To Snare A Tiger free porn video
“Well,” my English teacher replied, “I normally only fuck tigers, but I think I can make an exception for a beautiful young girl.” He did not remove his hand from my thigh.
“That’s odd,” I replied, startled. “For I’ve titled my story, To Snare a Tiger, but that’s not what I asked. I asked, ‘Are you in the practice of luring students into one-on-one tutoring sessions so that you can more easily seduce them?’”
“Ah!” he exclaimed. “I see that you are learning what I am trying to teach you about creative writing.”
“Wha-at?” I asked. Were we having two different conversations?
“A good story should pounce on the reader from the very beginning. Grab him with your claws and sink your fangs in! Your title is provocative, but the premise is stale. The beautiful, naïve, eighteen year old virgin stalked by an older, more experienced tutor. Pah!”
His thumb prowled the skin beneath the hem of my dress, leaving circles of electricity.
Creative Writing was harder than I thought. As soon as the assignment was made I knew what my story would be about and at first it unfolded smoothly, but the closer I got to the climatic love scene the more I floundered. I was losing faith in myself; hence, this tutoring session.
“Surprise me!” my teacher exclaimed. “Show me something I haven’t seen before, or your story will just be jumbled in the Bargain Bin with the rest of the literary world’s excrement.”
His fingers traced the valley between my knees and reflexively, I pressed them more tightly together.
“But how can I?” I protested. “My story is a romance. What can be new or surprising about that?”
He smiled, a predator stalking his prey. “Now, some may deny it, but every romance story is mainly about fornicating, whether explicit or not. But if it is only about fornicating, it becomes boring and tedious.”
At eighteen, I was still a virgin and all of that stuff was alien to me. I knew the ins and outs, so to speak, but I didn’t know how people acted or talked in those moments. No wonder my story had faltered.
“A good romance story should be like a chocolate-dipped strawberry. Fornicating is certainly the sweet fruit that everyone craves, but we still need that thick, delicious shell of chocolate that accompanies the berry. And what makes up that shell? Imagery. Nobody wants to read about just ‘two bodies fucking’, they want to see what the characters are seeing – feel what they are feeling. Imagery does not occur on the writer’s page; it occurs in the reader’s mind. The reader wants their characters to be real and human which is why imagery is, without question, the most important part of any story. There are only two and a half ways to have sex, and there's nothing you can do about that. It is the images you create that make your story stand out. Give life to your characters, Melanie. Who are they? What do they look like? How do they dress? What do they see? What do they feel?“
My teacher leaned back in his chair stroking his tawny beard striped with a hint of grey. He had that tanned Adonis thing going on with ravenous hazel eyes that pinned me and held me prisoner. My skin tingled where he had touched it and the sensation radiated through my body until it settled warmly in my nether regions. I realized that I was not at all sure that I didn’t want to be seduced.
“For instance, in writing about you I could merely state that you are a lovely young girl and let it go at that. But if I want to paint a picture of you, if I want the reader to see you, I might say instead that you have the fair face of an elven princess floating in ginger clouds of soft hair spun with streaks of gold gleaming in the glory of the setting sun.”
He smoothed an errant lock from my face, stroked my temple and gazed deeply into my eyes.
“Your hair sparkles like new-fallen snow aglow in dawn’s embrace on a crisp wintry morn. No footsteps have yet tarnished its pristine beauty and all I want to do is run through it, enjoying its perfection.”
“And your eyes! Large, liquid, sea-green eyes, like the green pushing through piles of gritty snow to announce the spring! A lover could be consumed by those eyes. Lost in the stories, they tell of happiness and sorrow, of anger and love, bravery and fear.” He tenderly caressed my eyelid with the ball of his thumb. “Ah! Lashes soft as a shadow, light as a feather and wispy as the finest gossamer!”
A kiss whispered across one lid, then the other, attended by warm breath brushing my cheek. Heat spread like fire through dry brush, melting my loins as I struggled to hold on, but my grasp inexorably slipped.
“If your eyes are the gateway to your soul, then your lips are the portal to your body. They are softness, passion and the promise of sweetness to come.” When he leaned in I knew what was coming and shyly turned away, but his hand reached under my hair below my ear and turned me gently back, his thumb caressing my cheek. My lips parted and my heart fluttered as he guided me to his sensuous mouth and our breath mingled. For a season, tongues wrestled, fanning smoldering embers into flame.
We were both panting when finally he drew back. I was leaving. Of course I was! The hour was late and everyone had gone and I should go too. I made to reach for the door latch but those feline eyes drew me and I hesitated. I had desired this man since first I’d seen him, dreamed of those eyes, imagined those hands caressing me, that voice cajoling..
I didn’t know what to say, so I scoffed, “You’ve drawn a pretty picture, but where’s the surprise?”
“Undress,” he commanded simply.
If this was some sort of game I would not be the first to throw in the towel. I seized the pleated hem of the cream creation that I had chosen for this meeting, tugged it over my head, and dropped it in a puddle on the floor leaving only blotted lace panties and black pumps. For the first time as a woman, I stood naked before a man. It was his turn for surprise, because for once in my priggish life, I wore no bra. He leaned forward in his chair with an appreciative grunt as his eyes flitted from pebbled nipples around the pleasing taper of my waist to the bulge of my mound.
“Widen your legs, Melanie,” he said.
I closed my eyes and did just what he told me. Hands glided up one thigh and down the smoothness of the other. When he kissed my stomach I moaned his name, and when his fingers traced my furrow I staggered and leaned on the desk for support.
I whimpered ever so slightly as my breasts filled his mouth, sucking, nipping, licking. I had endured the clumsy, painful groping of my boyfriends but this was delightful. He devoured them, taking each globe in turn and massaging them with his lips and jaw. Oh, God, I had never imagined it could feel so good! I raised my hands to push from below, to press them upward into that ravening mouth. I reveled in new sensation and for a time it was nearly enough.
His sure fingers tore at my lacy panties and suddenly I was completely exposed. Before I could cover myself, his lips found my pubis and reverently he kissed and petted the red-gold pelt that gloried there.
“It is like the grandeur of autumn bursting forth after summer! It is orange lantana cascading over a softly mounded hillside!” my English teacher said as he ran his fingers through my pubic hair.
Finally, he sat back. “It’s important as a writer to connect with the reader, Melanie, to convey your experience into the reader’s senses. But before you can do that, you must yourself experience! Whatever we write, bringing our own personal experience to the page only enriches and deepens the experience for the reader. It’s not always easy to draw on your own experiences. Though some may be joyous and celebratory, others are likely to be delicate or painful, but if you aim to write with authenticity, then sometimes you have to be brave.“
He paused, giving me a long look out of those yellow-brown eyes. Finally, he reached out and pulled me across the desk to set me on his knee.
Winding his hand through my hair, he put his lips to my ear. “Melanie, sweetheart.”
His breath was warm, sending a spark of electricity through the entire surface of my skin as he kissed the beating pulse below my ear. “You.” Kissing the point of my jaw. “Are.” Kissing the corner of my mouth. “Brave.” Kissing my lips, very lightly. “Not to mention pretty as a spring day.”
His mouth lingered and he kissed me for quite a while. I had my arms tight around my teacher’s neck and my heart thudded against his hard chest. When it was time, he sat me on his desk with my bottom and heels at the edge. I leaned back and closed my eyes, doing just what he told me.
He stood between my legs and went back to kissing me, making his way down my body. This time, his kisses had nothing tender about them but took me into a different world, nip by nip, snarling. He separated my lips to expose my moist opening, and then bent to taste my warm salt. I cried out when he found my hard nodule buried deep within my folds, gasped, and moved to give him easier access. He prodded and nuzzled, then dipped deep into my inviting opening to taste and explore. I was hardly aware of anything but the hot pulses of feeling coursing through me. Every place he touched or kissed burned its way through to the ultimate spot deep within that tingled with fire and yearning. My breath came faster, my cries of pleasure became louder until the sensation reached its peak and I came and came, holding on for dear life as the roller coaster of orgasm rolled through my body. When finally I slumped back his beard was soaked with my adoration.
With a growl of satisfaction he prowled back up my body, then stood and hurriedly removed his clothing as if it was an afterthought. He stood naked before me for inspection, his erection hooking proudly towards the ceiling twitching rhythmically with his heartbeat.
“Imagery,” he demanded.
It was difficult to be analytical when in a few moments my deflowering would begin.
“Magnificent!” I finally croaked.
He frowned. “I daresay. Yet such a word is too vague, too subject to misinterpretation. The picture so conjured is neither focused nor memorable. Try again.”
“It is as if it is coiled, ready to spring. Powerful with a pulsing eagerness. I understand now why you prefer tigers, for everything about such a menacing creature roars, ‘Grrr!’”
“Just so,” he said approvingly.
A pearly drop formed and slowly elongated until it broke free and plopped to the floor.
“Oh, girl!” he breathed. “How I want you.”
“I am ready.”
His cock was thick and hot, it was on fire. When I wrapped my fingers around it, I could feel the heat underneath the skin and that’s when I started going a little bit crazy. I guided the head between my legs and placed the tip at the barred entrance to my womanhood. With a sigh of surrender I opened my legs as wide as they would go and hugged him between my thighs.
“Beg me to fuck you,” he demanded, as his sure hands cupped my breasts. He pinched the nipples with agonizing insistence as the spongy head of his phallus maddeningly polished the furrow between my engorged lips.
“Fuck me,“ I pleaded. “Don’t stop. Not now! Please. Fuck me.”
He kissed me hard as he made the first sudden thrust. I screamed as he bulled his way in, and then it was done. We were as close as it was possible for a man and woman to be. Time held still while he kissed my tears away and the pain diminished. I clenched my thighs tighter around his waist and winced at the burn as he rocked slowly back and forth but even through the sting came a whisper of the pleasures to come. My fingers reached between our bodies and traced the base of his cock, by now driven all the way inside. I gently rolled his balls between my fingers, exploring the little orbs in their funny wrinkled sack and began to writhe slowly beneath him in cadence with his thrusts. When I touched the rubbery rim of his anus with my finger, he came with a roar, inundating me with a flood of sperm pulsing in boiling gushes that mixed with blood and ran in rivulets down my bottom.
I grasped his bottom and held tight. I would not willingly let him go. We remained locked together like that for some time, arms and legs entwined until his member slipped out, spent and flaccid, as I dripped the remains of his come onto the desktop.
Life was all quite clear to me then. I was one with it, and with him. He raised his head to face me and our mouths met. I felt his erection returning and once more he slipped inside me.
And that is how you snare a tiger.
Fay
- 03.05.2022
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