Malum Prohibitum

Completely drained of energy and out of breath, he slumps on top of her. His body is heavy, but not burdensome and his manhood becomes flaccid in her freshly deflowered and well fucked hole. Neither of them speaks, only breathing together in unison and utter contentment.

Eventually, he rolls himself off. His now soft penis slips out easily. Pulling back the bedclothes, they both climb in, still naked. The young girl cuddles up close to the old professor and listens to the rhythmic beating of his heart. Unusually sleepy for the hour, she closes her leaden eyelids.

As she lies in his arms, feeling the reassuring warmth of his body against her own, she whispers an unconventional prayer to saint Rita of Cascia, patron saint of difficult marriages, infertility and parenthood. She knows what she asks for is preposterous and her prayer sinful, as well as futile, but she asks all the same. After all St. Rita, along with St. Jude, is also patron saint of impossible causes.

Their sin is more likely to sentence her to an eternity in the second layer of hell than her prayer to earn intervention in her favour from saint Rita, but she doesn't care. Nothing in this world or the next could mar the sanctity of this experience.

Soon drowsiness overtakes them both and sleep comes quickly. Usually she has difficulty falling asleep, too many thoughts and worries buzzing in her head. However, before she has time to realise, the sonorous rhythm of his snoring lulls her into a peaceful slumber.

*****

She moves to climb out of bed, but his arm is swift and pulls her back down, wrapping the duvet around her. The muscular limb holds her securely against his naked torso.

She begins a meek protestation, "But, I have school this morning. I need to get up."

"Don't worry about school," he says without opening his eyes or loosening his grip. "I'll drive you," his rich, resonant baritone oddly soothing.

She has no will to argue, he knows best. Perhaps it won't be the end of the world if she's a little late for once. The other day girls, even some of the boarders, are frequently late and it rarely results in anything more severe than a mild scolding. As long as she maintains her perfect attendance record, one late mark won't matter.

The cold, grey half-light of the early November morning seeps in around the curtains, but she's warm and cosy snuggled up with her professor. With an unusual sense of utter serenity, she drifts off for a long snooze and doesn't stir for nearly another hour, until she is awoken by his lips.

"Did you sleep well?" he asks as she stretches, loosening her muscles, stiff from a long night's rest.

"Better than I think I've ever slept before. Thank you." she replies with half closed eyes.

"Go and shower," he tells her. "I'll prepare breakfast and bring your clothes."

Helen tentatively sits up and looks about the room. It's surprisingly sunny outside now, but thankfully the curtains are still closed. She's still naked and wouldn't want any neighbours to happen to look in and catch sight of her.

"Isn't it strange how different everything looks in the daylight?" she thinks to herself.

In the bathroom, perched on the loo, she's aware of a dull ache below the waist. An internal pain, a reminder of what he did to her last night. Reaching down between her thighs she can feel a crust of dry spunk. Instead of repulsing her, it pleases her and brings a naughty smirk to her lips. Not quite a woman yet, but not an innocent little girl any more either.

When the pee begins to flow, the sting in her pussy brings tears to her eyes. It's clear she'll be feeling the effects of her first fuck for several days to come, yet regret doesn't enter her head for a moment. In a strange way she welcomes the pain he has left behind. She doesn't like it, but at the same time she wouldn't be without it.

She picks the green handled toothbrush, which she assumes to be his, adds a squeeze of Colgate and brushes her teeth. Just a few hours ago she was so reluctant to wear his dressing gown and now she is using his toothbrush without a second thought.

Sliding open the shower door and turning the handle, the water starts to flow. Holding her hand in the stream, she waits for it to heat up before stepping inside.

The hot water hits her skin in strong, steady jets, warming her entire body. She allows it to completely wash over her and soak her messy, morning hair. Helping herself to liberal doses of Herbal Essences, she shampoos and conditions.

Cold air hits her back as the door is opened and the professor steps in. He says nothing, but pours out the Dove body wash, filling the air with a pleasing fragrance of almond and hibiscus as he works up a creamy lather on her back.

His hands are everywhere, glissading over every inch of her skin, washing off sweat and other traces of last night's activities. Under her breasts and armpits, her tummy, pussy and between her buttocks, he makes sure she is thoroughly cleansed. As the water runs off their naked flesh, rinsing away the suds, he holds her close. Kissing her neck and shoulders, his turgid penis makes its presence felt.

It's obvious what she should do and she wastes no time. Turning to face him, she takes hold of his prick and begins to wash him in the same manner, but concentrated on that impressive organ. Up and down the shaft, pulling back his foreskin, cleaning around the head, gently massaging and feeling the weight of his gravid testicles in her cupped hands.

Dropping to her knees so she is eye to eye with his erection, her desideratum. She takes a few moments to admire its size and form, before parting her lips, taking him into her willing mouth and sucking him greedily.

A true natural, she knows just what to do, taking him down as far as she possibly can and building up to a good pace. Keeping one hand on his leg to steady herself and the other holding his bollocks, she allows her mouth to do all the work. It's as if she was born to suck cock.

Soon she feels the spasming that she instinctively knows means he's going to come. Many young girls back off at this point, they're afraid of a man's seed, but Helen redoubles her efforts. Bobbing her head faster and slurping harder, she does all she can to make him explode and empty his balls into her eager throat.

With low grunts he releases his semen and she saves every drop, continuing to suck even when he's well and truly finished.

"That's enough," he tells her, guiding his spent dick from her talented lips.

Looking up into his steely eyes, she swallows his hot, viscous load, like the good girl she is. Dutifully she opens her mouth wide and sticks out her tongue, showing him it's all gone.

He leaves her to finish her lavation alone. She washes her face and the last of the conditioner from her hair, his taste lingering pleasingly. She did a good job, she knows it and her heart fills with a sense of pride.

She thought her religious upbringing had instilled deep rooted guilt about sex and sensual pleasure from her body. Being a vessel of sexual release for a married man she hardly knows should bring her shame, instead she is happy to the brink of delirium.

Back in the bedroom, her school uniform lies clean, dry and folded on the made bed. There are a few spots of blood on the duvet, a visible memorial to her torn hymen and lost innocence. She can almost feel his weight on top of her and his girth stretching her as she replays the whole experience over again in her mind.

She takes her time drying off, using his wife's hair dryer, helping herself to moisturiser and body lotion from the dressing table and carefully slathering herself from head to toe. After servicing the woman's husband the way she just did, it would be silly to worry about borrowing a little bit of cream.

Her bra was picked up from the floor and placed neatly with her other clothes, but her white cotton knickers are nowhere to be found. It doesn't matter, she can go without. Usually she'd never dream of leaving the house without wearing underwear, but she's done a lot of things out of the ordinary in the last twenty-four hours, this one hardly seems worth pausing to think about.

As she puts on her skirt over bare buttocks, it occurs to her that he must've kept them as a souvenir. She can imagine him stashing them away somewhere secret in his study and smelling them in private moments, maybe even when his wife is in another room. Her pretty lips curl at this dirty thought. She decides not to mention them to him, it'll be their unspoken secret. She knows that he knows that she knows he knows.

Downstairs in the kitchen, she finds him sipping coffee and perusing a newspaper. Instead of his usual three piece suit, today he's in mufti. Wearing khaki green chinos and an indigo shirt with button down collar, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he's still incredibly dashing.

On the table he has laid out a simple breakfast for her. A little pot of tea with matching milk jug, a bowl of sliced fruit, apple, banana, a few strawberries and a scattering of blueberries. What really catches her attention though, is the plate in the middle with two large pain au chocolat.

"I feel terrible," he says, looking up from his paper. "I didn't feed you last night, you must be famished. Come and eat."

Ordinarily, she doesn't eat breakfast, except at the weekend or during school holidays. There's never any time when she's rushing out of the house to catch her train in the mornings. All concern for making it to school on time left her head long ago. She's already late, what difference does it make now? She's certainly rather peckish.

Sitting down in front of the food, she pours the tea slowly, adds two cubes of sugar and a splash of milk. So as not to appear too eager, she starts with the fruit and enjoys a few pieces before she feels enough time has passed and she can make a start on what she really wants, the pastries.

Warm and slightly crisp, she bites into the first. He's taken the trouble to freshen them up in the oven and the chocolate is partially melted. Pain au chocolat has always been her favourite and these are the best she's had since her parents took the family to France for a long weekend several summers ago.

He finishes his paper while she finishes her breakfast in silence. No discomfort or awkwardness spoils the atmosphere, they're totally at ease in each other's company.

Before they leave the house, she collects her notebook and satchel from the study. Coffee stained papers and books lie spread out, drying around the room.

Just then a terrible realisation dawns on her. She didn't even message her parents to say she was going to be late home, let alone inform them she was going to be away for the whole night. They would never have agreed to that, even if she had.

Panic and dread take over as she desperately searches her bag for her mobile phone. They will have contacted the school. Maybe the police. It's only a matter of time before they figure out where she is and who she's with. This will not end well for either of them, the scandal will be terrible.

She will be expelled for sure and end up in a state school. Her dreams of Oxbridge will be over. Will her parents disown her? They'll certainly never look at her the same way ever again and any trust they had will completely vanish.

That's nothing compared to what will happen to the professor. He'll lose his job. His wife will find out and probably divorce him. Will he be arrested? Sent to prison?

"Oh God, oh God," she repeats over and over as she rummages around and finally finds the handset.

One new message received from mum, no missed calls. That's interesting, she had expected a flood of calls and texts from her worried and furious mother and father. One text doesn't seem much for a daughter who didn't come home at night without a word.

"Morning Dumpling, sorry I missed you last night. You must've left early, you weren't here when I woke up. Have a good day, Baby XXX"

They didn't even notice she was gone. Overcome by a tremendous and palpable sense of relief, she drops to the floor, clutching her phone to her chest and breathing heavily, waiting for her racing heartbeat to subside. For once in her life she's glad to be the neglected middle child.

If her sister hadn't come home, they certainly would've perceived her absence and assumed she was up to something nefarious. However, if the good, clever and pudgy middle child isn't there, they simply believe her to be studying in her room or at school. They'd never suspect she would be spending the night with a man, having vigorous, unprotected sex in his wife's bed and swallowing his semen in the shower after sucking his dick. No, they could never imagine she was capable of such things and it's a jolly good thing too, because she is capable. Not only is she capable of it, she's done it, she loved it and she can't wait to do it again. So long as they don't suspect anything is amiss, she's free to carry on as often as she can, as often as he'll have her. Hopefully his wife travels for work frequently and nights together can become a regular occurrence. The idea of a clandestine affair is more than a little exciting.

"Are you alright?" he asks upon entering the room and finding her on the floor. "What are you doing down there? Let me help you up."

"Oh, I'm fine, honestly. I'm just being a foolish girl. It's nothing to worry about," she assures him as she takes his hand and rises to her feet.

"Are you sure? Were you feeling faint? Do you need to lie down?"

"No, nothing like that. I'm absolutely fine, I promise. Although I really must be getting to school. Assembly will be over by now."

Once she puts his mind to rest and he's confident she is well, he agrees it's time for them to leave.

"I want to give you something before we go," he tells her.

"Thank you, but it's really not necessary. You've done so much for me already."

"It's just a little token, nothing grand. I think you'll enjoy it." He isn't going to allow her to refuse.

At the bookcase by the window, he runs his finger across one shelf, then another until he comes to the exact book he has in mind. It's just a small paperback, old and well worn, not particularly thick. The cover reads, The Odes of Horace.

"They've been favourites of mine for many years. I hope you'll love them as I do."

"I'm sure I will. Thank you so much!" she says turning the volume over in her hands a leafing through the pages of latin poetry.

*****

He pulls up a discreet distance from the school, they can't risk being seen together. At this time of day all staff and students should be inside, but it's better to be safe than sorry.

He turns to face her, taking in her beauty. She really does have the most remarkably soft features. Her cute button nose, which he remembers with a splodge of chocolate on the tip. Huge, wide eyes looking up at him adoringly. Soft, flawless cheeks that dimple pleasingly when she smiles. That smile, that perfect glowing smile, neat, white teeth surrounded by irresistibly kissable lips.

It's the face he fell in love with the very first time he saw her. The first time he laid eyes on her and experienced that smile, he knew he had to be near her, he had to have her. Now their time together is drawing to a close, he's struck by a tremendous sense of grief. There's no way of telling when or if they'll be alone again. Not wanting to upset her, he doesn't allow his feelings to show and says nothing.

Leaning in for a kiss, she meets his lips with ardent zeal. She clings to him, returning his kisses with a passion he wasn't expecting, a passion he didn't think possible in one so young and inexperienced in love. They hold their embrace for a long time, neither one wanting it to end, but eventually they know they must part.

"Thank you, Professor," she says politely. "I had a lovely time."

"As did I, Helénē," he tries to remain phlegmatic. "I won't return to the school until after Christmas, we shall see each other then."

"I understand and I'll be waiting for you. Goodbye, Professor."

"Goodbye, Helénē."

A final, brief parting kiss. She opens the car door, steps out onto the quiet street and immediately begins walking towards the school gate. She's almost two hours late, has missed assembly and first period is already coming to an end. A late slip will need to be obtained from the office, but she doesn't care. She'll just tell them she missed her train and the bus broke down or something like that.

After a dozen or so paces, she turns around to see if he's still there. He is. She flashes one last smile and in a moment of bravery, blows a quick kiss to one of the seven princes of hell. He can't help but smile back.

Satisfied and happy, she hurries to the gate, crunches down the gravel driveway and slips into the school building unobserved.

*****

As lunch time rolls around and the angelus bell peels out from the chapel, Helen walks briskly towards the library. On her way she sees a familiar tall figure walking towards her. It's the lovely Anastasia, surprisingly alone for once.

"Hello, Ana." she says, looking her dead in the eye. "How are you today?"

"Oh, hi," replies Ana, a little taken aback. "I'm fine, thank you. How are you?"

"I'm wonderful. It's good to see you. Have a nice lunch."

"Er... thanks. You too."

Anastasia didn't recognise Helen at all. She knows her face well enough. The school is far too small not to know everyone by sight, if not by name, but she didn't recognise her disposition and bearing. She knew Helen as a quiet, shy girl, not the type to greet you heartily in the hallway. She can't remember ever talking to her before today.

It wasn't just the the greeting that confused her, it's the way she carried herself too. Standing upright, chin up, looking straight ahead, taking graceful, confident strides. Ana had never noticed how gorgeous Helen was until just then. She'd always just seen her as the chubby girl, meek and rather uninteresting to look at. However, today she's not just pretty, she's vivacious, even imposing.

For Helen, it was the first time she'd ever seen Ana without the green eyed monster making an appearance. It was the first time she felt like she could approach her as an equal and the first time she didn't really think about her much at all.

"Helen. How are you, m'dear? And how did it go last night?" the good-hearted old sister asks as she approaches the desk.

Helen tries not to sound too gushing about her evening. She can't let on that she spent the night with him and must keep their relationship firmly under wraps.

"Oh, it was fine. We just sorted through some papers really. He did make me some absolutely delicious hot chocolate and showed me how to write my name in Greek. Apart from that it was pretty uneventful."

Sister O'Shaughnessy almost believes her.

Eager to change the topic and prevent any further questions from the inquisitive woman, she asks about books. She remembers something he said last night and wants to research it further.

"Sister, do we have any books on Rubens here?"

"Rubens, dear?"

"Rubens the artist," she elaborates.

"Peter Paul Rubens, the Dutch painter? Yes, I'm sure we have a couple. Since when have you been interested in Baroque art?"

"I'm not particularly interested in it. I just saw something on the television and it made me curious, that's all," she lies, hopefully convincingly and potters off to find the books herself.

That word he used, "Rubensian" has stuck with her. She assumes it's a variation of 'Rubenesque', which she knows means in the style of Rubens, famous for his paintings of fat women. She's never really looked at his work before now.

Leafing through a large, glossy volume, she is awestruck by the sensuous beauty, immaculate use of light and colour, and the realism of his figures. His women aren't fat, they are full and ripe, real women, seductive, voluptuous symbols of fertility.