An Education ~ part II of IV
If you won’t learn Latin you might as well learn a useful skill. Kneel down!
Part I: My husband surprised me with a prefect’s badge. I like roleplay, it adds variety to our marriage, so I’ll be my husband’s good girl. Or his bad girl if he prefers. I’m his schoolboy crush, some skinny, posh girl who was the object of his first domination fantasy. That’s hot, and the idea of being caned and fucked in front of an imaginary class, with rowdy young men heckling me, was exciting. But he decided to punish me after the lesson instead. So now he’ll have to watch me touch myself until the bell goes and I get what I deserve.
I think Sir must have a rock hard boner already, because the rest of the lesson lasts no longer than it takes him to dismiss the class. Then he just stands there, watching me, for a few seconds, which I guess is the time it takes for everyone else to file out. He’s really committing to this roleplay; I just want him to commit to the punishment.
I stay seated, because when everyone’s left Rowan is going to get caned, which means I’m going to get fucked. And he knows I want to be fucked because he can see my hand down my knickers again, one finger lazily circling my clit.
He’s not happy with that sight. “Rowan! Could we please get through a single class without you flaunting your body or touching yourself under your desk? If you’re determined to be fucked like the lowest Roman prostitute, do it in Founder’s Wood like everyone else, don’t disrupt my class. Do you want to be fucked, Rowan? Or do you prefer sucking cock? That’s what the other boys say, that you’re never happier than when you’ve got a mouthful of hot cock. Or hot cum. The word ‘blowbang’ has been bandied about. How many cocks have you sucked?”
He really doesn’t want to know the answer to that question, not from me. But how many has Rowan sucked? How much of a slut was the posh girl, really? “None, sir!”
“Well, now is a good time to start. My job is to teach you, Rowan, and if you won’t learn Latin you might as well learn a useful skill. Kneel down! If you swallow what I give you, I won’t cane you.”
Fuck! Or rather, not fuck. Rowan’s arse might be safe from the cane, but my cunt’s safe from his cock. That’s okay, I suppose. It’s disappointing, but I enjoy giving blowjobs. If I’m kneeling it’s easy enough to touch myself, and I know his cock so well that I can pace him: I’ll come as I swallow his cum. That’s mind blowing for me, and he appreciates it, so we’ll both be happy.
I kneel in front of him as he pulls his cock out, because I’m a good girl. Or Rowan is, or something. I don’t care about the roleplay any more, I’m just focused on his cock. When we first got together as a couple I had my doubts about monogamy, but it was what he wanted, and I wanted him, so that was it: we were exclusive. I had serious doubts the morning of our wedding, knowing I was giving up variety forever, that there’d be no more ‘new cock moments’, that I’d never again grind against a bulge and wonder if it was everything it promised to be, and what little tricks it would like best. But familiarity has its own benefits, and we still have variety in our monogamy. We explore our kinks. We even find new ones sometimes. And his cock is okay. It’s not quite long enough to hit all the right spots, but it’s short enough not to hit the wrong one, and it’s not so thick I get a sore jaw from sucking it, and oh my god he said ‘other boys’! The other boys say Rowan sucks cock. Rowan was a boy?
All couples have their little secrets, but this feels like a big one. When I was worried about giving up other cocks, was he worried about giving them up altogether?
Well, that’ll be why Rowan isn’t getting fucked, I suppose. I’m okay with anal: it’s not my favourite but he likes it so we include it. The thing is, I do need advance warning if it’s going to happen. I need to prepare, and I haven’t, and he knows it. So it’s just a blowjob. Or maybe he’ll treat my cunt like this Rowan boy’s arse? No, that would be too weird. Maybe not for him, but for me.
I fall automatically into my regular routine: my left hand cups his balls, my right hand pulls back his foreskin then goes to my lap, and my tongue lubes the head with spit. I won’t need so much saliva this time because my teasing has got him slick with pre-cum already. I haven’t seen that much in years. I put plenty of spit on anyway; it’s just what I do, my habit. It’s a routine that works, and he never seems to get bored with it.
My lips form a seal around the head, my right hand goes to my clit, and I swallow as he slides all the way in. The first time I blew him he was surprised how deep he could go. I told him I didn’t have a gag reflex; I didn’t tell him how much practice it took to overcome it.
When my nose is pressed against his belly I hold on for as long as I can, until my throat starts spasming around him, then I tap on his thigh. He pulls out, all the way. That’s my cue to gasp out a, “You’re so big!”
He likes to hear that. It earns me a pat on the head and a, “Well done.”
Once he’s had his taste of my throat I always switch to a short bob with regular swirls of my tongue. It’s like a swimmer’s breathing rhythm, except it’s stroke, stroke, stroke, flick. I wonder if Rowan was a swimmer? Maybe that’s when he developed his crush, seeing her long legs in a high cut swimsuit.
No! She’s a boy, isn’t she? So Rowan’s package in Speedos, maybe. Did he want to peel them down and swallow that cock while it was still wet, bouncing his nose off rock-solid abs, or did he only ever want Rowan to suck him?
And thinking about that, about my husband with a cock in his mouth, has thrown me off my routine. I’ve been bobbing without swirling, but my right hand’s been on autopilot. We’ll be out of synch. Do I need to do something special so he can catch up?
And what’s special, anyway? It’s been a quarter of a century since I had to improvise; I’m not sure I know how to any more.
What would Rowan do?
Now there’s a question. Do guys suck cock differently? Do they know secrets we don’t? Maybe. No one ever ate me out as well as Roxie did that night at Mickey’s. She said she couldn’t remember doing it the next day, because she was so drunk. Yeah, right. I was hammered, but I still remember every minute of it more than thirty years later. Of course she knew her way around a pussy better than any boy who’d tried it — there weren’t many back then, to be fair — but she didn’t do much different to them, not really. She just did it right. And for longer. So am I doing what a boy would do?
If I am, it’s not enough. My hand’s been busier than my mouth while I remember Roxie, and he’s noticed. “Rowan! You’re putting as much effort into this as you do your Latin prep. Let me help you.”
He grabs my head, thrusts his hips, and I’m swallowing his cock again. I don’t mind a bit of deepthroating, it’s just… this isn’t what we do. We have a routine. And he’s going to scare young Rowan off cock forever if he doesn’t back off. So, my right hand taps his thigh, and, just to be certain, my left gets a loose grip on his balls. Loose, but tightening.
He pulls out, but his hand grabs a hank of my hair. “Keep your mouth open, boy. I’ll finish myself.”
That’s the first time he’s acknowledged we’re pretending I’m a boy. Man! I’m a man, because Rowan is definitely eighteen: this is weird enough already.
But everything about this game — the surprise of it, the allure of the taboo, the teasing and denial, those voices, my memories and fantasies — it’s all combined to leave me not caring how strange it is. He’s not the only one who needs to come. So I open my mouth, close my eyes, and leave Sir to do his thing with Rowan. I’m going to let Roxie do hers with me. My fingers are a poor substitute for her tongue, and her lips, and oh god, the way she stopped sometimes and just breathed on my clit, heat on heat, and I lay there, trembling, and then she’d start again, sucking and licking and probing and teasing and she knew, she knew when I was on the edge, that was the secret she had that the boys didn’t, and she knew just how to tip me ov —
“Fuck, yes! Mmf!”
The sight of a big-boobed schoolboy arching his back while his cunt clenches around his fingers must have done something for my husband, because suddenly I’ve got a cock between my lips again. He’s obviously been wanking along with me: he’s no sooner in than I feel a hot spurt on the roof of my mouth. So, my orgasm triggered his this time. On any other afternoon, that would be a significant difference, but everything’s different today.
I swallow, out of convenience as much as desire. The next two spurts land on my face, which isn’t so convenient.
He seems pleased with himself. “Aa-ah! I needed that. Right, I’ll fetch a towel and pop the kettle on. Would you like a cup of tea, darling?”
And that’s that for Rowan. The poor boy’s left sitting there, dripping spunk. Maybe he’s used to it.
When my husband comes back I’m going to clean up, then drink my tea and keep my silence. I’m not going to ask any questions; not about what happened, and not about Rowan. It’s our silver wedding anniversary next week. We’ve planned a big party for Saturday. Whatever is going on, I want us to be the happy couple in front of everyone, so I’m not going to make waves until that’s out of the way. But we will talk afterwards. I’ll just need to find the right time.