A different angle

Sometimes she would take him out of her mouth entirely and rest her head against his thigh, lazily stroking him while his tongue pressed into her hole or his fingers probed her there. When his tongue moved back toward her clit, flicking it again and again, she found her hand and mouth eagerly attached to him, moving with the same persistent rhythm.

His fingers found their way into her, and at first she stiffened. David felt it and slowed, whispering, "It's ok, I won't hurt you, it's just my finger." She slowly let him slide one in and out, and then add another. Soon, she was whimpering when he removed them. The feeling of being filled was delicious, but it was the motion-the harder he pressed, the deeper, with more and more force-the more she seemed to want. It was addictive.

"Please, don't" she whispered, when his fingers slipped out of her while his tongue moved over her slippery little clit. "Please, put them back in me."

"Here?" He slid a finger back inside. Her hand tightened and jerked on his cock in response and he groaned.

"Harder," she urged. "More." He obliged, sliding another finger into her.

"Ohhh David, please, finger me hard!" She thrust back, her hand working him furiously. The combination of his tongue on her clit and the sensation of his fingers pistoning in and out of her were too much. She gasped and writhed, and the urgent noises he made deep in his throat pushed her even further, making her squeeze and suck him in earnest.

Then he slowed his fingers, just slightly, his tongue still tickling her clit, faster there now, and she could feel something building, soft and low in her belly.

She said his name, his cock firmly pressed into her mouth, into her throat now.

She was nearly choking on the length of him, oblivious, focused only on the surge and ripple that was beginning to bubble to her surface. Without losing his rhythm, one of his fingers slid upward, finding the small, puckered hole of her ass and pressing there, just lightly. The naughty surprise of it sent her quivering and moaning directly to some incredible summit-sent them both, David exploding like a molten volcano in her mouth-and she found herself swallowing the burning heat of him again and again as she whimpered and shuddered against his length.

She was suddenly glad for their position, thankful he couldn't see her face, which she pressed into his belly, hiding as she rolled off him to the side. His hand found her hair and stroked her-shoulder, arm, side, thigh. She found her breath returning with her senses. The taste of him burned at the back of her throat, and she wanted to tell him something, but couldn't find any words.

"Come here." He pulled at her until she maneuvered herself around to put her head on his chest and her leg up over his. He kissed her forehead, once, twice, and pulled a blanket from the back of the couch to cover them both. "Are you ok? Are you cold?"

They were two different questions, but she said, "Yes" to both anyway, unsure, and snuggled closer. "I have to go soon."

"I know. Your parents, who are paying me to teach you geometry, are expecting you home for dinner, I imagine," he said smartly and she giggled.

"Should I tell him I already ate?" she teased, running her hand under the blanket and over his belly down toward his flaccid penis.

"That's a beastly idea." He snorted, then groaned as her small, soft hand squeezed a little life into him. "I think we need to keep this to ourselves, luv."

"So first geometry, then…. this?" she asked, hopefully, pressing her breasts into his side and enjoying the response between his legs, a slow but steady stiffening.

"Nothing like a rewards system." He chuckled. "Let's see how it works?"

Cat found herself living for the heaven and hell of her time with David, the vexation of her personal math struggles, the frustration of trying to think with his thigh brushing hers at the kitchen table, and the inevitable dissolution of his adamant insistence on separating work from pleasure. There was no stopping them once it started, it seemed.

He would be trying to help her with a proof, leaning over her, his large hand working the pencil and she would remember how his hand worked her and it would all immediately become garbled nonsense, not that it usually wasn't anyway. The minute that happened, she became unable to focus and would whimper and press back against him in the chair. At first, he could simply shift and look sternly at her, and she would attempt to concentrate again, wanting to please him. Eventually, though, she discovered she pleased him a great deal more if she slid her hands up her thighs-Paj kept remarking on her wearing skirts all the time now-and pulled her panties aside to finger herself.