by Anthology
“Yes, much has changed,” he agreed. “Your beauty has increased tenfold.”
Her liquid gaze captured and held his. “It’s kind of you to say so. But seeing how you have altered brings the years home to me. I remember a gawky farm boy with hands and feet too big for his frame, coming to school with straw in his hair. Now I see a tall, handsome man with broad shoulders, clad in an elegant suit. How time flies!”
She finds me handsome? Her praise had him lifting his shoulders and chin with pride.
And yet he couldn’t bear the low note of sadness in her voice. In the past, her cheerfulness had brought joy to those privileged to be near her. Her students had loved her for her smiles, her gaiety.
What a shame that one so fair had been visited by sorrow. How could he offer commiseration?
She rose and went to stand by the window, her bountiful curves framed by the gold curtains so that she seemed like some artist’s conception of beauty.
Rising, he joined her. “Please do not distress yourself,” he said, putting a comforting hand on her arm. “I know how hard it must have been for you to lose Mr. d’Aulaire.”
“Yes, he was a fine husband,” she murmured. “A wealthy man who gave me everything I wanted. But you too have known sorrow, Rob. In your book, you tell about how your beloved fiancée was lost at sea.”
“Well— Yes. Poor Emily,” he said, unwilling to admit that “broken engagement” was a rather more accurate description of their parting. “But surely it is worse to lose a spouse.”
“The loneliness is hard to bear.” She gazed up at him, her red lips parted and quivering.
Before he considered his actions, his hands were on her smooth white shoulders and his mouth claimed hers.
Good heavens, her lips were so enticing as they moved softly under his. He half expected her to back away, but instead her warm mouth urged his on.
Her lips opened under his. Was it possible she wanted him to kiss her in the French style? Hardly daring to believe it, he entered her mouth with his tongue.
Her tongue welcomed him, gliding against his in a silken caress that inflamed him instantly. And he realized as he drank in the wonderful taste of her, sweet milky tea, that she was what he’d desired his whole life.
She was the reason he’d accepted his dismissal without argument, when Emily broke their engagement. She was the reason he’d ignored the flirtatious glances and smiles of the women he’d met on his travels.
Soft and yielding in his arms, her violet scent filled his world. He drew her closer, shaken by the way her full breasts pressed against him.
Although the bosoms of the Gentle Sex are of great interest to the masculine gender, husbands must practice reverence when approaching the fair white breasts of their wives. Even the great Solomon forgets this when he says, “Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins,” praising appearance at the expense of utility. The breasts are not for providing selfish pleasure to men, but to nurture the next generation.
Professor Woodcock’s Guide to Success and Happiness in Marital Relations (1st edition, 1893)
Drawing back, Vanessa looked up into Rob’s face with astonishment. Yes, she had flirted with him. Yes, she had let him kiss her, amused by the way his schoolboy infatuation for her still lived on.
But that passionate kiss he’d given her left no doubt in her mind. This was no boy holding her in his arms, but a man. An ardent man who desired her. His warm lips had sparked an answering heat in her body.
The four-year age difference that had loomed so large ten years ago had faded away like early-morning fog.
He stared back at her, his blue eyes troubled. “Pardon me,” he said. “I shouldn’t have taken such a liberty. I let my feelings run away with me.”
She stroked his cheek. How wonderful it felt to touch a man’s skin, after so many months lacking that pleasure. “Lesson number one, Rob. Never apologize for a kiss when the lady has participated willingly.”
He put his hand over hers. “Do you know how often I’ve wanted to kiss you? When I was in your classroom, I’d daydream that I was Robin Hood, rescuing you from the evil Sheriff of Nottingham. My reward was always…your kiss.”
“Do I still remind you of Maid Marian?”
Lifting her hand to his mouth, he laid his lips against her palm. The caress sent a fluttering of desire through her body, pooling in her womanly core.
“You remind me of all the beautiful women of literature. Juliet. Ophelia. Cleopatra.”
“All women of tragedy,” she reminded him.
“Yes. Perhaps because I see the sadness in your eyes.”
“But just now, your kiss made me happy.”
His eyes darkening, he said, “I hope that means a second one would not be amiss.”
“Didn’t I always encourage my pupils to experiment?” she asked.
Mercy, she loved his mouth. So fresh and eager. This time she tunneled her hand through his hair, holding him close as his tongue explored her mouth. Her body ached for his touch. Would he know how to caress all her secret places until she was alive with desire, ready to be filled by his cock?
She sucked on his tongue, delighting in the arousal flowing through her body. A whimper of pleasure broke from her throat. Dear Rob! She’d always been fond of him, the awkward but intelligent country boy. It would be easy to grow even fonder of the man he’d become.
Yet there was something tentative about him, something still a bit awkward. Had he ever seduced a woman into bed before?
Perhaps she would have to take the lead, just as she had when she’d been his teacher. Once shown the way, no doubt he’d learn quickly. In the past, he’d always responded eagerly to her teachings.
Perhaps he would enjoy the new lessons she had in mind even more than geometry.
Breaking the kiss, she took a step back, looking up at him. How tall he’d become!
She took a deep breath, inhaling the pleasant way he smelled—the starch of his clean white shirt and another spicy aroma, perhaps the lingering scent of his shaving soap.
“Do you know why I invited you here—Professor Woodcock?” she asked, putting a playful emphasis on his pseudonym.
He lowered his eyes. “I thought perhaps…well, many ladies have asked me to autograph a copy of my book for them.”
“I’m afraid not,” she said, suppressing a smile. “When I read your book, I noticed some errors. Or perhaps I shouldn’t say errors,” she added quickly when his brows drew together. “Generalizations about ladies—about men and women—that are not always true, in my experience. I thought we might discuss them.”
“I would be glad to, Vanessa,” he said, but his voice was stiff. “Of course I strive for accuracy in my work.”
She wound her arms around his neck. “Do not be offended. I think unraveling these errors might prove amusing for you. Now that our connection has been reestablished, I believe that an actual demonstration might prove superior to mere discussion.”
“Ah, indeed.” The glint in his eyes showed that he suspected what she had in mind. “I believe strongly in the value of demonstration.”
She released him. Assuming a serious tone, she said, “Consider that silver teapot.” She waved her hand at the table.
“The teapot?” His voice expressed disappointment.
She smiled. Be patient, dear Rob. The lesson will proceed at the pace I choose.
“Yes, the teapot. What is its primary function?”
“To serve tea,” he said with ill-concealed impatience.
“Of course. However, I might also hide money in the teapot and bury it. If I were a miser, that might be its most important function in my estimation. Thus an item may have multiple uses.” She picked up his book from the table, opening it to one of the sections she had marked. “And yet, you speak of breasts as though they have only one function, ‘to nurture the next generation’.”
He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “I grew tired of hearing my fellow students comment lascivi
ously on women’s forms. As a farmer, I am aware of the importance of the nurturing function. A calf not fed by its mother will die.”
“Certainly. But might not breasts serve more than one purpose?” Unbuttoning the first four gold buttons of her bodice, she folded back the two sides. Rob’s eyes widened as her large breasts were exposed, thrust high by her linen stays.
She noted with satisfaction that his gaze was glued to her nipples. His cheeks reddened and his chest heaved.
“Does it give you pleasure to look at my breasts?” she asked.
“Vanessa—” his voice died away into silence. He cleared his throat and started again. “Vanessa, I have never seen a lovelier sight.”
“Truly, God has made a fine arrangement,” she said. “He created women in this form, a form that men enjoy. Men like to touch—and it gives a woman great pleasure to be touched.” She drew closer. He stood like a man turned to stone. Gently she took his unresisting hand and laid it on her right breast. “Touch me, Rob.”
He needed no second invitation. Grasping her breasts with both hands, he fondled them, rubbing and stroking while her eyes drifted closed. She drank in the delicious sensations. He molded her breasts in his hands, his gentle caresses sending thrills of arousal through her, feelings she knew well.
His breath came fast as he ran calloused thumbs over her nipples. She remembered what Bertrand used to say when he touched her. “Vanessa, my dear, your lovely pussy is filling with cream.” Somehow his naughty words had aroused her further.
Her pussy was filling again.
Lowering his face, Rob kissed the valley between her breasts, making her shiver with delight. Then he took her right breast in his mouth.
“Oh!” A tiny cry escaped her throat. She ran her hands up and down his back, overwhelmed by pleasure when he worked his tongue all around her areola, then sucked hard on her nipple. Oh, how she’d missed a man’s hot mouth on her breasts. His mustache tickled her delicate skin as he sucked, making her nipple swell under his ministrations, then soothing it with warm caresses of his tongue.
“Rob—please—attend to the other one,” she said with a gasp. He raised his head long enough to look at what he’d done. Her nipple was rosy and protruding.
“Amazing,” he murmured, turning to her left nipple.
Her husband’s hands or mouth on her breasts had always served to ready her for his cock. Rob’s caresses were arousing the same feelings in her, the hot eagerness in her womanly parts, the intense longing for satisfaction.
Moving her hand downward, she stroked her fingers over the buttoned fly of his trousers. Her fleeting touch was enough to reveal that his cock was hard.
Chapter Two
The act of sexual congress is sacred. Blessed by both our Heavenly Creator and our earthly government, Marriage is an essential first step, the joining of souls a prerequisite to the joining of bodies. Although Literature tells of many who sought pleasure without the Bonds of Matrimony, our best books demonstrate how those who practice immorality invariably come to bad ends.
Professor Woodcock’s Guide to Success and Happiness in Marital Relations (1st edition, 1893)
Was she attempting a seduction? It certainly seemed so. Rob felt like a straw buffeted by contrasting winds, tumbling first one way, then another. The temptation was great. He struggled with the excitement that filled him. Should he cling to the hard-won chastity he had kept all these years?
She caught his hand. “Robert.” Her voice, by itself alone, had the power to make him succumb. “Further demonstrations will require greater privacy. Follow me.”
He allowed her to lead him out of the parlor and through a hallway. Opening a door at the end of the hall, she turned up the flickering gaslight, revealing a small room furnished with an iron bed, a dressing table and a steamer trunk.
“This is your bedchamber?” he asked, surprised at its sparseness.
“Oh, my real bedroom is being repapered,” she said. “I am happy to have a roof over my head—now that my husband has passed on.”
He embraced her, determined to banish the sadness from her voice. “It doesn’t matter. I’m happy just to be here with you.” He kissed her, his tongue stroking hers, his hands fondling the luscious curves of her breasts. His member swelled, straining against his trousers until he feared the buttons would burst.
A painting he’d seen in the tavern in Columbus filled his mind—a rosy-breasted, dark-haired woman wearing nothing except corset and stockings, languishing on a bed. How he longed to see Vanessa displayed in the same manner.
And yet, religion and morality spoke against lascivious behavior.
Deftly, she slid his suit jacket off his shoulders. Her quick fingers undid his tie. But when she began unbuttoning his shirt, he put his hand over hers to stop her.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“My conscience.” He looked into her dark eyes, silently begging her to understand. “Society expects brides to come pure to their marriage beds. Long ago I decided to bring my wife a clean body and a pure heart.”
Her eyes widened as she looked up into his face. “You’ve never made love to a woman? And yet you wrote an entire book about marital relations.”
“The topic does not necessarily require personal experience,” he assured her. “Aside from my work on Father’s farm, breeding animals—”
“Animals are not people,” she said.
“Aside from that, I researched the subject in great detail.” Why had she assumed such a skeptical expression? Didn’t she believe him? “I read medical books—spoke to recently married friends—consulted other learned authorities.”
“I see. And would you be able to teach another how to ride a bicycle if you had only read about it?”
He hesitated, sensing the truth of her words. “My book provides much useful information,” he protested.
“Then isn’t it your duty as a writer to learn more if you can, so that the second edition will provide even better information?”
“You may have a point,” he admitted.
She wound her arms around his neck and gave him a soft, unhurried kiss. “When I first came to my husband’s bed, nervous and frightened, it comforted me to realize he was experienced in these matters. I knew he had made love to two wives before me. Men and women view these matters differently, Rob. Women do not necessarily value inexperience.”
He had never considered that idea before. Yet now that it was spoken, it made sense. Of course wives required their husband to guide them, to lead them.
While her hands returned to his shirt buttons, she cemented her argument. “I am not advising you to debauch a virtuous young maiden. Or to visit a lady of the evening, who might be diseased. I believe you have found a perfect solution—a lonely widow who cares about you—and misses the embraces of a man.”
Who cares about you… His heart thrilled to the words repeating themselves in his mind. She cared enough about him to give her greatest gift…her sweet body.
His conscience silent at last, he let her open his shirt and slide her palms up his chest. He drank in her caresses, his body singing under the silken touch of her fingertips.
He removed his celluloid collar and shrugged off his shirt. Underneath he wore a union suit. Undoing the buttons swiftly, he shrugged out of the top portion and bared his chest.
Teasing his nipples, she pressed her hips into his. His member responded to the heat of her body, her long-remembered scent, her hands that yielded delight.
It is essential to preserve the modesty of both parties during the intimate act of marital congress. A dark room is recommended. Both husband and wife should retain their nightclothes. Although it is regrettably true that men enjoy gazing at the naked female form, they must not subject their wives to this humiliating imposition. Nor should husbands reveal themselves to their wives in a state of tumescence. Such a shocking sight might well give their wives a distaste for future marital relations.
Professor Woodcock’s Guid
e to Success and Happiness in Marital Relations (1st edition, 1893)
Vanessa took a step back, the better to feast her eyes on the sight of Rob’s naked chest. She hadn’t realized he would be quite so attractively muscular. His shoulders and arms looked powerful, as though he could chop wood for hours or stop a team of runaway horses.
“Shall I turn the gas down?” he asked.
“Whatever for? I enjoy looking at you.”
His Adam’s apple moved as he swallowed. “You do?”
Reaching out, she placed her hands on his shoulders, rubbing her palms over the muscles. “A man of your age, in the prime of his strength—you could be the model for a classical statue.” The hair on his head was a light brown, but his chest hair was a burnished gold. She drew nearer and buried her face in his chest, dropping slow, hot kisses at random. Gripping her waist, he groaned.
“Vanessa… Good heavens, I’ve never felt like this before.”
“Not even with your fiancée?”
A tinge of color rose to his cheeks. “Emily was a pure young maiden. I kissed her bosom once. My forwardness made her cry. We never saw each other unclothed.”
His chest heaved as she pressed an open-mouthed kiss at the base of his throat, tickling his skin with her tongue. He gasped, a sound that pleased her. She had always loved teaching, imparting knowledge to receptive pupils. And after his initial hesitation, Rob now seemed receptive indeed.
“Shall I remove my frock?” she asked.
“I wish you would.” The sincerity of his tone amused her.
Standing back from him, she unbuttoned the lower eight buttons of her bodice, then slid the gown’s top off her shoulders. She pulled down her petticoat and stepped out of it, then pushed the gown past her rounded hips.
He was only the second man who had seen her like this, wearing nothing but stays, drawers and stockings. What would he think of her? Would her unclothed form please him?
“You are perfection itself.” He came toward her, moving like a sleepwalker. Wrapping his arms around her, he pressed kisses on her neck and shoulders. The impassioned caresses of his eager mouth made her knees oddly weak. She clung to his waist, her head falling back under his onslaught.
