The Illustrated Teacher
Part 4

In the morning, when she awoke, it was in his arms. He had turned over in the night and so had she. She could feel his chest at her back, and opened her eyes. She traced the patterning on his arm, from shoulder to just above his wrist. His hand was cupped loosely over her breast.

Whatever dreams he was having were, she suspected, pleasant ones, because his very erect cock as nestled against her tailbone. Like yesterday, it pleased her to feel his arousal, but now she had nothing else to distract her, and it was difficult to lie still, feeling him throbbing against her skin. If she moved, she knew he'd wake. So she lay as quietly as she could. Twice already she had disturbed his sleep. She wouldn't do it again.

The heat from his body against her thighs and backside reminded her of yesterday's punishment. A part of her still couldn't understand why she'd allowed him to do it. But another, more primal part of her replayed each stroke over and over in her mind. Her pussy began to moisten and ache, her nipples stiffened. Even if she could stop herself from moving, she couldn't control her breathing which was getting faster and shallower by the minute.

Finally, Sophia moved slid her hand between them and carefully wrapped it around his cock. It was very hot, and pulsed pleasantly in her grasp.

"Good morning, Sophia." His voice was broken with sleep and deeper even that usual.

"Good morning, Andrew."

"Please don't touch me like that without asking permission."

She uncurled her hand and moved it, tucking it to her chest. "I'm sorry. It was..."

"In the way? Then it's I who should apologize."

Sophia felt a pang of guilt and the keen sting of rejection. "No. It wasn't in the way."

Propping himself up on an elbow, he looked over her. "You're aroused?"

"Yes." She caught herself before she lied, which would have been her normal reaction to being rebuffed and almost automatic.

"So am I, but it will pass." He kissed her on the cheek. "Thank you for not lying to protect yourself. That couldn't have been easy."

As in so many other instances, it stunned Sophia to hear him speak out loud the thing that were, just a moment earlier, in her mind. It was both comforting and horribly disconcerting.

He sat up in bed and ruffled his hands through his hair, yawning. The tattoos on his skin were stark against the white sheets. He noticed Sophia's interest. "Do you like them?" He held out his arms as if the were somehow not part of him.

"They're beautiful. I've never seen anything like it."

"Ah, the map of a misspent youth in Micronesia." He grinned. "But then we all wear our history on our skin, don't we? Somehow." He reached out and traced the small scar on her cheek, just below her left eye. "I once had a sub with the most marvellous stretch marks on her tummy. Fifteen for every child she ever had, she said."

Sohpia giggled. "At least she has the kids in compensation."

He closed his eyes and smiled. "Oh, she didn't need any compensation. She..." His voice trailed off and he shook his head.

"Have you had a lot?"

"A lot of what?"

"Submissives."

"Good lord, that would be like counting lovers. A tremendously ungallant thing to do." Andrew pulled himself off the bed and slipped on his bathrobe. "Do you cook?"

She pushed the covers back and climbed out of bed, grabbing the throw off the floor, she wrapped it around her and considered. "Adequately. Not well, though."

"Enough to make breakfast?"

"Oh, I think I can manage that."

'Excellent," he said, clasping his hands together. "But you really don't need the blanket. I keep the house very warm."

"But..."

"Sohpia! Have you forgotten everything from yesterday?"

"No," she said sheepishly, and let the blanket drop.

"Good girl. Come on, I'll show you the kitchen."

She didn't tell him that she'd already seen it. She just followed him downstairs, feeling terribly awkward in her nakedness.

He showed her where everything was and she went about the task of making bacon and eggs. Sophia had assumed he would leave her to it once she started cooking, but he didn't. He sat at the kitchen table, sipping a cup of coffee he'd made for himself and watched her.

It was harder to cook naked. She had to stand much further from the pan so the fat didn't spit at her. When she put the bacon in, she jumped back quick, to protect her skin. Andrew laughed, and she laughed. She began to get used to him watching her.

When she was finished, she brought the plates over to the table, with cutlery and jam and butter for the toast.

"Lovely, Sophia." He surveyed his plate before starting. "Don't be so modest about your cooking."

"It's only breakfast."

Andrew looked up at her. "Breakfast requires timing, Sophia. I don't enjoy hearing you put yourself down. Please don't let me hear you do it again."

She lowered her head and nodded.

While they ate, he asked her about what she did at work. She explained that she managed the broadcast scheduling for a regional television company."

"Do you do it well?"

She smiled and wouldn't be caught out this time. "Yes, as a matter of fact. I do it very well."

He pursed his lips and smiled back. "Excellent."

Rising off his chair, he picked up the jar of strawberry jam and, to Sophia's surprise, plunged his first and second fingers deep into the open pot, before putting it back on the table. He stood beside her and took a fistful of her hair in his hand, pulling back her head and causing her to open her mouth. The two jam laded fingers pushed between her lips.

"Suck," he whispered.

Sophia closed her lips around his fingers and sucked at them. The sweet, tangy paste slid down her throat. She used her tongue to get at what remained between his two fingers. And even though she had cleaned the last smears of sweetness off them, she continued sucking, because of the way he was looking at her as she did it. She would have sucked his fingers for hours, had he allowed it.

But he didn't. Eventually, he withdrew them and kissed her forehead. "Sweets for the sweet," he said. "I'm going to have a shower. Will you wash me?"

She followed him back up the stairs, not feeling nearly as awkward about her nudity as before.

In the bathroom, she turned to him. "Andrew, would you mind if I had a moment to myself first? I have to pee."

He looked at her, a smile forming on his face. "You're welcome to pee, but you don't need be alone to do it."

"Actually, I do. I can't go if someone's watching me," she said nervously.

He raised his eyebrows. "Really? Can't or won't - let's see, shall we?" He pointed at the toilet. "Sit."

Sophia hesitated a moment and then sat down on the seat. Andrew crouched in front of her and smiled.

At first, she held her bladder on purpose, hoping he would just get bored and at least busy himself with something. Then, realizing that he wasn't going anywhere, she really did try to go, but nothing happened. Her bladder was screaming at her, but no matter how much she willed it to empty, it just wouldn't release. "I don't think I can, Andrew."

He put a hand on each of her knees and pushed them apart, gently. "Now, I know you think you can't, Sophia. But I promise you, you can."

Sophia nodded her head and tried to make her muscles relax. Nothing.

"Take nice big breaths that go all the way down."

She did as he asked. His hands were big and warm against the skin of her thighs and he stroked them back and forth. Sophia didn't know how to tell him that all this attention wasn't making it easier for her to do what he asked, but somewhere in the corner of her mind, she thought he knew that already.

Just as she thought it was never going to happen, her bladder let loose and she sighed with relief. And just as she thought this minor ordeal was over, Andrew slid his hand between her legs, cupping her cunt.

"Oh, my god!" she squealed. Every nerve in her pelvis shouted as she tried to stop the flow, but having waited so long, she couldn't control it at all.

"It's only urine, Sophia. It's perfectly clean. Some people actually drink it."

"Oh, my god..." said again, looking down at his hand between her legs. The stream finally lessened and tricked to a stop.

"On the other hand, training your muscles to shut off the flow is apparently very good for preventing incontinence in later years."

"I'll...I'll remember that, Andrew." She was still stunned by what he'd done.

At the same time, Andrew seemed to think this was very amusing. He stood up, bent over the tub and turned on the shower. She could hear him trying to stop himself from laughing as she wiped herself and flushed the toilet.

"Oh. Ha-ha. Very funny," she muttered, feeling very disconcerted.

He undid his robe and stepped into the spray. Then, very deliberately, she was convinced, he reached out, and pulled her in, by the arm, using the very same hand she'd peed on.

"I had no idea you were suck a prude," he said, handing her a bar of soap.

The whole incident made her feel like she was about twelve. She blushed and lathered up the soap, rubbing on a flannel and began to wash his chest. She couldn't look at his face.

"I'm not a prude."

"Yes, you are," he teased, lifting an arm so she could wash under it.

"No, I'm not." Her voice more forceful this time.

Andrew lifted his other arm and watched her scrub the underside with the flannel.

"Well, I guess that an enema is out of the question, for a while anyway."

She looked up at him, horrified. It made him laugh again.

"I'm glad you think I'm so funny," she muttered, working her way down up one side of his neck and down the other.

She scrubbed him hard, thinking about rubbing the dark blue tattoos off his skin, but he didn't protest. He just turned around and offered her his back.

Although there were gaps in the ink, there really wasn't any part of him besides his hands, his feet and above his shoulders that wasn't patterned. As she scrubbed his buttocks, she realized that not only the outside was tattooed. As she pushed the cloth between them, she could see that his cleft was also decorated. It must have been excruciatingly painful, getting it done.

As she finished the backs of his legs, he turned around. "Are you still angry?" he asked.

"No."

"Are you sure? Because I'm not letting you wash my cock if you're angry."

She grinned and blushed. "I'm not angry," she muttered. She was wet from the spray, and she pushed the strands of hair that had stuck to her cheek away. "Really. I never was. Just shocked, and embarrassed."

He grinned. "Right, wash away, then."

It wasn't really, until that moment, it occurred to her how intimate this was. She put the flannel aside and lathered her hands. For a moment, she didn't do anything.

"You have my permission," he whispered.

"Right. Okay," she said and, trying to be as nonchalant as she could manage, began to wash his cock.

The problem was, she didn't feel very nonchalant about it. As hard as she tried to view every stroke of her hand as a hygienic necessity, it just didn't feel that way. And it was increasingly apparent that it Andrew wasn't viewing it that way either. He hardened and grew in her soapy hands. As she reached down, between his legs, to soap his balls, he widened his stance and moaned.

Sophia reasoned that if he wanted her to stop, he'd tell her, so she continued what she was doing. She could feel each discrete, hairless, sac become firmer under her touch. Never before had she noticed how beautiful they felt in her hand. There was something very compelling about the texture and shape of them.

"Andrew?"

"Mmm?"

"Do you shave? Down there, you know?"

He chuckled. "Oh, down there. You mean the place where your hands are being so clever at the moment?"

"Yes."

"They have names, Sophia. If you don't use them, I'm going to start thinking you are under the legal age of permission."

"Your penis. Your testicles," Sophia said, sounding out every syllable. "Are they naturally like that, or do you shave them."

He caught her jaw in his hand and pulled it up until she had to look at him. "You're not a doctor. That's not the words you use in your head, to yourself, when you are fucking someone."

"No."

"Use the words, Sophia." He was deadly serious now. His erection might be raging in her grasp, but his eyes were absolutely serious.

"Cock. Balls."

He let her jaw go. "Thank you. Yes, I shave them."

"Why?"

"Because you like the way it feels. Because, although they are probably the cleanest they have every been, you are still pretending to wash them."

It seemed like every ounce of blood in her body flooded into her face. She let her hands drop to her sides. Suddenly, she wished for all the world that she didn't feel quite so naked.

"You know something?"

"What, Sophia?"

"You're mean. Sometimes you are really, really mean."

Andrew lifted her chin again and looked at her quite tenderly. "I know. And you know what?"

"What?"

"If you want to bring me off, I want you to be honest about it, Sophia."

She opened her mouth, but shut it again. She didn't know what to say.

"I don't want the first time I come with you to be some 'oopsie' in a shower, so you can go home and pretend it was all a big mistake. Or something you can write off as a sexual favour.

I don't need you to get me off, Sophia. I can wank better and more satisfactorily that you can toss me off. What I suspect will be a real pleasure, is when you learn to be at peace with who you are and what you want."

 

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