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Authors: Christopher Maddox

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BOOK: Mrs. Jones' Secret Life
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“I’m curious
, Nicholas, because I don’t have any way of knowing how experienced you are. Therefore, how do you intend on getting the background information that would enable you to describe these sex acts? The sex acts that you intend to do with me, on paper, that is.” she asked, as she tried to control the desire that was building deep within her loins for this young man. However, her imagination was going wild, and she was losing ground.

“I’ve had sex a few times but not like
the sex that is described in erotic novels. Most of what I will use is going to be a compilation of what I’ve read, what I see in my imagination and what I fan...” He was going to say fanaticize about, but he stopped himself just in time, he hoped.

“Were you going to say
fantasize about? Is that right, Nicholas?”


Yes, Mrs. Jones.”

“Nicholas
, you know that nothing will ever happen between us, you know that, right?” she stated. Her heart began to pound as she thought about him, wanting her.

“Oh
, Mrs. Jones, absolutely, I would never suppose that I would be able to…”

“To what
, Nicholas, have sex with me? You do know that if we go ahead with this, little project of yours, that we never would be able to have sex. Right?” she asked.

“Yes
, Mrs. Jones, I know that. I would never disrespect you in any way. There is absolutely no disrespect in my thoughts toward you. Quite the opposite, in fact,” he answered.

“Even if both of us wanted to, understood?

“I understand
, Mrs. Jones, I will be careful, no one will ever know I wrote the paper and you and I will be the only ones that will ever know about its existence.”

“Nicholas
, we have had some very frank conversations this afternoon over our tea. These conversations could get me in a lot of trouble if they were to get out. I have never even considered having sex with a student, Nicholas. Yet, you are going to write about having sex with me, in detail, and then I’m going to have to read about it from your point of view. I’m only human Nicholas. I haven’t had sex since my husband died three years ago, and you are a very handsome young man who fantasizes about having sex with me. This is a very slippery slope Nicholas,” she said.

They both needed a few moments to gather their thoughts.
She went to the kitchen to warm the water for another cup of tea. She poured them another cup and sat back down.

“Mrs. Jones
, I, I respect you so much. I hope you know that. It’s just that I have had these feelings toward you for a long time now. I know that we will never have sex, but I feel better somehow just knowing that you know about my feelings and how much I care for you,” he said.

There was another long pause in their conversation as she thought about this last
revelation. She thought that he just wanted to have sex with her; she had no idea that he actually cared for her. Her feelings of lust for this young man were growing. She felt that twinge, that little spark deep within her groin that she recognized as her libido. It was reminding her that she was indeed very human with very human needs. It was her womb, and it was telling her that she wanted this young man knowing that it would never be. However, apparently she was unable to clearly communicate that back to her womb because it felt to her like it was doing body slams within her pelvic cavity screaming put it here, put it here.

She took a deep breath and a sip of tea trying to ignore pressure growing within her loins.

“This has been an interesting afternoon Nicholas. This is not what I expected, not at all. Nicholas, do you know that you have an erection right now, just like the one you get in class sometimes?”

“Yes
, Mrs. Jones, I am painfully aware of it. I don’t seem to be able to control it when I am around you.”

“I can see that.
That’s one of the more interesting differences between men and women, Nicholas. Women can see when a man is turned on. However, women can be turned on, and the man may never know it unless she tells him,” she smiled, calmly and pleasantly without the slightest hint that she was in any way interested in his story. The cool demeanor that she was expressing toward Nicholas on the outside was a far cry from the molten turmoil that she was experiencing in her pussy “Was there anything else that you wanted to talk about, Nicholas?”


No, Mrs. Jones, I didn’t have anything else, that was it. So, a … it’s okay if I write about us?”

“We hav
e been talking about sex for almost an hour. We have talked about sex between the two of us, Nicholas. I guess if I can talk with you about it, I should be able to read about it, so yes, you can write about us,” she said with a weary smile.

“Oh
, thanks, Mrs. Jones, I hope it’s going to be good.”

“I imagine that it will be
, Nicholas,” she said, as she walked him to the front door.

“You better get
that imagination of yours going. You only have three weeks to get it finished and handed in, or in your case, email it in. Here is my private email address, Nicholas.”

“Thanks
, Mrs. Jones, I’ll see you in class tomorrow.”

She closed the door behind him, dropped her skirt on the floor
, reached down, and stuck her two middle fingers into her saturated opening.

“Oh
, fuck that feels so good,” she said, as she walked over to where they were sitting. Her fingers and the back of her hand were wet, one from her pussy, and the other from the inside lining of her panties. She sat there rubbing her g-spot with one hand while she rubbed and pinched her clit with the other. Her pussy was so hot from thinking about Nicholas that she was already close to coming. Lying back on the couch, she was fiercely fucking herself with her fingers, thrusting them in as deeply as she could. She grabbed her right wrist with her left hand trying to get more traction and deeper penetration. She jerked her pelvis repeatedly, matching the thrusts of her hands.

“Oh
, fuck, Nicholas, fuck me with that big cock, yes, yes, oh fuck yes,” she moaned, jerking her hips into her hands as her orgasm rocked her body. She moaned, and jerked hard three more times as the pleasure of her climax gushed through her and then slowly ebbed giving her the relief that she so desperately sought.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,
what am I going to do with you Nicholas? You are twenty-three years younger than I am, and I want you to fuck me. There, I admit it. I want you to be my first in three years,” she cried out before realizing what she said.

Her orgasm made her feel much better
. However, she did not go back to writing. All she could think about was Nicholas and wonder what his cock might look like, what it would taste like and how it would feel deep inside her.

Here she was
, opening another sedating, bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. She went outdoors and sat under the rear veranda. She took a sip of wine and she wondered how his lips would feel on her pussy, and how his stiff tongue would feel shoved in her wet slit.


Who the fuck is infatuated with whom, and who the fuck is fantasizing about whom?” she asked, aloud. How did I get to this point, she wondered. It seemed to of happened in a period of a few short days of harmless flirtation.

No
one knew who she was except her publisher. Samantha Jones, this prim and proper southern belle in the morning and, then in the afternoon, she transformed into this sex starved insatiably wanton whore, Crystal Summers, she mused and chuckled. What was she going to do with Nicholas?

She knew that it was wrong to have sex with him.
Her mind kept telling her that it would be so wrong, but the longing and pain deep within her body kept telling her that she needed him, and wanted him as much as he wanted her. She was getting wet and horny again just thinking about the possibility. However, in reality, she knew that it was just that, a fantasy and that nothing must ever come of it.

“I have got to find myself a man,” she said.
“A man that can take care of that itch deep inside my horny pussy,” she laughed.

 

Chapter 3

 

When she arrived at her class the next morning, Nicholas was already there in his usual chair. “Good morning, Nicholas.”

“Good morning
, Mrs. Jones.” She looked incredible this morning, better than usual he thought. Her skirt was a little shorter than what she usually wore. It was one that he hadn’t seen before. The blouse seemed tighter, and her breast appeared to be larger, or was it his overactive imagination? It must be, but she looked incredible, he thought, as he started to swell forcing him to adjust himself slightly.

When she finished the lecture part of
the day’s lesson, she sat down at her desk. She looked directly into his eyes as she spread her legs slightly opening herself for him. He looked down for a second and then back into her eyes. His erection was getting embarrassingly large and quite uncomfortable.

“Can I be excused for a few moments
, Mrs. Jones?”

“Certainly
, Nicholas, you may.”

She knew exactly what she was doing this morning.
She had put one of her sexier, yet conservative outfits on. It showed a little more of her ass, her legs, and her breasts than she would normally allow. It had the intended effect. If he was actually going to describe a sexual situation between the two them and then make her read it, she wasn’t going to make it easy for him. She was going to make him squirm, and it appeared to her that it was working.

She could easily see the bulge in his pants
, and when she sat in front of him and spread her legs, she knew what his reaction would be. She smiled when he had to leave the room. She knew that he was going to go pleasure himself so he could get rid of his erection. The only problem was that she was sure that her panties were wet enough that she might have a wet spot in the back of her skirt. It was like a double-edged sword, teasing him teased her, as well. She still couldn’t figure out why he turned her on so much or so easily. She just knew that she was not going to fuck him. However, she sure did like thinking about it.

The next few days were a little easier on Nicholas.
She decided that she shouldn’t be so obvious, even if they were the only ones that knew what was going on. She couldn’t take the chance that someone else might notice. She had to admit though, that he was being very discrete. He did not show any indication that anything was going on between the two of them them, which of course there wasn’t.

“Good morning class.
This is the second to the last week of school, and I need all of your transcripts turned in by the end of the week so I can post your grade by the following Friday,” she said. She smiled at Nicholas and asked, “How are coming with your story, Nicholas?”

Nicholas had been working his ass off
dreaming and fantasizing about working her ass off.

He grinned.
“I’m doing very well, Mrs. Jones. In fact, I’m almost finished. I have a couple of things that I need to tidy up, and then I should be finished with it. Mrs. Jones, I have never enjoyed anything as much I have enjoyed working on this story,” he said, smiling directly at her.

“What are you writing about Nick?” asked the girl behind him.
Mrs. Jones looked carefully at him as he replied.

“Nothing much, just a camping trip my parents took me on a couple years
ago. Kind of boring, I’m afraid,” he replied.

“I’m sure it will be fine Nicholas.
I am anxious to read it. You can turn it in early if you want.” “Okay, Mrs. Jones. However, there are a few things that I am not quite satisfied with.”

“Good writers are never sat
isfied with their work, Nicholas,” she said, thinking that what she really wanted was to get her hands on his story and see what he had planned for her and her body.


Okay, Mrs. Jones. If I finish it early, I’ll turn it in.”

“Oh
, listen up class, I forgot to tell you that as soon as you turn in your manuscript, you don’t have to attend class again until next Friday to receive your final grade,” she announced.

What if she doesn’t like it
, he thought, beginning to feel some self-doubt? What if she doesn’t like erotica? There wasn’t anything that he had ever seen or heard of that would make him think that she would be anything but straight laced. He wondered how she would take to the idea that, in his mind, he has fucked her, and has given her oral sex until she almost fainted. Shit, what if she doesn’t even like sex? Worse yet what if she is repulsed by it? What if she flunks me for being so crude? But erotica is not crude. It’s where a writer uses base words to create a thought, a feeling, or an image.

He
worked on his assignment all weekend and was ready to turn it in, or in his case, he would be emailing it in. Monday morning he was the first person in the class waiting for her to arrive. When she finally got there, she was gorgeous, as usual. She was wearing something different, a business suit, but it was so closely cut that it accentuated every incredible aspect of her figure. She was so sexy it hurt him to look at her. Their eyes locked a couple of times during class, and each time they did, they did, he thought that his heart would pound right of his chest.

She knew that he was looking right at her
ass the entire time she was at the blackboard. She could feel the heat from his gaze burning a hole through her panties and into her sex. She knew that he was studying the roundness of her ass and the way her hips curved into her thighs. That’s what he does. He knew the curve of her breasts because he looks at them when she turns sideways. What’s so aggravating, she thought, in a weird kind of way, is that he makes sure that he stares long enough, so that she will see him.

His boldness is disarming
, and he is fucking turning me on, she thought. When she was finished at the board, she turned around and looked directly at him as she felt a little wetness in her panties. Every time he looked at her now, she got that queasy feeling in her stomach. How can a boy, twenty-three years her junior make her panties so wet, she wondered.

Finally
, the bell rang announcing that class was over. As everyone left for their next class, Nicholas walked over to her and told her how much he liked her class and how much he had learned from her.

“This will be my last day here until Friday because
I am going to send you the manuscript this afternoon. Could you just let me know that you received it, so I won’t worry?”

“Sure, I will send
you a confirmation note. Nicholas, having you in my class has been … stimulating to say the least. I’ll see you on Friday,”

That afternoon he quickly checked a couple of thing
s, pondering, and thinking about his choice of words in certain situations. Fearing the worst and hoping for the best, he finally built up his courage and sent her his manuscript with the following note.


Mrs. Jones, here is my story. Please don’t take anything that I have described as any form of disrespect. I have enjoyed this process more than I can express. So much so that if I thought I could make a living writing erotica, I would do it, or at least try. Perhaps it could be my avocation if I’m not good enough to make a living at it. In any event, I know that this is my fantasy and not yours. I shall miss you as an instructor and as a person. Sincerely, Nicholas Adams.”

A few moments
later, he received her response. Nicholas I’m eager to read your story. I will see you on Friday and let you know what I think of your work. He took a deep breath, and with a sigh of relief, he figured that the hard part was over. There was nothing more that he could do now but wait and see what her reaction would be.

Instead
of reading it on her computer, she printed it, opened a bottle of wine for moral support, or was it immoral support, went out back and sat in a lounge chair under the veranda. She closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, sighed in an effort to relax, and took a sip of wine. Her feelings were on edge as she contemplated reading the first line. She had given thousands of people orgasms on paper. However, this was going to be the first time that someone else described her down to the last sexy detail with the blatant intention of giving her an orgasm, on paper.

She sensed that
her trepidation was coming from the fact that this story wasn’t just about anybody, whose name had been changed to protect his or her identity. No, this story was about her, Samantha Jones, and both of them were acutely aware of it. There was no anonymity here. There was no safe haven to retreat to. This was about a young man and his teacher, and she was the teacher.

“Thanks Crystal,” s
he mused. “Hell, what am I afraid of? All I have to do is read it, judge it on its merits, assign a grade, and it would be over, right? Taking another sip of wine, she began.


My infatuation with one of my instructors happened over a period of time. She teaches part time at one of the high schools in the suburbs of Charleston, South Carolina. She only teaches one course, creative writing. I first noticed her two years ago walking across campus with a couple of students visiting cheerfully as they walked along. There was something about her that made my heart skip a beat.

It was more than just her
incredibly good looks. It was the way she carried herself. She had dignity, poise and an unmistakable charm. Her long, dark-brown hair bounced around her shoulders curling down to the top of her breasts. From that distance, I couldn’t see her eyes, but I later found out that they were green with dark brown specs that matched her hair. What I could tell from that distance was that her body was to die for.

She appeared to be about five-
nine or ten with a slender frame. She had a thin waist with narrow hips and a bottom that most people only dreamt about. From where I was, I could see guys turn and stare as her bottom as she walked along unknowing. When I first saw her, I thought that her breasts were huge but I later determined that I was wrong. They weren’t huge; they just looked huge on her athletic frame. She was wearing a bright-red blouse over a tight, emerald-green skirt with red high-heels and a matching belt. The only thing that comes to mind, in an effort to describe her, is that she was stunning. Even her name intrigued me. It has an air of southern sophistication, Samantha, Samantha Jones.

Over t
he next two years, I took every opportunity I could to see and watch her walk to and from her classes. It turned out that she was very popular with the student body and one of the better teachers in the school. During this time, I fantasized about her a lot. I dreamed about her panties and bra. What they might look like, what color and how they fit that gorgeous body. I could shut my eyes and see her standing in front of me wearing thin, lacy panties, a matching see-through bra and high-heels. I don’t have a clue how many times I pounded away to that image of her.

I would
walk around her and feel her silky smooth skin. I would slip my hands around her from behind, cup her perky breasts, and gently squeeze her erect nipples. Then I would wrap both arms around her, pull her close from behind, and push my erection against her magnificent ass as she leaned back with a moan. I unfastened her bra, and let it slide forward off her shoulders to the floor. I reached up and cupped her bare breasts with my warm hands. I bent my knees, so my cock pressed between the cheeks of her ass. God, was it ever soft and firm at the same time. I knew she could feel the wetness of my excitement as I left small, slick, wet spots on her bottom. I palmed her erect nipples as she tilted her pelvis trapping my cock in the grove of her pert little ass. She began rocking her pelvis up and down, sliding her tight cheeks over the length of my erection, as she tried to stroke the pleasure from body.”

She put the manuscript down
. She grabbed her wine glass and took a few sips as she thought about what she had just read.

“I’m alread
y hot and steamy, and I know damn well that I’m wet,” she mumbled, as she slipped her hand in her panties in confirmation. She slid two fingers into her pussy, and brought them to her lips where she could smell and taste herself as if she were judging the quality of his work.

She tasted herself and
quivered with excitement as she felt the first twinge deep within her groin.

“Damn, his writing
is
good,” she mumbled. She should have known it would be because of the email that he sent to Crystal. Her problem, if there was one, was that she knew who
he
was, and she knew that he was writing this about her as if he was actually doing it to her. She could feel his hot breath against the back of her neck and his cock tight against her ass leaving cool little wet spots across the small of her back, and she could feel the heat from the palm of his hands as he rolled her hard nipples around in circles.

“Fuck, fuck
, fuck, this is a problem. He is seducing me on paper, or trying to. I can’t and won’t fuck a student, even if he is of age,” she said, taking another sip of wine. She decided to make herself something to eat before continuing his story. Hell, it could be her story, or their story, for that matter; she thought, as she made herself a turkey sandwich along with some cottage cheese. She took it back out to the veranda, sat down to eat and continue reading.

BOOK: Mrs. Jones' Secret Life
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