Natalie Plays with Mr Herrick Ch. 02

"First, I only fuck in bed. Most women will lose control and let themselves get fucked on couches, or against walls, or in showers... uh-uh. Whores do that, and I'm no whore. I only fuck in bed," she repeated, with slow emphasis. "So you'll have to find one of those."

"Christ, Natalie," I spluttered, overwhelmed as always by this teenager's complete self-possession... in my own home! "Where on earth did you come from?"

"You're not paying attention, Mr Herrick. I've always been here; it's not my fault you've always dealt with useless sluts. Next, I'm on the pill. So you can put your cum wherever you want. But if you want to do something kinky, like blast my eye or smear yourself all over my tits, you'd better ask first. Because if you don't, I'll find a broom handle and sodomize you. Do you know what that means, Mr Herrick?"

"Um."

"Thought so. Speaking of which, this ass," she said, turning so that I could see the way her yoga pants fit glovelike over her rear, "is exit only. So that's rule number three. I think you'll find I'm very nice about where I let you stick your dick; don't put it where it doesn't belong.

"Okay. Last but not least: you're not just a useless, inanimate cock. I chose you for a reason, and I'm aware that you'll be fucking me just as much as I'll be fucking you. So you get to have some say in how you want to take me. But," she paused for emphasis and wagged her finger at me, "at some point, I'm going to want to be on top. When I say so, you need to shut your mouth, roll over, and let me have my fun, no questions asked. I'm not generally loud, but while I'm up there, I might make some noises and say some nasty things. If the place where we fuck isn't private enough to handle whatever vocalizations may arise, that's your fault. I don't intend to run interference for you if my cries of passion lead to trouble between you and your fat wife." She smiled sweetly. "Any questions?"

"No, Natalie; that all sounds fine."

"Great. Then I take it you've got a plan to get her out of here, pronto, and keep her away for an hour or so? I'll be happy to let you fuck me, but I'm not going to wait around all night while your slow brain figures out how." The bathroom door opened, and as I watched my wife approach I realized Natalie had me again.

I snapped my fingers. "Watch this, Natalie." I left her on the couch with her cruel smile, and bolted for the kitchen. We had part of one milk carton in the fridge, and I'd just thought of the one thing that could get my wife to leave at nine pm. Quickly I popped the milk open, then added a very healthy squirt of lemon juice and shook the carton violently. "Honey!" I called toward the living room.

"Yeah?" My wife was counting out Natalie's pay.

"The milk is going sour, and it's the last carton. We'll have to run out tonight and get some for breakfast tomorrow."

"Arghh," grunted my wife. "Are you sure? I checked it this morning."

I popped the milk again, taking a whiff; it didn't smell too bad yet, but I knew that if I poured a glass there should already be some separation. "Seriously. I can see curds in here." I went to the kitchen door and held up the carton. My wife scowled; behind her, Natalie waited demurely on the couch, but her eyes were watching me with great interest.

"You'll have to go out to Beevor Road. It's the only market still open. That's like a 25 minute trip!" said Mrs Herrick. A saw Natalie's eyes light up.

"Honey..." I whined, motioning with my eyes toward the bathroom. I theatrically waved my hand behind my butt, and she sighed disgustedly. "I think it was the garlic." Natalie was having difficulty suppressing one of her patented, cynical giggles at that; I thought I might be amusing her.

"Fine." She ripped some money out of her wallet and threw it on the side table. "Make sure you count it," she told me. "Natalie, it was very nice meeting you; you did a great job. Thanks."

"Thank you, Mrs Herrick," she beamed. "I love Mr Herrick's class, and I've been eager to meet you."

"Sure." My wife smiled vaguely before, with another exasperated glance in my direction, she swept her keys off the hook and headed for the door. Natalie was relaxing now, sinking back into the couch cushions, tucking her money into her wallet. Her face molded itself into that beautiful, mocking pout; my wife hadn't even left yet, and already she was reaching into her yoga pants.

The front door closed. "That," she said, her hand crawling visibly across her pussy, "was impressive. I'll take back some of what I said about you, Mr Herrick; you're not as slow as I thought you were."

Her praise, however moderate, made me feel like a god. I drew myself up and reached down to adjust myself in my boxers. She noticed. "Let's get you out of those clothes, Mr Herrick. How much time do we have?" I thought about it, doing the math in my head. Natalie simply lounged there and continued to play with herself, her cat's eyes looking thoughtfully at me. With her other hand, she made sure her AP Euro notes were spread on the coffee table.

"Fifty minutes easy, maybe more like an hour." She snorted a laugh.

"Well shit, Mr Herrick, that's barely enough time for any fun at all." She frowned as her gaze flickered downward. "As hard as I make your dick, though, you'll probably be done before I even get a chance to lube up." She waggled her fingers at me under the pants. "That's why I'm pregaming. Well," she drawled with some satisfaction, "let's get laid. Go ahead and lead me to your bedroom, Mr Herrick."

I assumed that, as usual, Natalie was being disingenuous; she didn't need me to lead her anywhere. I thought it was a safe assumption that she'd been thorough my house in nauseating detail, that she'd burrowed through my drawers and sorted through my cupboards; my mind's eye could clearly see her pawing through things like my wife's underwear, mocking them, possibly even pocketing a few as trophies. I assumed all this, and yet I didn't care. As I went up the stairs, I heard the even breathing of the slender girl behind me, so remote and even disinterested; I was staggered that she was going to let me fuck her. Staggered. I had to assume she was up to something, but again, I just didn't care.

Our room was at the top of the stairs, across from Little Scotty's and down the hall from Abby's. It was a tasteful place, though dated; we'd decorated when we bought the house and hadn't touched it since. The room being small, our bed was a queen, and I was obscurely apprehensive that Natalie would disapprove. I passed inside and licked my lips nervously, wondering whether I should sit on the bed or stand there and be a good host.

I needn't have worried. Natalie entered like a duchess, leaving the door wide open as she stepped firmly over the threshold; as she always did, she at once took full possession of the room. She didn't run her eyes over the room, scanning, measuring; she obviously already had. Instead, she just stared at me with that unnerving stillness, her dark eyes drawing me in. She gravely and without haste reached across her body, crossed her arms, and pulled her ratty sweatshirt liquidly off. "How often do you wash your sheets, Mr Herrick?" she inquired as her bra came off; as before, her small breasts barely bounced as she freed her nipples to the bedroom air. I shook my head; not often. She stood topless and folded the sweatshirt, placed it carefully on my wife's dresser with the bra on top. "Better hurry, Scott," she reminded me as she coldly peeled off her yoga pants; a lime-green thong came along with them, like a waterskier towed by a speedboat. "Time's a-wasting."

Then she strode naked and proud to my wife's side of our bed, sliding onto the comforter and curling up like a serpent. She breathed evenly, a pinkness spreading slowly down from her neck as she awaited me.

I shouldn't have been shy about undressing; she'd examined, critiqued, and photographed every inch of my body the last time, but this time seemed different. Her manner, so commanding before, seemed more subdued now; the taunting and mockery had ceased, giving way to a seriousness that almost seemed genuine. There was a gravity to her face and body as she regarded me, and taking a deep breath I shucked my clothing off as fast as I could. Her eyes once again penetrated me, studying my skin, resting at last on a penis every bit as hard as it had been last time she'd seen it. They lingered there for a beat before rising back up past my torso and fixing themselves powerfully on my eyes. She uncoiled slowly, breathlessly, spreading her body across my bed like a cat in a sunbeam. "Come to me, lover," she said in a low, quiet voice.

I moved in, feeling like a stranger in my own bedroom. The lights were on, and every part of her looked perfect. Her big eyes in a solemn face, the pinkness of her chest, her nipples like pebbles; all perfect. Her lean body rippled with supple teenage strength. Her breathing moved the bunched muscles below her strong abs; a neat tuft of trimmed hair pointed the way toward her waiting vagina. Her arms and legs, slender and languid, ran slowly across my bed as I tentatively knelt on the mattress, my erection stretching obscenely long toward her, my balls hanging heavy; the last time I'd cum had been in this girl's mouth the week before. A slow, cold smile spread across her thin lips, and she stretched her arms toward me as I shuffled down to her; my intention was to kiss her, and I was praying I wouldn't make a fool of myself.

After all, we hadn't kissed before.

She watched me with care as I moved in, my arms trembling, and she took my face between her narrow hands; her fingers twitched at my hair. Somehow, even lying beneath me waiting for my kiss, she still seemed to control and dominate me. I moved closer and shifted down, greatly worried about pleasing her as I descended toward her lips.

She tasted of coffee, strong coffee she'd made in my own kitchen, using my own French press. My wet, trembling lips touched her steady dry ones, pressed, and gave as she opened her mouth lazily to receive me. Her tongue darted once, twice, dueling nimbly with mine as I sank onto my bed beside her, my penis now bouncing on her hip. Now her hands were drifting, moving with practiced ease down over my shoulders, my chest, tangling in the hair; I, propped on my elbow, reached a shuddering hand over to her body and thought with my red, feverish mind where it should land.

I concluded that it probably didn't matter; I was unlikely to please her in any case. So I did what I wanted, my own fingers gliding across her chest from nipple to nipple, drifting through the shallow cleavage; she pressed her head back into my wife's pillow and watched, curious, as my lips followed suit. Her hands kept moving idly across my upper body as I trailed my right hand and my tongue over her muscles. She was right about one thing: my wife was, indeed, fat, but even when she'd been thinner she'd never had Natalie's hardness, the sleek muscles hiding beneath smooth firm skin. Holding her was nothing at all like holding my wife. They were like two different species.

I moved slowly, cautiously above her, my dick bobbing as it drooled across her abdomen; she shifted a bit to accommodate me, still with that look of curiosity, as her legs spread slowly and evenly. I was kissing her neck now, my stubble reddening her skin, when I noticed that her right hand had migrated calmly down to her vagina, getting herself ready for my dick. I groaned a bit at the sounds that soon rose from there, the wet slithery noise as her hand did its work, and my hips swiveled to drag my balls across her belly, down toward her crotch as I drew my legs clumsily inside hers. I raised my head at last, looking at her, making sure; I expected to see her easy, conquering grin, but instead saw only a spark of keen awareness in her eyes. She was studying me, memorizing, figuring out how I did foreplay.

Showing no hint of shame, revulsion, or guilt, Natalie then brought her knees up, opening her body to mine; her arms flopped calmly out to the sides, and all at once I was there, my dick low and ready as it dipped toward her moist vagina. I tried to hit the mark on the first try and nearly succeeded, my head gently nuzzling at her perineum before I moved it upward a tad and began to push firmly. No go; she was too tight, and I risked another glance to her face. She showed no emotion at all, none of her usual mockery, only interest; she lay there, gathering data as her AP history teacher slid his penis inside her. I tried again, tentatively, patiently, easing a little further each time.

A couple more gentle, prodding stabs and I was through, my dick sliding firmly home to be clasped in the furnace of her pussy. This part had seemed to take longer than she was expecting; there was an arch to her eyebrow when at last our hair met and tangled, my swollen balls squashing against her body. "Hmm," she said, very quietly; she then moved her hands twice up and down my ribcage before resting them lightly on my ass; I moved around inside her, left and right just a little bit, before I found a rhythm and began to thrust.

I'd never been a particularly good lover; I was aware of that, my guilty Protestant upbringing leaving me with little opportunity to practice. But I was enthusiastic, and reasonably fit for a 40-year-old, and I desperately wanted Natalie's cold eyes to show approval, so I gave our coupling an especially careful effort.

But those bottomless dark eyes gave away nothing at all, no feedback coming from her lips, the curious humming noise from earlier the only clue I had to her emotions. Her body did move, inorganic but not exactly robotic: her fingers tightened on my asscheeks, her left leg tangled with my right, her right foot lifting incredibly high to rest near my spine, her pelvis rolling expertly. I just kept at it, testing different angles and speeds, moving side to side and back and forth. I gasped a few times, especially when she suddenly moved her head, darting her face up from the pillow for the first time, pursuing; she wanted a kiss and she took it, devouring me with a firmness matched by her vagina as it rippled along my shaft. Was she starting to get into this now? I wasn't able to spare much thought about that, trying instead to make sure I didn't cum too soon.

But there was definitely something happening now with Natalie; she pulled back from her crushing kiss, a new light in her eyes, and slapped briskly at my ass. "My turn, stud," she ordered, and I pulled out of her and flopped onto my back, breathing hard. Natalie wasted no time, sliding over my body with her firm legs and capturing my slimy dick with her hand, driving me into her hot wetness; she hunched her body a couple of times to adjust me to the right position, then she was off, bouncing high with incredible energy. Those cold eyes definitely had some heat to them now; she propped herself on my heaving chest while her other hand moved down, unabashed, to pinch her clit. I clasped her waist, marveling at her fitness as I felt her muscles twist beneath my fingers.

"That's it, Mr Herrick," she grunted now, low and feral. "You're doing great so far. Now hang in there for a few more minutes and we'll see if you can make a woman cum." Her hair whipped in the air as she plunged up and down over my penis, using me as a living dildo; I took her advice, straining, biting my lip to keep from releasing into her.

Gone, now, was her languidness, the studied ease of her as I drove into her from above; she was fierce and cruel now, twisting herself on me and around me, gritting her teeth as I pierced her cervix; her spit was landing on my chest now, her mouth spluttering as her fingers pushed and pinched herself toward her goal. And then, suddenly, I couldn't hold it any longer; I pitched my hips way up high, driving my dick as far into her as it could physically go, and gave a long cracked moan as I fired into her, four or five strong spasms, my mind consumed now by my failure: she hadn't cum after all.

The pulses kept on for some time, my penis twitching to a tired, buzzing finish; she kept riding me for a few moments, but slowly, with certainty, the mocking smile coming out on her lips. She breathed very deeply now, glaring at me, and then bent close to whisper in my ear. "You're mine now," she proclaimed, and then her vagina was twitching and shaking around me as she came. "Mine," she gasped, her hand finally still against her clit; she moved back to my face, kissed me long and dreamily, and finally relaxed, laying her body over mine, straddling my softening penis.

I was aware I was gasping, overwhelmed once again by her nearness; her hair was draped across my mouth, her arms clasping me lightly and comfortably as my dick fell out of her with a lewd sucking noise. We remained like that for a few moments, our breathing coming under control; then she sat back up on my pelvis, again with that cool regard, the inscrutable expression coming over her face. "Was that good for you, lover?" she demanded quietly. "Did you enjoy me?"

"Oh God, yes," I said fervently; she didn't need the compliment, but she nodded anyway.

"I enjoyed you too," she said offhandedly, unexpectedly, as she dismounted. She walked, narrow ass swaying, toward my wife's dresser. "There's room for improvement," she said over her shoulder, "but I had a pretty good time. I seem to have made a good choice." Indifferently she pulled open the top left drawer, selected a pair of my wife's panties, and began using them to clean her vagina. "There are some definite possibilities here before I get sick of you, Mr Herrick."

I was about to reply when, twenty minutes early, I heard a key in the lock downstairs. I froze, lying flopped on my bed, my midsection smeared liberally with young Natalie's fluids, a broad wet stain beneath my crotch, and stared up at Natalie in a blind panic. She cocked her head gravely at the sound of the door opening, then shrugged and disdainfully dropped the panties back into my wife's drawer. She picked up her folded pile of clothes. "Well, you sure fucked up that time estimate. I'll be in the kids' bathroom," she said calmly. "You should start thinking of what you're going to tell Mrs Herrick about the sexy bitch who just left her cum all over her husband." She smiled grimly at me as she left the room, bending quickly to retrieve my boxers as she went. "Good luck with that."

I'd never moved so fast. I dived into my clothes, then turned to deal with the sodden comforter; I could hear her bringing the shopping bags to the kitchen. I flipped the comforter around, straightened everything as best I could, and then fled down the stairs, my wet dick softening in my pants, fastening my belt as I went. I landed at the bottom and looked into the kitchen, my wife staring back at me in confusion. "The drugstore on County was open. She's still here?" she whispered.

I was at a total loss. "Uh, yeah," I said intelligently. I could feel my shirt sticking to Natalie's juices, my pants a clammy mess. Upstairs, a toilet flushed.

"Why?"

"We were... that is..." Footsteps on the stairs, coming timidly down; I turned to see Natalie, moving uncertainly as my wife caught sight of her. She was immaculately put together, exactly as she had been when we'd returned.

"Oh!" Natalie said as she reached the bottom. "Hello, Mrs Herrick. He was helping me with my history stuff." She went over and laid a hand on her notes, all laid out on the coffee table where she'd left them. She hesitated. "I know I shouldn't have asked, but I've been absent a lot lately. Family problems." And then the tears started. Natalie looked quickly away.

My wife moved firmly over to give her a hug. "Poor thing," she sniffed, her bulk enfolding Natalie like a massive living blanket. "Not another word. If you need us, we're here." Natalie gave a heaving, shuddering sob, a genuine smile finding me as she softly patted my wife's back with the hand that had just steered my dick into her vagina. "I'm sure Mr Herrick would be happy to set up some more regular tutoring. Honey?" A crafty gleam returned to Natalie's twinkling eyes as she winked slowly at me. I sighed.