Malum Prohibitum

This comment takes her by surprise and she momentarily loses control of her body. Jumping back, her hands flail out, smashing straight into the coffee tray, tipping over the cafetière and sending its steaming, black contents all over her clean school uniform and a good splash onto the books and papers too.

She yelps with the shock of the hot liquid on her skin, but fortunately it has cooled sufficiently not to scald her.

"Oh my god! Oh my god. I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry!" she exclaims, while frantically grabbing at the sodden documents.

"You're not hurt, are you?" he asks, more concerned with her well being than anything else. "Leave the papers. These things happen. It'll dry."

"I'm fine," she insists. "But it will stain."

"I know it will and that's exactly why you must go and change. There are clean towels and a dressing gown in the bathroom. I'll wash your clothes for you."

Her immediate instinct is to obey, to follow his commands to the letter, but something holds her back.

"No. No, it's fine. Really it is. I'll wash them at home. It doesn't matter."

"I know how expensive these uniforms can be. Your parents will never forgive me if I send you home coffee stained."

"But, what about your wife?"

"My wife? What has she got to do with it? She's away at a conference for a couple of days, but if she were here, she'd be telling you the same thing."

That seals it. Her will to resist is sapped away and she does want to get out of these damp clothes. She allows him to usher her through the master bedroom into the en suite bathroom. It happens so quickly she doesn't have time to register the peculiarity of using the en suite when surely the guest bathroom would be more appropriate.

Once inside she strips down to her underwear. Her entire uniform, white blouse, light grey cardigan, unflattering knee length kilt, even her long, grey socks are saturated with coffee. She's a real mess and utterly ashamed of herself, but what did he mean by that comment? Surely it was just light flattery. A man telling a young girl she's pretty is normal, isn't it? It's just when he said it, it felt like more. At the time it felt like there was something much more to it.

She decides she's being ridiculous, flattering herself based on wishful thinking, the silly fantasy of a school girl. He's a middle aged, married man, why would he have the slightest interest in her?

Inside the cupboard she finds a clean towel, just as he said she would. There's also a wash cloth in there, which she wets under the cold tap and uses to wipe her body clean of coffee and perspiration, before patting herself dry.

He taps on the door, which she realises it's her cue to pass him her clothes to be washed. She gathers them up in one hand, opens the door with the other and slips them out discretely, careful not to be seen in bra and panties.

After surrendering the garments to him, she suddenly feels exceedingly vulnerable and self conscious. Looking at herself now, she's convinced she's never looked worse or fatter in her entire life. All she can see is paunch and blubber spilling out on every side. She curses her corpulence and every cake, sweet and pudding she has ever consumed. It's enough to make her break down and weep, but she doesn't. She holds herself together, not wanting the professor to think any less of her than he must do already. She resolves to let it all out when she gets home; for now she must remain stoic.

This is the first time she's ever been semi naked in a stranger's house, and she now realises the foolishness of giving up her clothes before locating something else to wear. Fortunately, there are two dressing gowns hanging on hooks next to the shower. Both made of plush towelling, one is large and Navy blue, the other white and much smaller. The former obviously his, the latter must belong to his wife. Which one should she choose?

It occurs to her that wearing either would be odd. Her eyes and hands flit between one and the other, trying to weigh up the pros and cons of each. There doesn't seem to be a correct choice; both are wrong. She finally decides to try them on and see if that brings her closer to an answer.

Hers first. It seems natural for her to wear the female one. Natural, but at the same time highly inappropriate. She doesn't have this woman's permission to be using her things, and it feels like she's violating her in some way.

Upon removing it from the peg, she realises just how small it is. A quick look at the label reveals, size 'S'.

"Damn it!" she exclaims out loud in frustration.

She has been a 'large' for a while now, a 'small' is never going to fit. She doesn't even try and hangs it back up, dejected. It's not that she wanted to wear it, she just would've liked to have the option. Now her size has decided it for her, she has to wear his.

How stupid she was to think, even for a split second, that he could have eyes for her. He is married to a woman half her size and probably infinitely more beautiful, more so than she could ever hope to be. She's attending a conference so likely a doctor or business woman. The sense of her own inadequacy is crushing.

She tries on the Navy blue. It's too long for her, nearly to her ankles, and the sleeves hang over her hands, but it's not as loose as she would've liked. At least she can do it up and it does cover her boobs and belly, just about. She's not comfortable, not at all, but she knows there's no other choice. Sooner or later she's going to have to leave the bathroom wearing his bathrobe and she's convinced he'll know it's because the other one is too small.

After what feels like a long time, she decides she can wait no longer, presses the door handle and creeps out into the bedroom where he has been waiting patiently.

"I knew she'd choose you," he says.

"Who?... What?" His statement confuses her. She had expected him to ask what she'd been doing in there for so long.

"The Librarian. I knew before I asked her that she'd choose you to assist me. That's precisely why I asked her," he elucidates further.

"How?... Why?"

"It was obvious she'd choose you. You're the clever, quiet girl, who spends all her time in the library. I could've asked dozens of students to help me and they would've jumped at the opportunity. I asked her because I wanted you."

"Me?... I'm not that clever really... Why me?"

"Your countenance, your whole demeanour. From the moment I first saw you, I wanted you. I wanted to have you."

She says nothing. Her mind is groping around for words, trying to form one coherent thought, but manages nothing. She is completely unable to process what he has just said. Surely he didn't mean what it sounded like. She must've heard incorrectly or perhaps she's just confused, too stupid to understand. If she bites her tongue, she can't make herself look any more foolish so she stands passive, waiting for him to make himself understood, to show her what he means, to take control.

She doesn't have to wait long.

He lifts her chin and stares directly into her eyes. He seems to be gazing straight through her, into her very soul. His chestnut brown eyes hold her hypnotised, she can't look away.

"Was this the face that launch'd a thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium?"

"Is that from the Iliad?" she asks, innocently.

"It's Marlowe, from 'Doctor Faustus'."

"Oh. I haven't read it."

He permits himself a slight chuckle and wraps an arm around around her waist, pulling her close against him.

His body is firm and strong, unexpectedly rugged for an academic. She's never been held by a man before, not like this, not a man like him. She has no compulsion to push him away. In his arms is where she feels she belongs. Her body pressed to his is how it should be.

She knows what's coming next, they both do. Her heart is pounding, but nerves are still. She looks up at him, expectant and with perfect trust.

She closes her eyes as he leans in and plants his lips onto hers, kissing her slowly and passionately. She grasps him tightly and kisses back. Their lips, dry at first, quickly moisten with shared saliva. Their tongues move intuitively in unison.

His beard has a queer sensation on her delicate skin. It's something like a coarse, dry paintbrush, at once ticklish and scratchy. She can feel every bristle. Her mind is lost in the reverie of the moment, completely overcome by sensuous pleasure.

When they break, like chocolate, she melts, but he holds her steady and keeps her on her feet. Her head resting on his chest, the poplin of his shirt smooth under her cheek. He presses his nose to the top of her head. It is his turn to breathe her in, the delectable scent of a still blossoming, teen-aged girl.

Never in her wildest dreams did she believe she'd be kissing a man while still at school. Since 'The Sacred Heart' is an all girls school, even boys were too much to hope for. Yet it has happened, her first kiss, with a man more than twice her age, a man she has been infatuated with since their eyes first met, a man who returns her affections.

A kiss is not enough for him. He has gone this far and he must have more. He has to take this encounter to its logical conclusion. He unties the dressing gown cord, allowing the loose garment to fall away and tender flesh to spill out. It slips easily from her shoulders into a heap at their feet.

Immediately she covers herself with arms across tummy and bust, trying to hide her shape.

"You mustn't be shy in front of me."

"But, I'm so fat," she protests.

"No. I won't have that. You are Rubensian."

"Isn't that just another word for fat?"

"No. It is not. Let me show you."

He turns her to face a large, full length mirror on the wall. He leans in very close to speak. Close enough for her to feel his hot breath on the side of her face and his beard brush her ear.

"You know of the Nereids?"

She neither confirms nor denies and he continues.

"They are the fifty daughters of Nereus, the old man of the sea, and Doris, the sea nymph."

She isn't sure why he's telling her this, but listens intently to every word.

"They dwell in a palace of gold, at the bottom of the Aegean."

His hands take hers.

"Galatea was the lover of the cyclops, Polyphemus."

He guides them gently from in front of her chest and stomach to her sides. She offers no resistance.

"Homer describes her as the most beautiful and beloved of them all."

He slowly follows her curves with his fingers.

"Amphitrite was the wife of Poseidon, god of the sea."

Up shapely thighs and over curvaceous hips.

"She is often seen as the personification of the sea itself."

Across her soft, plump belly.

"Thetis married Peleus, the first Greek hero."

With nimble fingers he unhooks her bra, releasing her ample breasts and exposing perky nipples.

"Their son was the great warrior Achilles."

Standing naked but for black cotton panties.

"She's sometimes known as the goddess of the water and was one of the earliest deities of Laconia."

He caresses her young, supple body, hands gliding over velveteen skin.

"In the Iliad, Achilles is killed by Helen's lover Paris."

Fingers sink into doughy mounds of flesh.

"Thetis and her sisters come out of the sea to mourn his death and collect his ashes in a golden urn."

His lips on her delicate neck.

"You have youth, vitality and the body of a goddess. You are beautiful. You are perfection."

His hand in her underwear. Her pussy lips sticky with arousal.

"Nondum subacta ferre iugum valet cervice, nondum munia comparis aequare nec tauri ruentis in venerem tolerare pondus... Praegestientis. Tolle cupidinem immitis uvae,"* he murmurs.

*("She doesn't yet have strength to endure a yoke on her submissive neck, not yet match the pace in harness work, nor bear the violent weight of a bull in the rites of Venus... Forget this passion of yours for the unripe grape." - from Ode 2.5)

She recognises his utterings as latin, but isn't proficient enough to understand what it means. However, she does not ask for a translation, it's obvious he's talking about her, not to her.

His fingers feel so large on her sex, much bigger than her own. It's a strange, unfamiliar sensation. She hasn't had much experience with self exploration. Nothing beyond the occasional shallow penetration with her finger and quick rub of her clitoris when curiosity and arousal got too much for her. She has only managed to achieve orgasm a handful of times, usually by rubbing a pillow between her legs.

He's not rough or forceful, but she is nervous as he lays her down upon the crisp, white, cotton sheets of his conjugal bed. She fears his manly digits will be too large for her tight, virgin pussy. She wants to give her body to him, let him touch her however he pleases, but she's terrified he'll push in too hard. What if he hurts her and she's in too much pain to continue?

The professor, intuitively sensitive to her needs, can sense her anxiety. He knows what she is ready for, what she can take and what he should hold back. She needn't have worried, he'll wait for the perfect moment, the moment she is absolutely ready to be taken.

He understands a meal like this cannot be rushed. You must take your time when consuming fresh meat, allowing oneself to fully appreciate its purity. He does not want to ruin this precious experience with carelessness and haste.

He teases her succulent vulva with an experienced touch, parting her moist labia, gliding around the opening of her small, tight hole, coating his fingertips in slick fluid, then slowly circling her swollen clit. She can't contain her amorous pants and sighs, which spur him on further.

Her hips rock, pushing against his hand and encouraging more pressure. He gladly provides it, adding speed and tightening his grip around her body.

Her wetness tells him she's ready. Pussy juice soaks her panties and the wispy hairs on her majora, just as the coffee soaked her uniform. He pushes his well lubricated middle finger, millimetre by millimetre, into her virgin quim. She gasps, not from pain, it doesn't hurt, but from the surprise of this new sensation. She's being stretched, just a little, it's only the beginning. She knows her young cunt will take much more before the evening is over.

Soon his finger is completely submerged inside her, hooked upwards, massaging the anterior wall and stimulating her g-spot.

Although the Gräfenberg spot has never been scientifically proven and she had never felt it before this moment, she can swear to its existence. The intense waves of pleasure rippling through her body are all the evidence she needs. He has found her spot and she lets out a rhapsodic squeal in confirmation.

In one sleek motion, he removes his finger from her vagina and his hand from her underwear, leaving her empty, febrile and yearning to be filled by him once more. Deftly he helps her out of her cotton briefs, bringing them up to his nose for a sniff. He doesn't need to of course, her pussy is right there in front of him. However, old habits die hard and he feels no need to rush things, a young girl's panties are for sniffing.

He closes his eyes as he inhales her unique, pheromonal bouquet. The pungent aroma hits him like a train. Nothing in this world is as intoxicating as a young girl's cunt. He must have her. He must consume her. He must devour her. He must take her purity. She has to be his.

Taking her foot, kissing it from toes to ankle, up her shapely calf to her perfectly smooth inner thigh, his beard strokes a trail all the way to the focus of his desire.

She makes no attempt to close herself to him. On the contrary, she brazenly opens her legs, exposing her as yet unplucked flower. Her willingness to be taken equals his hunger.

The glistening wet folds of her pussy, as juicy and succulent as a ripe summer berry freshly picked from the forest, irresistible. He starts with a kiss, a soft, sweet kiss. Then a lick, just tasting her delicious nectar. Finally, he plunges into the honey pot, delving his tongue inside her, covering his lips and facial hair with her sexual fluid.

Her moans grow in length and volume as his cunnilingus intensifies. Long licks, ardent kisses and fervent sucking. Never before has she experienced, nor even imagined such exquisite torture.

She grips the sheets. He grasps her thighs. Her hips buck and her back arches, at once trying to get away and push herself forward.

Eventually - blessedly - tragically, he stops, leaving her on the brink of orgasm and whimpering in desperation. Her eyes silently pleading for more, for release.

He pulls his shirt over his head, arms and chest a forest of salt and pepper hairs. Not rushing, but with a clear sense of urgency, he unbuttons his trousers. Boxers come down, revealing his thick, rigid penis, much bigger than she'd imagined. She's never seen one in real life before, certainly not erect like this, so she really didn't know what to expect.

Prominent, blue veins meander up its length. Foreskin pulled halfway back, the bulbous, purple head fighting to get free. It's so aggressive, but she wants it inside her, craves it more than anything in this world.

She knows it's going to hurt. His finger was nothing compared to this raging organ. She doesn't know how she's going to take it, but she knows she will, she must. A globule of clear precum appears at the tip.

He mounts her. Instinctively, she wraps her legs around his hips and greets him with a kiss, his lips still coated in her secretions. The tip of his angry cock touches the entrance to her well lubed quim. Ready or not, it's going to happen. He's going to defile her, take her precious virginity.

Looking down at her with that penetrating gaze he pushes his pelvis forward, forcing himself into her. His solid member cruelly rips her hymen. The sharp pang causing her to scream and tears instantly flow.

Once he has filled her completely, his glans pressing against her cervix, he holds still and basks in the unparalleled feeling of being the first to violate that sacred space. Innocence may well be bliss, but taking innocence is rapture.

"Shhh," he whispers into her ear as he strokes her face. "The worst is over now, I promise."

She has never felt so full. His substantial girth stretching her more than she thought possible. Her vaginal walls envelope and squeeze the entire length of his throbbing shaft. The pain is indescribable, nothing in her experience compares to it, but his voice is comforting and she trusts him implicitly.

Her tears subside, their lips lock together and his hips rock. Nothing forceful at first, just shallow movements back and forth, allowing her body time to adjust and her pussy become accustomed to its new purpose.

Pleasure mixes with pain, the two become indistinguishable. Agony turns to joy and ecstasy back to torment. Soon she is lost in the throes of lust, oblivious to all thought. Completely in the moment, the concepts of past and future no longer exist, there is only now.

Her ecstatic yelps grow louder and more urgent. The euphoria of climax takes over as he drives himself into her harder, faster, stronger and deeper. She comes with powerful spasms emanating from her loins, shooting up her spine through every limb.

The tide of pleasure gradually recedes, leaving behind a blissful, foggy daze. Unable to open her eyes, she lies limp as he continues to pound her, thrusting with long, steady strokes into her exhausted, helpless body.

"Come inside me. Please come inside me," she begs in a hoarse semi-whisper, knowing that to complete this experience the way it should be, he can't spill his seed anywhere else.

With guttural moans he does as exactly as she asks, shooting his copious load of thick, pearlescent semen inside her aching, pussy. She feels his cock pulsating and the hot, life-making liquid flows from him into her, flooding her cervix.