Teach Me Dirty

by Jade West

  I shook my head. “Not just Anna. It’s the soul of the place, the soul of the land here.”

  “I understand.”

  I hoped so. I took a sip of wine and went for a subject change. “What’s my favourite little artist’s favourite colour?”

  “No!” she said. “Don’t even make me. That’s like choosing a favourite kid. Not that I’d know.”

  I fixed her in a stare. “Maybe you will know, one day. Do you want kids?”

  She shrugged. “Depends.”

  “On what?”

  She looked away. “On whether they’re yours.”

  It sucked the air from my lungs. “Helen…”

  She put her cutlery down. “You said to be honest, that I could tell you anything.”

  “You can.”

  “So, that’s my answer.”

  “And it’s a beautiful answer, I’m very flattered.”

  “I didn’t say it to flatter you. I said it because it’s true. And you aren’t flattered. You’re scared.”

  “Scared?”

  She met my eyes. “Your shoulders are stiff, and your jaw, too.”

  “And that’s because I’m scared?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “Maybe not in the way you assume.”

  “Forget it,” she smiled. “It’s another stupid comment. The waffles must be going to my head.”

  But I was considering it, and that’s what scared me, not the idea itself, but the fact the idea didn’t seem absurd. I felt ensnared by something out of my control, compelled by some longing stronger than me, stronger than reason and sense and professionalism. It wasn’t loneliness. It wasn’t lust, either. And it wasn’t some fantastical need for escapism, because everything that made my heart pound was all right there, right in front of me.

  “I’m not scared that you want that,” I said. “I’m scared because I’m not so sure I don’t.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m over twice your age, Helen. The better man in me still wants to see you leave. That better man wants you to disappear into a better future for yourself.”

  “Why is that the better man?” Her eyes quizzed me. “What makes the man who wants to leave me, more noble than the man who cooked me waffles even though he doesn’t like them? Both men are kind, both men want me to be happy, no?”

  “Yes, Helen, that’s most definitely the case.”

  She shrugged. “Then I like the waffle man much better.”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “You do, do you?”

  She nodded. “So do you. You just seem to want to make yourself feel crappy over it.”

  “It’s all for you. I don’t want to see you set your ambitions so low.” My breath was harsh. “You should head for the horizon and chase your dreams and never look back.”

  Her pretty eyes darkened. “How do you know my ambitions are low, just because you’re in them? Every dream that’s ever mattered to me has you in it.” She swigged her wine, and her heel started its tapping. “You don’t understand. Every dream.”

  “Every dream?”

  “I’ve known I wanted you since I was twelve years old.” She looked beyond me to the Christmas tree. “Every place I dreamed of going, you were there. Every future I imagined living, you were there. Every painting I ever displayed in my imagination, I dreamed you would be there, too. Every time I wanted to do well, I imagined you would see me do it. I can’t run far away and chase my dreams, because they are wherever you are. I don’t want to paint if you’re not there to see it. I don’t want to succeed if you’re not there to be proud. And no matter how big my dreams get, or how high the bar gets set, or how big the stage is, none of it means anything to me unless you’re there, too.”

  “Helen…”

  “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t look at me like that. I get it, I get the one day you’ll know better stuff, and I’m done with it. People have been telling me my whole life that I don’t know what I want. You’ll get over it, it’s only a stupid crush, that’s fantasy, Helen, fantasy. Get your feet on the ground. Do something other than painting, think about boys your own age, think about real life. And they were wrong, because this is real life, and I’m here with you, and I’m still painting, and I still want the same things I did all those years ago when I first knew I wanted them, so don’t dismiss this as some flaky thing that I’ll grow out of. Because I won’t.” Her eyes were burning hot. “I know what I want. And I’m not a kid anymore.”

  “I would never mean to patronise you that way.”

  “Nobody ever means to patronise me that way.” She forked waffle into her mouth, and then she sighed. “Do you think I’ll grow out of art?”

  I shook my head. “No. Never.”

  “Do you think I’ll change my mind about wanting to be an artist?”

  “No, you have talent, Helen. Real artistic talent.”

  “I’ve known I wanted to be an artist since forever. I always just knew.”

  “I don’t doubt that, Helen.”

  “So, I can know what I want to do with the rest of my life, but I can’t know who I want to share it with?”

  I smiled. “Point taken.”

  Her passion flooded my senses, and it was inspiring. She was inspiring.

  “How old was Anna when you met her?”

  The question hit me in the gut harder than I expected. “Anna was nineteen when I met her.”

  “Do you think she’d still want you now, if she was still here?”

  I met her eyes. “Yes.”

  “Well, then. Maybe I know what I want, too.” She forked her beans onto her remaining waffle and her hands were shaky. “I can feel how much you loved her, and how talented she was, and how pretty she was.”

  “I did love her, and she was talented and beautiful, yes.”

  “Did you think she should run away and dream bigger?”

  The question caught my breath and turned my stomach. “No, Helen, I didn’t think that at all.”

  “She was only a year older than I am now.”

  I laughed a low laugh. “You’re tying me in knots. I’m older than I was when Anna was nineteen, that’s the difference.”

  “Are you a different man? Do you want different things?”

  I weighed up her question. “No. Not in any way that matters.”

  “So, don’t do it, then.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Don’t do what?”

  Her face was so sad. “Don’t cast me away because you think it’s the right thing to do.” She looked at her plate.

  “Helen, look at me.” But she didn’t. I waved my fingers until I had her eye. “I’m right here, decorations and waffles and burnt beans. All of it. I’m all in. We’re well beyond the right thing to do.” I held up my hands. “I’ve been reprimanded sufficiently.”

  She laughed, but it was nervous. “I didn’t mean to tell you off.”

  “You had your points, you made them well. I’m sorry I patronised you. I won’t do it again.”

  “I’m sorry I ruined your waffles.” She nodded at my plate. “They’ll be cold.”

  “I like cold waffles.” I smiled.

  “Your nose is getting bigger, Pinocchio.”

  “It’s not my nose that’s growing, Helen.” I dropped my cutlery as her eyes widened, and my voice lowered in tone. “Have you finished your dinner?”

  She scooped up a final little fork of beans, then nodded. “Thank you, it was lovely.”

  I reached for her plate and placed it on mine before I pushed them both to the side. And there was us, in the silence, just a flickering candle between us.

  “Show me your breasts, Helen.”

  She gave a little gasp, and there was the slightest hesitation, but she slipped off her cardigan and pulled her top off over her head. She unhooked her bra as I watched, and let it drop to the floor beside her chair. I couldn’t take my eyes off her, and she gasped again and couldn’t take her eyes from the candle as I lifted it from its stand. I idled it betwee
n my hands, enjoying the way her gaze followed the flame.

  “Sit up straight, put your hands behind your head for me.”

  She put her hands behind her head and her beautiful little breasts stood proud. I got to my feet, and she gulped, her breasts rising and falling as I made my way around the table. I reached between her legs and she flinched, but my grip was on the chair, turning it to face me.

  “Keep your eyes on me.”

  She nodded.

  “Good girl.”

  She gave a little whimper as the first splash of wax hit across her breasts. It dripped so beautifully, hardening into a creamy line along the curve of her flesh. And her nipples had hardened too, the sweetest pale pink all puckered and tight. Slowly I decorated her, holding the candle close enough to her skin to make it glow, where the wax would be at its hottest. She squirmed with ragged breaths, but she didn’t move her hands.

  “Offer me those sweet tits, Helen. Show me they’re mine.”

  And she did. She pulled her shoulders back and stared into my eyes and offered me those gorgeous little tits like a precious gift.

  “Ow,” she breathed. “It burns… a nice burn…”

  I took her breast in my hand and I squeezed her, pinched until her hard little nipple was rolling between my thumb and forefinger and she was rocking her hips. And then I spilled wax on her, right there as she moaned, and it was beautiful.

  I loved the patterns on her skin, the creamy rivers of wax hardening on her soft flesh. Her nipples looked so tender, tight with anticipation of their beautiful punishment, and her face was innocence and devilment in equal measure, nerves and excitement combined. I put the candle aside and unbuttoned her jeans, shimmying them down her legs and onto the floor before I took her knees in my hands and parted them wide.

  Her cute little panties were bunched into her slit, and the fabric was damp and cloying. I ran my thumb between the folds and she let out a beautiful moan.

  “Such a pretty wet pussy.”

  She gasped as my thumb found her clit.

  “So sensitive… it’s going to look so beautiful.”

  A tiny murmur as she registered my intentions, but her hips rose so willingly for me to pull down her panties. I held them to my nose and took a breath before discarding them, and her scent made my cock jerk in my trousers. I reached for her waist and shunted her forward in her seat, so her ass was balanced on the edge, her feet braced on the floor. I licked my fingers slowly as she watched, then pushed two inside in one strong push. She took them, and groaned, and I fucked her like that, slowly and deeply. Her excitement made my fingers so slick, my movements solid as I angled them to find the right spot. Her breath turned shallow at the sensation, and once she was drifting into the pleasure I picked up the candle.

  She flinched as wax splashed the tender skin of her thighs.

  “Ow…”

  “Good girl.”

  Streaks of beautiful white wax, dripping and rolling so slowly over her skin. I timed the heat with her breaths, with her movements, and with the steady thrust of my fingers, and she rolled with me, rolled with the sharp little floods of heat. Tiny drips coated her belly, splattering her so perfectly, and she began to whimper as she knew what was coming.

  “Keep your legs spread wide.”

  She nodded, and closed her eyes as I lifted her feet and placed them against my chest. Her weight shifted, her balance precarious and dependent on me. Her legs were taut as she spread her thighs, and she was bared to me, her beautiful wet pussy glistening.

  She cried out as the first drips hit her, and her thighs clenched so tight they shuddered.

  “Oh, God… Mark…”

  “Don’t be scared.”

  She took a breath. “I’m not…”

  I marked her pussy with a line of wax, and she quivered.

  “You look so beautiful, Helen.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “Spread your pussy for me, nice and wide with your fingers.”

  I watched the breath from her open mouth as she stared at me, and her dainty fingers did what they were told. The bud of her clit was swollen and needy, her slit so pink and wet for me. She bit her lip as I moved the candle there, squeaking out cute little whimpers of nerves.

  “Ready?”

  I felt her tense up. “Yes, Mark, sir. Oh God…”

  Tiny drips splashed her most sensitive places and she shuddered and moaned and rocked in her seat, but she was smiling, making such delicious utterings of shock and excitement and pain.

  “That’s my girl.”

  I reached for another candle, and red wax met white, and turned pink, pink swirls and splashes on her tender pussy, and streaks on her gorgeous thighs, and her chest was heaving, head tipped back.

  “Mr Roberts… please…”

  “Good girl…” I teased the wax at her pussy, and the downy hairs of her pulled tight and made her squirm and wriggle. Then I let myself free as the muse called and demanded more. Swirls of red wax across her breasts, splashing her nipples with colour, and she was beautiful. I lit more candles, blue and purple and green, and I decorated her, my beautiful girl in splotches and swirls, colour on colour, blending and pooling on her skin. And then I touched her, I touched her pretty pussy until she bucked at my fingertips, until her eyes were glazed and her breath was short, and the patterns on her breasts rose and fell for me, a living canvas.

  I pulled my tie loose as she watched, and she held her legs high as I cast aside my shirt. Her feet landed back on my bare chest, and the skin on skin burned me up. I loosened my belt, and pulled out my cock, working it just a little. I braced myself, hands against the back of the chair, my face in hers, as the head of my cock found her waiting.

  “Yes…” she hissed. “Oh, God, fuck me, Mark… please fuck me…”

  But I surprised her.

  I wrapped my arms around her waist and pulled her to the floor with me, guiding her on top as I kicked off my trousers. She straddled me, her warm pussy pinning my cock to my belly, and she rocked back and forth so naturally, teasing me so gently that the pleasure was excruciating. She was a goddess above me, her hair shiny and soft in the candlelight, eyes twinkling as her fingers traced the wax swirls on her body.

  “Pretty patterns,” she whispered.

  “Pretty patterns on a beautiful girl,” I groaned. “You’re such a good girl, Helen. You were perfect.”

  “I really wanted it,” she said, and her breath was raspy. “I loved it.” Her fingers explored me, fluttered down my chest to my belly and up again. Soft tickles around my nipples, and her eyes ate me up. “I can’t believe you’re really mine…”

  “Take me,” I said. “Find what feels good for you.”

  The hint of a blush on her cheeks made my cock twitch under her.

  “You want me to ride you?”

  “I want you to use my body to explore your own. Find what feels nice for you, Helen.”

  She raised herself enough to take my cock in her hand, and guided it to her slit. I held my breath as she held hers, exhaling as the tightness of her inched its way down to consume me. It was torturously slow, and blissfully divine, and her expression of wonder was the most beautiful thing in creation.

  “This feels so good…” she rasped. “It feels so nice…”

  I groaned as she took me all the way inside, fighting back the urge to thrust and buck and plough her sweet little cunt. Her movements were fluid and feline, but shy, so shy at first. She circled her hips in gentle motions, adjusting to the swell of me inside her, and it was bliss.

  “Your pussy is divine, Helen.”

  “It feels nice like this…” she breathed. “I feel so full…”

  I reached for her breasts, flicking my thumbs across her waxy nipples as she found her groove. Her movements became more urgent, more pronounced. She arched her back and pushed forward, and my cock pulsed inside her. She moaned and ground against me, and instinct took hold of her, she became needy in her rhythm, her lips parting in swee
t sounds of lust.

  “Oh, Mark… I feel you… I really feel you.”

  “Take me, Helen, I’m all yours.”

  She braced herself, back arched and her hands on my thighs, sliding up and down my cock so slowly that I had to grit my teeth. And then she shunted, just a little, and the angle changed everything. She circled her hips and whimpered and I knew she had the spot. My thumb brushed her clit and she cried out.

  “That’s right, Helen… that’s it…”

  “It feels… it feels… strange…”

  “Go with it…”

  “It feels… I feel…”

  “Just go with it, Helen… that’s perfect…”

  “Oh, Mark… it feels so nice… it feels so fucking nice…”

  And then she was lost to me, a grinding, squirming, delicious bundle of pleasure. Her nerves disappeared, and she rode me, deep and frantically, consumed by the promise of orgasm until her hands were frantic, too, her nails digging into my skin as she attempted to pull me into her. I followed her lead, and bucked my hips, and she squealed.

  “Oh fuck! Yes!”

  “Find that spot, Helen…”

  I thrust again and the noise from her was feral. “Fuck…” she whimpered. “Oh, fuck, yes! Fuck me!”

  My hands took her hips and they held her there. And then I fucked her, thrusting into her as she bounced on me, and she was a whimpering, squirmy mess, and it was perfect.

  “I need to pee…” she said, and her eyes were wide and mortified.

  I smiled. “You don’t.”

  “I do…” she insisted. “I need to pee…”

  “Trust me,” I said. “Just don’t stop.”

  And then it happened for her. A look of bewilderment flashed across her eyes, and she groaned, and pinched my thighs in her fingers, and the urges consumed her and burned her up. She was incoherent as she wriggled, making noises that made no conscious sense, but that I understood completely, and her whole body tensed and jerked on mine.

  And I fucked her. My God, how I pumped her sweet pussy.

  She gripped me like a vice, and when she came it was the most intense pleasure I’ve ever felt. Her tight little cunt squeezed me and milked me and sent me toppling over the edge just as she went.

  Perfect shock on her face, perfect shock and raw emotion, and pleasure, and even a hint of fear of the unknown.