin.

The tips of his fingers circled her clit. Every so often he stroked her labia, gently touching her denuded wet little folds. Eyes closed, Denise found herself squirming under his ministrations. Eventually, his fingers relented, and Quinn rolled atop her, settling his pelvis between her legs. The realization of what that entailed dawned on her with panicking immediacy.

—Condom, she said. In the d—

—Nah, he scoffed, brushing aside her interfering hand. I've earned this sweet cunt, and I'm going to enjoy it the way nature intended.

Shivers ran through her at hearing his words, trying to remember where exactly she was in her current cycle while wondering if a penis as large as his would even fit inside her .  .  .

—Gosh, you're crazy, she breathed up at him.

He leaned over her and cupped her head in his hand.

—Look at me, he said.

Denise stared up into his eyes as he nestled the tip of his penis against her opening and then pushed. It took a few tries, each of which made her inhale expectantly, then, suddenly, she felt herself yield to him inside. Despite his size, stretching and filling her like she had never experienced before, she arched her back and cried out—utterly overcome by womanly need. Quinn halted his thrust, still far from being pelvis-to-pelvis with her, and intimated how she was oh-so-fucking tight. He waited there, slightly more than half-imbedded (or so it seemed to her since she could not quite see down the conjunction of their bodies), and gave her a moment to adjust before setting his hips in motion again. She clenched her lids and grabbed the bedspread. Her young student took excruciatingly slow and long strokes within her. Each time he would withdraw his penis until the thick ridge of the tip snugly lodged against her opening from the inside then thrust in even deeper than before, causing her hips to buck as each new penetration took place. Denise lost herself in the maelstrom of sensations. All the same, just as she was finding a rhythm to her pleasure, Quinn pulled away. She opened her eyes and pouted, lifting her head to stare down at the slippery, hovering length of his sex.

—Roll over, he said gruffly, making an accompanying gesture.

Without any further prompting she complied. As soon as she lay on her belly, with her butt slightly raised before him, a loud smack crashed down across her full, firm cheeks.

—Now I want you to beg me, he said. Beg me to fuck you hard.

Another perturbing spank recoiled from her upturned ass.

—Come on, tutor-slut!

She shut her eyes and gritted her teeth. A minor part of her mind screamed to hold on to what little dignity was left to her. From his falling hands burst forth fresh salvos of shame intertwined with luring excitement. Her resistance faltered.

—Please, Quinn . . . please. Fuck me hard, she suspired. Fuck me as hard as you want.

—Good, my little slut.

With a tight grip around her hips, Quinn speared almost the entire thick length of his penis into her from behind and established a frenzied rhythm, driving himself relentlessly inside her. She screamed out—overwhelmed by the deep invasion of her body; by the intense friction of feeling stuffed full on the in-stroke and then completely emptied out on the out-stroke; by the obtrusive sensation of being stretched so tightly as to foreseeing her sheath to split open any second now. Mouth agape, heaving breaths to sustain her screams, she wondered if he was deliberately trying to hurt her. Or was he fucking her the way he thought she deserved? Her breasts bounced around on her chest, tingling all over from nipples to base. Then, all of a sudden, she felt his balls swatting her swollen clitoris, and the next instant his penis penetrated to an unfelt-before depth inside her. Yeow! Had she been punched in the stomach? The pain was greater than ever, but the accompanying pleasure—originating from some place in the deepest part of her sex full of nerve endings that had never before been stimulated and now seemed to explode their signaling pathways—gave the experience an unreal edge. His hips slamming fiercely into hers from behind, Denise's arms gave out; she came to rest with the side of her face against the sheets and her chest squashed on the bed. Her collapse notwithstanding, he kept up his urgent drilling, its impact driving her hips higher and higher into the air.