Teach Me Dirty

by Jade West

  “Since you ask so nicely…”

  ***

  Mark

  The girl was a stunning siren, the call of her flesh was divinity itself. She was a sweet and innocent temptress, soaking in every delight and pulling me ever-deeper. She hitched her pussy, demanding more, her fingers spreading herself so urgently. Her pussy was velvet soft, a ripe peach, her clit swollen and begging to be touched. I gripped her thighs, spread them wide, and the low moan that escaped her as I pressed my tongue to her clit made my cock pulse.

  I breathed onto her, slowly, with purpose, and she squirmed and moaned some more.

  “Please…” she whispered. “Suck my clit…”

  Fuck.

  The urge to consume her and take her and bury myself in the beautiful sweet pink heart of her battled the muse and threatened the whole endeavour. She whimpered as my tongue circled her clit, and her fingers gripped my hair as I sucked her between my lips.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

  She was borderline delirious, lost in the sensation, and it thrilled me. Her pleasure thrilled me.

  I sucked until she thrashed, her thighs squeezing me, her hands tugging at my hair. I sucked until she mewled and shuddered, until I felt her hold her breath and tip over the edge. I sucked her until she’d soaked me with the beautiful taste of her. I sucked her until she was panting and gasping. Until her hands were pulling me higher, pulling me to her.

  She folded me in her arms and it was like coming home. Her face was clammy in the firelight, her hair damp to her brow, her mouth hungry as she sought out my tongue. Her ankles wrapped around my calves and moved higher, gripping me as she bucked, instinct consuming her. But I wasn’t ready. Not by a long shot.

  I pinned her arms above her head and my lips smiled against hers. “Steady,” I breathed.

  “But I want you. I need you.”

  “You’ll have me. Just relax.”

  I broke the contact and she took a breath.

  Her eyes widened as I reached for a palette, watching as I set out my colours.

  “This is going to take a little while, Helen.” I smiled. “Breathe.”

  She took a deep breath, and then she giggled. The sound was perfect, sweet and mischievous all in one. She watched me as I wiped her down with the towel, and hitched her ass so I could dry underneath, then closed her eyes as I pressed the towel against her pussy and patted her dry.

  “That’s nice… so nice,” she said, and I loved her for it, loved her so much.

  I placed myself at her side, surveying my bare canvas, and it was perfect. Just perfect. She started as the brush made contact with her hip. The first stroke was soft and light, a thin line of purple, curling across to her belly.

  “Tickles,” she said.

  I smiled up at her, and her beauty captured me, all damp and flushed and nipples puckered.

  She closed her eyes and I watched the shadows of the fire play across her breasts, taking my time before continuing my pattern. My brush moved with precise abandon, controlled freedom, seeking out the contours and the curves of Helen’s perfect form.

  “That feels amazing,” she whispered, and her fingers reached for me, rested on my thigh. Her eyes were hazy when they opened and her smile was enough to condemn me to any fate. And I didn’t care. I didn’t care at all.

  Colour on colour, bleeding and curling. Spirals of perfection kissing her skin, the brush nothing but a silent caress, an extension of my very soul as I decorated that girl’s perfect body. She watched me, not my brush, her eyes soaking in my choice of colours.

  “The Starry Night,” she said.

  “Loosely.” I smiled. “Very loosely.”

  The brush loved Helen’s breasts almost as much as I did. Her nipples pebbled at the contact, stiffening to sweet little peaks that made my mouth water. I watched the rise and fall of her chest, matching the finer brush strokes so perfectly, our breathing in sync, as one.

  “I love you so much,” she whispered, and her fingers tightened on my leg. “I never want this to end. Never.”

  “Me neither, Helen. Me neither.”

  I layered paint on paint, highlights on darker hues, and she was transformed. Her breath turned shallow as I positioned myself between her thighs.

  “Be still,” I said.

  “Yes, sir.” Her eyes twinkled.

  I raised her knees and my canvas opened up for me. I had to take a steadying breath before my brush made contact, and Helen let out the softest moan.

  I dropped the brush for the most delicate aspects, smoothing colour onto her with my fingers. One solid flick of yellow for her clit, and she moaned but didn’t move an inch, not an inch as I painted her pussy lips the most delicate blue, not an inch as I spread her open and painted her tenderness pink.

  My palette was splattered, paint on paint, ultramarine, and cobalt blue, and Indian yellow.

  Dark pigment for the cypress tree, and it grew tall under my brush, right the way up her left side to consume the curve of her breast.

  White swirls, and I was a man possessed, no longer just me, the muse on my shoulder guiding and demanding and laughing with joy.

  I caught my breath before filling in the detail of the landscape, and Helen reclined easily, the softest smile on her lips.

  I smoothed her damp hair from her forehead, leaving a smear of paint behind me.

  “Comfortable?”

  She nodded. “You’re amazing. I want to do this all the time.”

  “Thank you, but I don’t think it’s one for the classroom somehow.”

  She giggled. “Shame.”

  I loved that timeless space. The gentle bliss of Helen’s body laid so willingly for me. The urge of the creative unconscious. The fine concentration of brushwork.

  The candles had burned out by the time I filled in the last of the detail, and the fire was merely a glow.

  I soaked in my work, and Helen, the perfect canvas. She looked otherworldly, a beautiful creature from the deep.

  I reached for my camera, and she teased her hair around her head, a messy halo that worked real magic.

  I captured the memory, then dropped to my knees.

  “Can I see?” she asked, but I shook my head.

  And she knew, her eyes reflected mine.

  She raised herself from the floor, and her fingers were at my shirt, her mouth on mine. My hands tangled in her hair, holding her tight as I kissed her, and she moaned as she flattened her chest to mine. I pushed her down into the cushions, and pressed my body to hers, and the paint was hot and clammy, smearing against my clothes, and it didn’t matter.

  Nothing mattered.

  Between us we pulled off my shirt, and I wriggled out of my jeans and sunk into her with the most natural movement.

  The universe blurred and warped, and the beginning and the end was all in Helen Palmer.

  I found it all there. I felt it. I felt it all.

  Her fingers slipped onto the palette, and with a smile she trailed wet paint down my cheek.

  Her hips bucked against mine, and her breath was hot in my face, and when I filled her the world disappeared.

  And I was free.

  ***

  Helen

  I couldn’t stop laughing. Not at us, covered in smeared paint, and not at the mess underneath us, either. The palette had slipped under my ass in the throes, and my whole backside was awash with paint, as was everything else around us. The sheets had caught most of it, but the cushions, were… different now.

  We were messy, and euphoric, and happy, and brilliant. We were us.

  Just us.

  And fear couldn’t touch me here.

  Mark wasn’t doing much better than me for paint coverage, which was ironic, since I was the one who’d been a human canvas for the last few hours.

  He scowled but his eyes betrayed his humour.

  “You have ruined that painting, Helen, ruined it.”

  I poked out my tongue. “I think you ruined it. I wanted to see it first, before we g
ot all… smeary.”

  “Let’s just hope the picture comes out then, hey?”

  I laughed. “What’s next? Can I do you?”

  He brushed his cheek and his fingertips turned from blue to green. “I think that’s quite enough paint for one day.” He pointed to the stairs. “Get your lovely blue backside upstairs, please. Shower.”

  Paint doesn’t come off all that easily. Especially not when you’re more interested in kissing than soaping.

  “It’s not even midnight,” he said. “And we’ve painted, fucked and now we’re all showered for bed. What a disgrace.”

  “Speak for yourself,” I laughed. “I’m ready to party.”

  “Party?”

  “I say party… I mean, finish our wine on the porch and watch the sky.” I brushed the hair back from his face. “Can we do that? I want to see the stars.”

  “Yes, we can do that.”

  He turned off the water, and wrapped me up in a towel, and I was laughing all over again as I watched him attempt to clear the bath up.

  “Christ, Helen, this is everywhere.”

  “It was your idea, don’t even try and pin that on me.”

  “It was worth the mess, I’m just astounded.”

  He towelled my hair, just like my mum used to do when I was a kid, and I felt so young again. Young and happy. I breathed freely.

  “Wine and stars?” he said.

  “Yes, please.”

  He handed me a dressing gown, and towelled down while I wrapped up. He pulled on fresh jeans and shirt, and I just watched, fascinated.

  “Don’t think you’re going out in just that, young lady. You’ll catch your death.”

  “Enough of the young lady.” I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I’ll get dressed so long as my clothes weren’t caught in the crossfire.” We headed downstairs. “How am I going to explain that, hey? I’m going to have to tell Dad that Lizzie got creative with the poster paints.”

  Suddenly it seemed hilarious, and I belly laughed, proper belly laughed.

  Mark went to the porch, looked up at the sky. “Clear night,” he said, and then pulled a face and stepped further out.

  I picked up my clothes and my phone bleeped from my pocket. I pulled it out and it was flashing.

  Weird.

  I pressed unlock and it sprung into life.

  10 missed calls.

  2 new voicemails.

  5 text messages.

  My heart stuttered.

  “Mark, there’s something wrong…”

  My fingers were clumsy and I didn’t know which to open first.

  He appeared in the doorway and his brows were heavy. And then there was light. It swung through the kitchen windows.

  “What the…?” He looked at the clock. “Gone midnight. I don’t even… who the hell could that be?”

  He made his way to the front door, and dread gripped me.

  My text messages opened.

  Lizzie: Helen!! LEAVE!! Your dad is coming. I’m so sorry. I’m so so sorry. x

  Lizzie: Hels, please! Answer! I didn’t mean to, I swear. YOU HAVE TO GO! x

  Lizzie: God, Helen, ANSWER YOUR FUCKING PHONE! x

  Lizzie: HE’S COMING TO GET YOU! I had no choice, Hels, I swear. Xx

  Lizzie: I’m so sorry Xx

  And then the banging came. Such terrible banging. The noise of it shook the door on the hinges.

  It chilled me to the bone. Knocked the stuffing right out of me.

  No. No. No.

  Please fucking God, no.

  Mark was already there, his hand on the latch.

  He opened the door before I could even squeal.

  Helen

  The horror unfolded in slow motion as Mark swung the door open. I could hear my squeal ringing in my ears, a pitiful sound that was far too little, too late. Mark’s eyes met mine for just a moment before the door was barged in the rest of the way.

  And there was Dad. A raging bull. His eyes were wild and his face was red, and he was spitting fury.

  He didn’t see me at first, his attention was purely on Mark. He shoved his way into the hallway, and shoved his way into Mark.

  “Where the fuck is my daughter?!”

  I heard Mum’s voice outside. “Stay in the car, Katie! Just stay in the car!”

  And then more. “George! Stop it! Don’t do anything crazy, George! I mean it!”

  “Where the fuck is my fucking daughter?!”

  Mark held up his hands for calm, but this wasn’t a rowdy classroom.

  Dad’s voice was a terrible roar. “HELEN! YOU’D BETTER GET YOUR FUCKING ARSE HERE, NOW!”

  I pressed myself into the wall, trying to calm my breath, trying to summon up the courage to step into the fury. My eyes widened as Dad came barging in my direction, but Mark took hold of his arm, steered him back.

  “Mr Palmer, please… calm down. This isn’t Helen’s fault.”

  My heart broke. It cracked in half.

  Please, God, don’t take the fire for me. Not for me.

  Dad jabbed a finger at Mark’s shoulder and his teeth were gritted. “Don’t fucking tell me to calm fucking down, and don’t you dare fucking speak to me about my own fucking daughter!”

  Mum arrived in the hallway, and she grabbed Dad’s arm but he was having none of it.

  “GET FUCKING HERE, NOW, HELEN!” Dad’s voice made my stomach burn.

  I stepped into view, and I was already crying, even though I hadn’t realised. Mum gasped as she saw me there, damp-haired and in nothing but a dressing gown, but I had no choice.

  Mark’s eyes were full of horror. He placed himself between Dad and me, and a heaving sob left my throat.

  “Helen, just stay there,” he said, and then he turned to Dad. “You really need to calm down, Mr Palmer. Helen hasn’t done anything wrong. This is all on me, so please, just take it easy on her.”

  It was too much for Dad to bear.

  The crack of knuckles on jaw was a terrible sound, and I screamed. I really screamed. And so did Mum. I flew down the hallway, straight into the heart of it, but Dad was too far gone. He landed another two punches before I was up in his face, and Mum was trailing from his arm, screaming for him to stop. Mark stumbled, but he didn’t fall. He backed into the wall, and there was blood, it smeared the back of his hand as he wiped his nose, and his lip was bleeding, too.

  I wished it was me. I’d have taken ten myself, just to spare him.

  I was at his side in a heartbeat and he tried to push me away, but I wouldn’t go. I wouldn’t leave him.

  Mum screamed some sense into Dad, just enough to clear the red mist, but he was still raging, still panting, still gunning for blood.

  “How fucking long?!” he snarled. “How fucking long? What was she? Sixteen? Fourteen? Twelve fucking years old? When did you decide you wanted a piece of my little girl, you filthy fucking bastard? HOW FUCKING LONG?”

  “Dad!” I screamed. “Stop! This is crazy! It’s been WEEKS! Just WEEKS! I’m eighteen years old! I’m an ADULT!”

  “YOU’RE NOT A FUCKING ADULT! YOU’RE NOTHING LIKE A FUCKING ADULT!”

  I wanted to argue, but Mark gripped my arm. He shook his head, and his nose was still streaming. His eyes were full of fear, and it tore me apart to realise it was all for me.

  But I wasn’t afraid of Dad. I wasn’t afraid for myself.

  It was all for him.

  Dad looked me up and down like I was the most disgusting thing he’d ever seen. “GET DRESSED!”

  My breath hitched. “No,” I said. “I’m not leaving.”

  “GET FUCKING DRESSED, OR I’LL DRAG YOU TO THE FUCKING CAR AS YOU ARE!”

  And Mark’s hands were up again. “Enough,” he said. “Nobody is going to be dragging Helen anywhere.”

  Mum’s voice was thick with fear. “Get dressed, Helen,” she said. “Please, love, for God’s sake, get dressed!”

  I moved. Ducked around the corner where I pulled my clothes on with shaking hands.

  Dad’s v
oice was a low growl, full of hate.

  “You’re a disgusting, despicable piece of shit. Where are your fucking morals?”

  “George!” Mum hissed. “Stop it!”

  But he had no intention of stopping it. “You’d better get up tomorrow morning and clear the fuck out of this town, because I’m going to fucking ruin you. You understand me? I’m going to fucking ruin you. I’ll make sure everyone in this fucking town knows exactly what a perverted piece of shit you really are, and you can fucking count on that. You’re not wanted here, understand? You’re not fucking wanted here!”

  I stepped back into the hallway. “Dad, don’t. Please. This isn’t Mark’s fault, it’s mine. It’s all mine.”

  “Shut up,” he said. “You’re so fucking naive, Helen.”

  Mum stepped towards me. “Come on, Helen, let’s go. Please. Before this gets any worse.”

  Like it could possibly get any worse.

  One look at Mark’s face told me it could. I nodded but I couldn’t speak. I didn’t have any voice.

  Mark took my hand as I passed. “Helen, whatever you want to do… you don’t have to go with them…”

  I choked up, blinked tears away.

  “Shut the fuck up,” Dad snarled. “She’s coming fucking home with us where she belongs. You have no fucking say in it.”

  Mark didn’t even flinch, just stared right at me. “It’s your decision, Helen. Whatever you want to do.”

  Dad took a step towards me but Mum blocked him off. “Come on, Helen, love. Please. We can talk at home!”

  But I was already home. I was already exactly where I wanted to be.

  I looked at Mark and my heart fell into pieces. “I’ve got to go.”

  “You don’t.”

  “YES, SHE FUCKING DOES!” Dad shunted Mum forward but she held her ground.

  Mark’s words were nothing but breath. “I don’t want you to go with them, not like this.”

  I smiled, the most pathetic smile in the whole world. “I’ll be ok.”

  “I’m not so sure.”

  “I’ll be fine, I promise. He won’t do anything to me.”

  I pulled my hand from his and it was the worst feeling. It felt as though my soul was tearing, shredded in half down the middle, and it was screaming. It wailed the saddest agony.