Teach Me Dirty (30 page)

“That’s great, Helen. You’re doing so well.”

I took my time to loosen her, so much delicious time, tickling my fingers down her folds to her clit with my other hand as I worked her ass. Her squirms were magical, her murmurs a wonderful babble of inexperience.

More lube and I pushed her to three. She cried out, and her body came alive, muscles tense and tight. I finger-fucked her back and forth until I was knuckle deep.

Her moans became urgent and primitive, pushing back at me as her asshole sucked at my fingers.

“How does it feel, Helen?”

She moaned and pushed on to me. “Hot… it feels so hot, burning… but nice.”

“It gets better,” I said, pushed my fingers into her as far as they would go and slowly twisted them from side to side.

“Oh, God… oh, God…”

“Helen?”

“I… I think I need the toilet.”

“You don’t, Helen, it’s just my fingers.”

“I feel… so full.”

“I know, just go with it, focus on those sensations, the tickle and the burn, and ride it Helen, use it for your pleasure.” I picked up the pace and she tightened and mewled and squelched… the most delightful sounds. I yanked my fingers away and she was panting ragged little breaths.

“You like that, Helen?”

“Fuck yes I like it…” she breathed. “Oh God, Mark… I really fucking like it…”

My cock twitched at her dirty mouth. “So do I, Helen… So do I.” I placed my thumb to her hole and pressed it into her and she hitched her ass against it. She was hot and wet and loose and she was loving it. “Imagine,” I said, “imagine what it will feel like when I sink my cock into you, Helen.” She moaned and writhed against my thumb. “All the way, Helen. Can I tell you what I want?”

“Yes,” she breathed, “tell me.”

“I want to fuck your ass so hard and so fast.”

“Yes!”

“So hard and fast that you’ll feel as if you’re turning inside out.”

“Yes… oh yes…”

“And you will ride that pleasure, Helen, ride it until you are screaming for more, lost in the high…”

“Fuck yes!”

“Tell me you want it!”

“I want it…” she said. “I want you inside me. Hard and fast. I want to ride it, feel it… feel it all.” Christ, my cock was so hard. “You think you’re ready?”

“I… I don’t know… I want to be ready… I want to feel you…”

I took my thumb from her, and unbuttoned my shirt and loosened my jeans. I positioned myself between her legs and hitched her to me. She groaned as I pushed my cock against the tight ring of her, and her ass splayed just a little to let me in.

“Ow… fuck…”

“Relax.”

“It’s big…”

“I’ll go nice and slow. Take it in, Helen. I promise you will soon get past the hurt.”

She nodded, grasped the edges of the table, tensed up.

I placed my hands on her ass cheeks, spread them wide, and nudged inside a little further.

“Ow, ow…”

“Relax onto it, Helen. Just a little bit more and the hurt will pass.”

I pushed in slowly, breath by breath, stopping every time she whimpered until the pleasure broke me. I flattened myself against her back, pinning her with the weight of me, and she liked that. Her murmurs were all pleasure as I hooked her arms with mine and held her steady.

My cheek pressed to hers and hers was clammy.

“Fuck,” she said.

“Is that nice?”

“Yes,” she hissed. “So fucking nice.”

“You have a beautiful ass, Helen. So fucking tight. Clench me.”

“What?”

“Squeeze my cock, Helen. I want to feel your muscles squeezing my cock.”

There was hesitation as I pinned her there, but then she squeezed and Christ it was everything I could do not to come right there and she giggled when I moaned and tensed and gripped her hips.

“God, Helen…” I was going to ask her to do it again but she didn’t need asking. She clenched and squeezed and my cock was straining. “Jesus!”

She giggled again.

“You think this is funny, Helen Palmer?”

She squeezed me again and pushed onto me and the tightness gave a little. I was inside, past the muscle, gripped tight by my sweet little angel.

“Not funny,” she hissed, “just fucking dirty… sir. It feels like… it feels like I’m… you know.”

I knew what she meant. “Do it again,” I said, “push me out.”

No hesitation. She strained against me and tightened and I allowed her to push my cock all the way out.

“Fuck!” she cried out. “Yes… oh God yes.”

“You’re a dirty girl, Helen Palmer.”

She looked back at me, eyes dark, hooded, a salacious grin on her face. “I’m
your
dirty girl,
sir
. Fuck me!”

“My pleasure, Helen. My fucking pleasure.”

She cried out as I pushed in deep, and she was so tight that I nearly shot my load in one thrust. I swore under my breath, and her tender squirming only exasperated the situation. I was twitchy inside her, my balls hot and tight and ready to fucking explode.

I moved my hips so gently, delicate thrusts in and out until she was panting.

“Fuck… oh, Mark… fuck…”

“Does it feel good?”

She moaned and nodded her head. “So fucking good…”

“That’s my girl.” I thrust steadily, inching in and out. “I’m going to come in your tight little ass, Helen. I’m going to shoot my load so fucking deep.”

“Harder…” she hissed. “I want it harder, like you said, hard and fast…”

She cried out as I lost my restraint, whimpering as I fucked her deep, but it didn’t take long for the pain to morph into something so much better. Her hands flew out and grabbed the edge of the table and she mewled and whimpered and her body rippled as I slammed into her.

I slammed and thrust until my skin made wet slapping noises against hers and still she cried out for more. It was bliss, a perfect meeting of flesh, and I grunted and growled and pinned her hard.

“I’m on the fucking edge,” I yelled. “Right on the fucking edge.”

She yelped and shuddered and cried out with every thrust and her ass sucked at me, pulled at me, drew me all the way in and out in perfect harmony… “
Fuck
, Helen…
Fuck
.” And I was gone, pounding her deep as I exploded inside her. She took it all, took all of me.

I shivered the most glorious shiver as I came down, my cock spasming inside. My heavy breathing matched hers, calming in sync as my cock slipped away from her.

I touched my forehead to her back, held her, kissed her damp skin.

“So,” I said. “What do you think?”

Her ass shimmied under me, a soft giggle teased my senses.

“I think I’m a dirty girl, Mr Roberts, sir.”

Helen

Mr Roberts taught me dirty.

He taught my ass to take his cock, and my mouth to open wide for him. He taught my clit how to come for him, over and over again. He taught me where my g-spot is, and how much I enjoy his weight crushing mine.

He taught me the sensation of metal cuffs on skin. The blissful pain of wax, and teeth, and swollen tender flesh.

He taught me to display my naked body with pride.

He taught me how wonderful it feels to be kissed from head to toe and back again.

He taught me the pleasure of tangled limbs and slow, deep sex in the mornings.

He taught me how to scream, and how to call his name like it’s the only word in creation.

Mr Roberts taught me so much dirty, and I loved every single lesson.

But he also taught me so much more.

Mr Roberts taught me how to make croissants from scratch for breakfast.

He taught me to mimic the hoot of an owl with hollow palms and quick breaths.

He taught me how to prepare an open fire so that it lit quickly and lasted forever. Taught me winter shrubs in the garden. Taught me how good it feels to walk barefoot on frosty grass in the morning sun with his warm hand in mine.

He taught me to slow dance to cheesy old songs.

He taught me how to stretch the perfect canvas.

He taught me that the greatest companionship can be found in comfortable silence… or just the simplest of touches.

He taught me that the mundane little things in life can really be the most magical of all.

He taught me how to love completely, and how it feels to
be
loved completely.

And I loved him that much.

I loved him so much.

Oh God, I loved him with every single part of me.

It broke my heart in the most beautiful way to leave him on Christmas morning.

***

I’d promised my parents that I’d be home on Christmas Day. And then I’d promised them I’d be home in time to open my presents with Katie at stupid o’clock in the morning.

Mark woke me well before stupid o’clock. He woke me with kisses on my cheeks and a big bright smile, and an apple and an orange and a lump of coal.

I laughed.

“Tradition,” he said. “We’re creating new traditions every day.”

“I like the tradition of waking up with you on Christmas morning, Mr Roberts. This one is a keeper.”

“No objections here, Helen. It’s a great future tradition.”

I reached under the bed, and sought out my little surprise. It was nothing really, a small gesture, but his eyes sparkled as he took it from my hands.

“For me?”

I nodded. “Happy Christmas, Mark.”

He tore the wrapping with a smile, and then he didn’t say a word. My heart stuttered.

“I can do you another one… if you don’t like it…”

Suddenly the image of my hand in his looked warped and crappy, as though the watercolours had cheated me and bled into chaos overnight. It looked messy, and clunky, and amateur, and…

“I love it,” he said. “It’s absolutely perfect.” He wrapped his arms around me and breathed into my hair and I knew that he meant it. I could feel it in everything. He pressed his fingers to my cheeks. “Thank you, Helen.”

“Thank
you
,” I said. “For everything. For the magic in everything.”

He took my hand and pulled me out of bed, and wrapped me in a big towelling dressing gown. “Now for yours,” he said, and we were off, downstairs, through to his studio, where my heart thumped with excitement.

The room looked different. Canvases rearranged and shunted and put into order.

He gestured to the far corner, and there was a draped white sheet.

I pulled it off with a squeal that choked itself into oblivion, then stared at him with wide eyes.

“This is for me?! It’s really for me?”

“For you.”

I ran my hands over the smooth oak frame, the fine craftsmanship of the easel. It was heavy and strong, a sturdy H-frame with a quad base. It was stunning.

“For here?” I could barely believe my eyes.

He shrugged. “I was hoping so, but it’s yours, Helen, you can have it wherever you like. I thought you may want to take it to university, but this spot is yours as long as you want it.” He sighed. “I’d love you to keep it here, Helen. I love painting with you.”

My heart exploded into stars. “I’d love to keep it here.”

His smile was addictive. “I almost broke and gave it to you early, several times, in fact. I had to lock it up in the outhouse.”

“I had no idea.”

He reached behind him, fumbled amongst some cans of pastel spray until he presented me with a ceramic figurine. But it wasn’t one, it was two. Two people entwined as one. Their arms holding each other tight, legs one singular trunk before turning to roots and trailing away. It was detailed, and washed with a perfect shade of ochre. It was us.

“You made this?”

He nodded like it was nothing. “It’s only a token.”

But he was underplaying it massively. It was hours of skill and care, hours of preparation and sculpting.

“I love you more than I know how to say, Mark.”

“And I love you, Helen.” He wrapped me in his arms and lifted me, walking me back through to the dining room. “But so do your parents, and your little sister. And they’ll be waiting for you.”

“What will you do?” I asked.

He placed me at the bottom of the stairs and smoothed the hair from my forehead.

“I’m going to say goodbye to some old traditions,” he said. “It’s time I made space for the new ones.”

***

Mark

The crunch of frosty grass under my feet sounded so loud in the stillness. I rubbed the ice from Anna’s name, tracing the letters with my cold fingertips.

I placed the roses in the vase.

“Wishing a beautiful Christmas to my beautiful wife, wherever you may be, Anna.”

I lit up a cigarette and looked to the sky as the orange glow of day broke the horizon.

“I’ve been meaning to come awhile. I just…” I sighed to myself, to her, to whatever. “I’ve got so many things to say to you, and I wish I could say them and know that you’ll hear them. I miss your love every single day, but as time goes on I think it’s your friendship that I miss the most, Anna. I’d love to hear your voice again. I’d love to know your thoughts. Even if they were bad.
Especially
if they were bad.”

I took a long drag.

“I’ve met someone…”

And another drag.

“…And I didn’t think I would. I didn’t think it was possible. I didn’t think the pain of losing you would ever ease up enough to find love again. Real love I mean. I wasn’t looking for it, and I certainly wasn’t looking for it where I found it.”

The lump in my throat made it hard to swallow and I wiped away a tear.

“But I
did
find it. I found it, and it’s beautiful.” My fingers traced the holly leaves on her Christmas wreath. “It’s not like we were, Anna. It’s not a replacement, insomuch as a whole new love, all of its own design. It’s not like us, but it’s strong, and pure, and deep, just like we were. It’s the kind of love that makes me smile again, that makes me want to know life again, makes me want to hold someone close to my heart and never let them go again. And it’s scary, and it’s reckless, and it’s crazy, but my God, Anna, I do love her.”

I choked back my sadness.

“I’ve fallen in love with a beautiful, spirited, gifted, kind young woman called Helen Palmer. She was persistent, and tenacious, and she made it impossible for me not to love her. You’d have loved her, too. You’d have laughed with her, and smiled at her kindness and her vision and her pure little heart. You’d have really loved her, Anna. And I hope if you’d have known you couldn’t stay, you would have picked her in your stead to hold my hand and make me smile again.”

I looked at the sky.

“My God, Anna, I needed to smile again. I’d forgotten what it felt like. I missed you so much I couldn’t even breathe.”

I took a breath.

“Helen’s my student.”

And another.

“She’s my eighteen year old sixth form student.”

I closed my eyes.

“And I know it was wrong. I hated myself for wanting it, hated myself for not being strong enough to walk away. Part of me still does.”

I lit up another cigarette.

“Maybe you’d call me a fool. Maybe you’d even be disgusted. But I know you’d hear me out, and I’d say to you that my love for Helen grew from the most unacceptable of circumstances, but it’s true, and it’s real, and it’s
everything
. She’s filled up my empty soul and made me whole again.”

I pressed my palms to Anna’s headstone and took a steadying breath.

“I know she’s young, and fragile and delicate, and I’ll take care of her. Hell, Anna, all I want to do is love her. I’ll never hurt her, never judge her, or push her into something she wouldn’t want to do. I’ll do right by her, I promise, I just hope I get this one tiny chance at happiness again. Please, God, let this last, because I don’t know if I’m strong enough to hurt again like I hurt when I lost you, Anna.”

Another breath. I wiped away the tears.

“I just wanted to tell you. I just wanted to feel close to you this one last time on Christmas morning, because as much as you’re still in my heart, I’ve got to let you go.

“I want to make new memories, with Helen. I want to wake up with her on Christmas Day and hold her tight and know she’s mine and I’m hers. I hope you’d want that for me, too.

“I know you’d want that for me, too.”

I let a tear fall, let my cigarette drop to the frosty grass and I gripped that headstone and I sobbed.

“Sleep well, my beautiful wife. I love you.”

I went home, and it was quiet and empty.

I wrapped up Anna’s artwork and I boxed it up in the attic.

I took her clothes out of the spare bedroom wardrobe and packed them away for storage.

I saved our private photographs to a flash drive and removed them from my laptop.

I took down her photo from the mantelpiece.

And finally, after nine years of grief, I let my beautiful Anna sleep soundly.