Here endeth the lesson...

1560

My next tutorial was moved from the sofa to the bedroom. A reward for achievement. Good grades. My teacher wanted more room to spread out. More room for me to spread her out. Upon arrival she still wore the little business suit that gave her the authority of senior management. This time, though, high heeled boots. Suited and booted. My mistress. Perhaps encouraged by upmarket bed linen or as a sign of the shifting sands of time, she changed into her birthday suit. All my birthdays coming at once. All or nothing. For now it was all. But nothing was close.

I was now less innocent and in awe than I was at the start of these masterclasses. I had a certain confidence that came with familiarity. I was still besotted and extremely obedient but I occasionally took the initiative. From bottom of the class to the top in eight joyful lessons. I knew the roadmap of her tight little body. I knew the erogenous zones and the things that pleased her but I was now capable of going ‘off piste’. She allowed me to surprise her but made fun of me if I fell short. “Naughty boy” was her favourite restrain if I went too far and “I’m the teacher” was her entreaty if she wanted to reinforce her status as controller. This time, however, marked a changing of the guard. I even uttered the instruction “Let me…..”. Such a request would have earned me a rebuke, but was now received with willing acquiescence.

I remember the clean, fresh Egyptian cotton sheets. I remember the sheer thrill of being skin to skin with this feminine enchantress, my mentor, my tutor, my adored. It was the first time that I wasn’t penetrating her semi-clothed. That was illicit and forbidden; this was intentional and deliberate. My body was able to take a different position. My long legs and strong youthful thighs were able to build a new momentum. I was on top and my power and unrestricted abandon implied a new dynamic. Her squeals of delight were more intense than ever. Her pleasure rapturous. For the first time I felt in control, a man and not a boy. We were as one, as never before…..and as never again. Some might say a fitting finale. As they say, go out on top.

As we finished she kissed me and said “Thank you….”, words not uttered before. She slipped into a silk oriental robe and disappeared telling me to get dressed. I loitered, revelling in the scent of being in a real lady’s boudoir. I finished dressing too slowly. At the very moment I saw the framed photo of her smiling lovingly at a well-dressed older man beside a classic sports car on the table by the bed she rushed back into the room flustered. She shut the door behind her and issued urgent instructions in a voice I didn’t recognise. ‘Hide in the wardrobe and don’t come out until I tell you. My husband’s here…..’ she uttered in a frenetic whisper.

There was no time to think as I was ushered unapologetically into the wardrobe and the heavy door shut behind me. More of her perfume invaded my nostrils as my body was surrounded and seduced by the texture of silk, wool and cashmere. Her costumes. Her uniforms. My intoxication. It was dark but, despite my predicament, I felt calm, after all I was as close to her as I could be without her being present. I waited.

The wardrobe was expensive. Made of thick, impressive, soundproof mahogany. No clues were given as to the marital status outside my cocoon. I took the precaution of sinking into the back of the wardrobe, behind the garments and out of sight in case the husband decided to inspect my tutor’s wardrobe. If I was married to her I’d want to stroke her clothes and inhale her scent daily. After stroking her texture first, of course.

I didn’t panic as the minutes passed but I sensed the end. I was conscious of her panic as she loaded me into the wooden box. I sensed that seeing me again would be a betrayal of the status that had been rudely enforced upon us. I now knew what she had wanted to hide from me. I was her secret pupil on her terms. Terms that no longer applied. Her job as my tutor, instructress, corrupter, muse, temptress and educator was now complete. All that fantasy shattered by reality. My learning was over. Her job was done. I was no longer the wet behind the ears puppy, but a young man with a degree in physical fusion. A Bachelor of Sex. Well, a bachelor.

After about an hour the door opened. She whispered my name and helped me out of the costume department. She told me I must leave ‘NOW’. I had 5 minutes in which to ‘disappear’. I was unceremoniously marched to the front door and despatched. In my young, inexperienced mind it felt like abject ejection. It was the polar opposite of being ejaculated. But life is full of contradictions. I had my cake and had eaten it. Now someone had stolen the recipe.

It wasn’t the last time a husband would play a role in my life, but he was the only one who stole my dignity.

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