HeadmasterChapter 7
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Alex hardly remembered the walk back to the bus stop that evening. It had not seemed possible that she had sat for seven hours without breaking the tape. Not one strand had been broken. Mr. Smith had seemed surprised and, she thought, somehow pleased with her. Alex couldn't explain the rush of pride and those other strange emotions that that thought caused her to have. It was almost sexual.
She had seen so much today! The dresses those girls wore seemed to be designed to show off more than they covered up. They were so beautiful, too. And happy. What she really liked, however, were those other pictures, the ones that popped up so suddenly and then disappeared. The ones that showed the women together, or alone and touching themselves. She had never done that, or even thought about doing it by herself or with a girlfriend, but it looked so natural.
Her head was buzzing with new words and ideas. Words like 'cunt' and 'fuck' and 'pussy'. What was that thing they used on each other? Oh, yeah, a dildo. It had been enormous, eight inches long, at least! She couldn't believe that such a thing existed much less that it would fit up inside a woman. Sure, Daddy's stud bull was bigger, but that plastic thing had been so much bigger than Harold. The women had enjoyed it, even when one of them wore it strapped around their waist and fucked the other one. Alex blushed crimson as that naughty word came effortlessly to her mind.
The best word though, the best thing that she had seen was cunt-licking. She had completely soiled the back of her dress with her fluids when that had popped up. She had never been so wet, so excited, so unfulfilled. It was like she was striving for something, needing something, stretching, yearning to get some release, but couldn't quite reach it.
It was going to be another day before Harold came home. A very long day and it wasn't time for him to ravish her. She wished there was some way she could excite him to make him take her more forcefully.
Her mind on other things, Alex didn't notice the quiet little man who followed her at a distance from the club to the bus stop, then copied her transfer at the downtown station and got off with her at her stop near the small apartment. It would have been odd for her to notice him, as he made his living by going unnoticed. Even the neighbors he talked to over the next three days wouldn't remember him. If they did, no two would be able to give the same description of him, should anyone have asked. No one would ask, however, as nothing had happened. Yet.
Harold was surprised when he came in the door late Saturday morning. His wife had taken one of his old undershirts and slit it up the sides almost to her armpits. When he came out of the shower, she was standing there wearing that and a big smile. He supposed she was trying to be sexy, but all he could see was straw coming out of her ears. Not really, but her fucking family were just a bunch of ignorant hicks. But, if she wanted to try to be sexy, he was willing to let her jump around.
She had found a radio station that had some dancy-type music and she was swishing around. Her dancing was pretty bad and Harold had a flashback to the stripper he has fucked last night. Shit, the bazoombas on that bitch had been fucking huge, and could she shake them. Not like Alex. Oh, they were jiggling around, but he liked them to flop around, slapping him in the face. You'd need a vice to titty-fuck Alex and that was just too much fucking work. He laughed out loud at his own pun
Still, she seemed to get the hang of it a bit, and Harold felt that familiar urge. Standing up suddenly, he ripped the fragment of cloth from her body, leaving her barefoot and naked. She squealed in pleasure, smiling up at him, inviting him to do more. He did, and ten seconds later he rolled off her and started snoring.
The buildup and planning for her dance had been exciting for Alex. More than the actual event, but still, he had responded to it. They had never fucked in the morning and never on the living room floor. The tingling between her legs, though not as intense as when she had been with Mr. Smith, lingered for a long time.
Later that evening, Alex had danced for her husband again, only this time, she stripped off his old shirt more quickly. It had been ripped that morning and she had simply tied it together in back. With a hard tug, it had come off in her hand. She had been so excited, as had Harold, at her dancing around naked, that she had touched herself. That seemed to excite him, especially seeing her pinch and pull on her nipples. When she did it hard, it took her breath away, a feeling she didn't understand but loved.
Harold had pitched her over the end of the couch in the middle of her dance and pumped her for a long time. Well, a long time for Harold. Ten, fifteen strokes, at least. Then he grunted, as if he was in pain, and headed for the bedroom.
As she lay in bed next to her snoring spouse later that night, Alex allowed her hand to steal down to that aching place between her thighs. She was still sticky from Harold's cum, another word she had learned, and the slippery fluid aided her fumbling fingers. She had never done this before, had never thought of it until she had seen those pictures, and just touching it lightly felt so good. There was another reason for the dampness, though, and the secret she had discovered about herself tonight had extended her pleasure far longer than the pain in her nipples had lasted. It certainly wasn't Harold's face she was thinking of as she tenderly massaged her vaginal lips and squeezed her breasts.
Touching herself as she had seen those other women touch themselves and each other, Alex felt the tensions within her body building. If something didn't happen soon, she would snap. Gently at first, then with increasing urgency she struggled towards that void in her mind, her fingers stroking and plunging, torturing the newly discovered nubbin of sensitive flesh that had been throbbing non-stop for the past two days. Pushing it back and forth, pinching it, trapping and rolling it between her thumb and forefinger.
Not to be ignored, her other hand joined the first, abandoning her chest, burying first one then two fingers in her throbbing cunt. Her thumbnail grazed across the sensitive area around her anus and she moaned in frustration. It was almost enough, but for what?
Faster and faster her fingers moved. She was lying on her side next to her husband doing what her mother had always taught her was dirty, naughty and nasty. She didn't care. She needed this. She needed something.
Alex was never sure if she reached her decision immediately before she discovered what all the fuss was about, or immediately after. Either way, whether the thought of going back to the club and seeing the mysterious Mr. Smith sent her over the edge, or whether the thundering experience of her very first orgasm convinced her to go back, it didn't matter. All that mattered right then was how she felt. Like she had never felt.
Later, sitting alone on the tattered sofa in the living area of the tiny apartment, Alex thought what Mr. Smith had told her, those delicious words he whispered in her ear as she had watched those beautiful women. He had told her what she was supposed to wear the next time. Next time! He wanted to see her again!
He had also instructed her to practice those moves of the dance she had watched over and over. She grinned to herself as she thought how proud he would be that she had done that. She was even more thrilled that he wanted her to come back. He said he would teach her. He said he would train her to please him. Of course, he had meant to say to please Harold. She was married, after all.
Alex didn't like to admit it, even to herself, but that had been when she had really soiled her dress. The thought of pleasing him made her really wet down there. When she thought of him she tingled. If anything, Alex was a practical girl. She knew she was attracted to Mr. Smith, but it was just sexual. She was married to Harold, and that meant a commitment. They were a team. She was only trying to learn to please him, her husband.
Harold watched football all day Sunday starting as soon as they came back from Mass. Uncharacteristically he splurged on a six-pack on the way home from the neighborhood church and got a little drunk. Alex was disappointed. Sunday afternoon was always such a special time for her parents. During the two weeks they had lived with her parents, Harold had even commented, if somewhat crudely, on the amorous sounds coming from her parent's bedroom on Sunday afternoon. Nothing she did that day, however, could pry his interest from the ball games. He didn't even look twice when she served his beer topless. Or bottomless. She finally felt silly throwing herself at him like that, so she just went to bed. He came to bed late and was gone by the time she got up.
Monday and Tuesday dragged by for Alex. She found if she spent time practicing for Mr. Smith she would become so aroused that she would have to touch herself. If she thought about Harold, she would usually end up sad and cry uncontrollably. She knew she was avoiding the truth about her marriage, even with the interest he had shown in her on Saturday. She was just not pleasing him as she ought to. It had to be her fault.
Wednesday Harold didn't touch her. In fact, she smelled a strange perfume on his shirt when she picked it up off the floor. There was a smudge of red, too. Despite the hole in her stomach, Alex tried to excite him. She had fashioned a new outfit, two pieces that didn't hide hardly anything, but Harold wasn't buying. Worse, he wouldn't even talk to her.
Not one to be so easily discouraged, Alex decided she would simply have to learn more from Mr. Smith about how to be exciting for Harold. Thursday morning, bright and early she prepared for her next visit to the club, to the handsome Mr. Smith. She reviewed what he had told her to wear when she came back. She didn't have many clothes, but the ones he had requested she did have. A simple white blouse and a pleated skirt. They were clean and pressed to a fault. The white blouse she had was old and a little tight through the bust line, but it buttoned down the front like he wanted.
She didn't have to wonder why he had requested those items of clothing. She didn't have to imagine because he had told her what he was going to do to her. In lascivious detail, whispering in her ear, describing the touching, the stroking, the pain and pleasure he would give her if she returned. The whisper had stayed with her all week, teasing her, arousing her in her dreams, making her toss and turn all night in restless slumber.
She had been driven to masturbation several more times since that first time. Her hunger for gratification was increasing, becoming an obsession. She was constantly wet between her thighs, her clit proudly and prominently erect. At times, the slightest pressure on that sensitive tissue would set her off, the electric shocks coursing from her groin to her boobs to her brain, overwhelming her senses.
With giddy schoolgirl excitement she boarded the cross-town bus to the central terminal, then waited impatiently for the next departure on the Main Street bus. After an interminable delay to change a tire, she was headed for the industrial part of town and the club. Alex couldn't recall ever being so happy or excited in her young life. She arrived at the club and was buzzed in.
The second door was locked this time, but Mr. Smith had given her a special code. As she punched in the numbers she blushed. He was teasing her with the code, making fun of her innocence. She suddenly understood why he had said it was an easy one to remember. "6-9-6-9" she entered and the door popped open like magic. Alex gave a little squeal of delight and went in.
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- 14.07.2022
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