Study Buddies

Study Buddies Ch. 01:

Admitting It To Myself

He makes me include all the salacious details

Tags:

Age Difference

Seduction

Handjob

Virgin

As my mother and I walked arm-in-arm down the center aisle of the church at the end of the service, I saw my fiancé, Paul, standing by one of the pews, waiting for his turn to exit. Our eyes met, and we smiled bashfully at each other. I felt my face blush and averted my eyes. My father had just finished a lovely sermon about the struggle to lead a virtuous life in a world full of sin, and I felt embarrassed to see temptation staring me in the face right there in the house of the Lord. As we walked past him, I clasped my mother's arm tightly, to give me the strength I lacked to reap the heavenly rewards that awaited the righteous.

On the patio, Paul praised my father's oratory, as he always did. "Thank you, sir, for that inspirational message of hope in challenging times."

"I'm merely the vessel that delivers His message of universal love," answered my father. "It's up to you to heed His call." He glanced at me, as if to remind me, too.

"Oh, I will, sir. I know I must resist temptation and in denying the earthly pleasures of the present, I will be sure to know the ultimate pleasure of eternal love."

"Draw upon Him for strength, for temptations are legion and your path will present you with a fork. It is there that you must choose which way to walk. That is where the faithful will be separated from the fallen."

"With your guidance and support, I'll be sure to choose the right path, sir."

"It will be worth the wait when your day comes."

"I can't wait. Uh, I mean I can wait, uh, sir." Paul's face turned red as his voice trailed off.

"Come now, Eve, it is time for us to take Cindy home." He nodded goodbye to Paul and led my mother and me to the car. I looked out the window from the back seat, as we drove away. I gave Paul a small wave and he smiled back.

Though the distance between our house and our church was not far, I often felt lost between the two places that I felt most at home. We lived in a large suburban development, where all the houses looked the same. I had lived my entire life here and I still had difficulties finding my way around without my parents' guidance. Luckily for me, everything I needed was close by--my church, my school, the mall, even my boyfriend lived close by. Paul was literally the boy next door. We planned to wed once we finished college, and he was able to find a decent job to support us. We hoped to find a house together near our parents' homes.

Paul's family pulled into their driveway immediately after we pulled into ours. Paul assisted his frail mother in getting out of the car and up the steps to their front door. She had a weak immune system, and struggled with her health in general, but Paul was a dutiful son and helped care for her when she needed him, which was frequently because his father had died tragically of a heart attack a few years ago. I waited for him outside, so we could chat.

After a brief conversation, I told him that I had to finish my homework.

He clasped my hands, and said, "Bye for now. I can't wait to hold you in my arms when we are finally united."

I smiled at him. "You'll have to wait until we're married. Remember my father's sermon?" I let go of his hands and waved goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow."

-..--

I would never have guessed it then, but that was the last chance Paul and I got to be close for a long time. The very next day, the Coronavirus pandemic hit our little world with Old Testament force. The Covid restrictions closed our church, rendered us all house-bound, and moved all our classes online. Paul and I could talk through our bedroom windows, but there wasn't much privacy because we had to shout across the yard and my parents' bedroom was next to mine.

I thought the global response to the virus was exciting, at first, but when my father was called to minister to ill congregants via Zoom, the reality of the viral dangers hit home. A few older members of our church passed away, and we couldn't even hold a proper funeral. The tragedies made me feel melancholy.

My parents adapted to the restrictions by hosting an online bible study group. I threw myself into my creative writing course. The professor assigned us partners so we could read each other's work and provide feedback. I was paired with a guy who was about ten years older than me. Jake lived downtown. He made a bunch of money selling his start-up tech company and retired early. He was taking the class for fun; whereas, I needed the credits to graduate. The professor told us that we were to write every day, share our writing with our partners, and meet every night to provide each other constructive criticism.

I felt shy meeting my partner for the first time, but he was cordial.

"Hello, Jake. I'm Cindy. It is nice to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine. I'm fortunate to be paired with someone so strikingly beautiful."

I blushed and looked down at my keyboard. "Thank you. That's nice of you to say." He was very handsome too, but I didn't dare say so aloud. "I hope you'll think my story is beautiful as well. I'm very nervous to share it with someone. I've never performed for an audience before. It just feels so intimate. I hope you'll be gentle with me."

"Gentle is not my forte; I prefer to give you the hard truth. But if you'd like me to go easy on you at first, we can work our way up to more impactful interactions as you gain experience and learn to accept my direction."

I gulped.

"Are you ready for me?" I nodded my head trepidatiously.

He smiled slyly. "Okay, I'll show you mine if you show me yours."

I was a bit surprised by his choice of phrases and intimidated by his bluntness, but I swallowed my shock and clicked 'share'.

The assignment was to compose a descriptive piece. His writing was a sensuous tale of a meal he had eaten with a beautiful woman. It had luscious descriptions of the flavors, textures, and smells of the foods. The overtly salacious descriptions of the woman's appearance and the suggestive actions were so vivid, they made me squirm. The lustful adjectives made me feel uncomfortable. The last paragraph, in particular, made my heart beat fast, and my breath came in short, shallow gasps...

She delicately pinched a morsel of lobster meat with her fingers and held it in front of her pouty red lips. Her burgundy nail polish contrasted dramatically with the pale flesh of the shellfish. She looked me straight in the eyes and purred, "Thank you for giving me what I want."

Without breaking eye contact, she dunked the thick rich meat in the creamy melted butter sauce and held it in front of her like a predator about to savor the spoils of a successful hunt, letting the oily sauce run all over her fingers. She opened her mouth slowly, and stuck out her tongue. It quivered with anticipation. The butter dripped into her open mouth before she set the meat on her own waiting pink flesh, pulling the bite inside of her mouth with agonizingly dramatic patience. Her lips closed around her fingers as she moaned. She pulled her fingers out slowly, her cheeks hollowing as she sucked them clean. They emerged with a delicate pop.

Still staring at me, she whispered, "Now you know precisely how I plan to thank you. I'm going to give you exactly what I know you're wanting right after dinner. I want to finish devouring my meal before I begin devouring you. Can you wait that long, handsome?" She licked her fingers again, one at a time. "You won't need a napkin, baby, because even though I'm going to make you make a mess, I'm going to clean your mess for you." She licked her lips slowly and then blew me a puckered kiss. "Are you ready for dessert?"

When I finished reading, I looked up and exhaled. He was already done, and was staring at me, disarmingly, while he waited.

"Well?" he asked. "What did you think?"

"Um. Your punctuation is correct. Spelling, too. And I didn't notice any grammatical errors. Good job."

There was an awkward pause. "That's it? I reveal myself to you and that's your reaction?"

I nodded. "I'd give it an 'A'. Oh, and I think it complied fully with the parameters of the assignment to focus on descriptions. You did just as we were instructed. Well done."

"You think my writing is 'compliant'?"

"Yes, I do. Don't you? I think your adjectives are very descriptive. And the professor told us to describe, after all. I think you did that very well." I smiled and gave him a thumbs up.

"Listen, if we're going to be partners, I'll need more from you."

My face fell. "Oh, dear. I'm so sorry." My hands automatically covered my mouth. "I didn't mean to disappoint you. I want to be a good partner for you. I really do. But I'm not sure what I did wrong. I read your piece and checked everything. I think everything is correct, though I admit that I'm not always completely clear about the rules for using commas properly. Did I miss something? Please, tell me how I can be better for you."

"I don't care much about punctuation or grammatical rules. There are apps for that. What I want from you is your experience as a reader. How did I make you feel? Could you picture yourself in the scene? Did you get carried away? Were you immersed in the plot? Did I evoke any strong emotions in you? Did I leave you wanting... more?"

"Oh! I see what you mean. I didn't think about any of those things. Do you think that's what the professor wants us to do?"

"I don't care what the professor wants. I'm telling you what I want you to do for me. The professor isn't here. It's just me and you. I want to use you for all that I can when we're alone."

"I understand. I apologize. I'll try to do better. I promise. Please don't be cross. Maybe you can show me what you want by critiquing my story? Creative writing is new to me. So is working with a partner. I've never done either before, so I'm a bit nervous and unsure. If you show me what you want, I'll do my best to give it to you."

"Good. I'll help you become experienced." He smiled mischievously. "I perused your submission and I'll give you my blunt, unfiltered take on your effort."

"Yes, please. I'd be very appreciative." I smiled hopefully at him.

His brows furrowed and his voice lowered. "Your story is trite. The characters are flat and predictable. The setting is generic and bland. The plot is a superficial re-hashing of the story of Genesis, only it is even more G-rated and boring than the original version."

I tried to control my breathing, but my voice came out high-pitched and wavering. "I tried to make the biblical tale relevant to today's modern reader."

"Then you failed to achieve your objective. Setting an old tale in modern-day suburbia makes the new text even more tedious than the dusty, old original."

I had to fight back tears. "Was it at least grammatically correct?

"Who cares?" He threw up his hands in exasperation. "Spelling 'temptation' correctly doesn't make the tale more tempting."

My voice squeaked. "I asked you to be gentle with me! This is my first time. This is all new."

"Look," he said, condescendingly, "I'm giving you what I know you need--not what you want. You may think I'm harsh now, but in the end, I'm going to make you good at this. Believe me, I could tell you're a virgin. But when I'm done with you, you're going to feel justifiably proud of your new talents. And you're going to thank me for being the best partner you've ever had."

"How dare you! I never told you I was a virgin. And anyway, that's not appropriate to bring up."

"I wasn't talking about your lack of sexual experience," he said, calmly. "I was referring to your lack of writing and editorial experience. Honestly, though, both are relevant. You would benefit from all kinds of experience. If you write what you know, the writing will be more powerful than plagiarizing someone else's story--especially a story as well known as the one you copied. But to write from experience effectively, you have to have experience. You have to live an interesting life to write something worth reading."

"Well, excuse me. I'm sorry for not having an interesting life and I'm sorry for writing a boring story. But you didn't have to be so mean about it. I think I've had enough for tonight's session. I'll try to do better tomorrow night. Goodnight, Jake."

I ended our session with a click and buried my face in my pillow, sniffling to myself.

-..--

Jake's face popped up on the screen the following evening. "You're looking lovely tonight, Cindy. Are you feeling better?"

"I apologize for ending our session so abruptly last night. I hope you'll forgive me."

He nodded. "To be honest, I'm a bit nervous after last time, but I did try my best to gracefully accept your criticism. To show you my sincere contrition, I wrote something original and it is drawn from my own life. I tried to write what I know, just like you said. I hope you like it better than the last one."

He read my submission, while I read his. His piece was about a guy who goes to a strip club and winds up discussing the concepts of free will, destiny, and agency while the stripper gives him an X-rated lap dance in a private booth. While the entire story surprised me, the scene in the VIP booth completely shocked me...

She gyrated in front of him with a sultry smirk on her face, wearing only pasties that barely covered her nipples and an absurdly narrow sequined G-string. "For an extra hundred dollars" she purred seductively, "I'll give you the real VIP treatment." She shook her ample tits to tantalize him and seal the deal.

He pulled out a crisp one-hundred-dollar bill, and said, "You see, my money enables me to get anything I want from you. My dollars control what you wear and how you move." He stuffed the bill into her panties. "You work for me; you do what I want. Now treat me like the VIP that I am."

She knelt in front of him and unzipped his pants. She pulled out his thickening cock and gripped it in her fist. Looking him in the eyes, she replied, "Perhaps, but it is also true that I control you. Just by jerking you off for a few minutes, I can make you give me your hard-earned cash. I'm controlling you just as much as you're controlling me." She stroked him until he was fully erect and smiled at her rapid success.

"But my money..." he panted, "can make you jerk me off." He moaned. "I paid you and I own your body. Oh, shit that feels good."

"You don't own my body. My body owns you. I just have to shake my ass in your face and you throw money at me. In fact, in a matter of minutes, I can increase your pulse, make you pant, make you salivate, and make you sweat. I control your body completely. You only got me to move my hand, but I am controlling your circulatory system, your respiratory system, and even your reproductive system. Not only can I make you give me money, I can make you cum whenever I say so."

"I have the power to stop coming here whenever I want."

"No you don't. You keep coming back, week after week to see me shake my tits. It is I who controls you, and I can prove it."

"How?" he groaned. "Oh my god. That feels so good," he panted, "how can you prove that you control me."

She spit on his cock and stroked him faster. "Cum for me, baby."

He groaned and shot jism up in the air. His cock twitched over and over again, spurting sticky white globs onto her arm and stomach. Eventually, the spasms subsided, and the goo seeped out of the head of his cock, oozing all over her fingers.

"See, you'll do whatever I tell you."

He just moaned, more in resignation than in argument. She stood up and wiped herself clean with a towel.

"We both had a good time, but I'm walking out of here richer, while you'll drag yourself out of here poorer." He moaned again and looked up at her in a glazed stupor. She kissed him on the cheek and stood up. "See you next week, Loverboy. Be sure to bring me plenty of cash."

When I finished reading, I just stared at the page.

"Did you enjoy it?" he asked.

I looked up, my mouth agape. "I don't know what to say. I'm shocked. I've never read about such things in my life! I'm surprised you wrote about something so inappropriate!"

"Hey, you're the one who led with a retelling of Genesis. That's all about who succumbed to temptation first and who begat whom. It is quite literally about original sin. Eve succumbs to temptation, sins, and then everyone begets each other. Generations later, people still feel guilty about having sex. In my story, the fallen woman discovers empowerment through sex. At least that's relatable."

I rolled my eyes at his superficial summary of Genesis, but decided not to argue about scripture with him. "Well, I certainly can't relate. I've never been to a den of iniquity or met such sinners."

"Maybe you should. I'd be happy to take you to a strip club if this pandemic ever ends. I can introduce you to all kinds of interesting sinners once the lockdown is over. Until then, what did you think of the characters' debate about which one of them had more freedom and control over their own lives?"

"First of all, I'd rather take you to church than go with you to a strip club. However, I do concede that it is an intriguing discussion, kind of like the big questions that sermons tackle. The man thinks that he has more free will because he can use his money to buy her body, whereas she thinks she has more control because she can use her body to get his money. I don't know who is right about that, but I think they are both morally wrong. I do wonder, however, what became of their lives after their sinful interlude."

"Aha! So, you liked it! It sucked you in! You engaged with the story and wanted to read more, didn't you?"

"Well, yes, I suppose so, but I still don't approve."

"Your moral judgment is not relevant to the question of quality. You think it is a good story because it left you wanting more, right?"

"Yes, I admit I'm curious about the characters, but it's still not a good story. The Good Book is full of good stories because they teach you about distinguishing right from wrong. That's what makes it good."

"When you read a truly good story, they aren't simplistic morality fables; rather they are juicy, enticing tales. Admit it, you never once thought about grammar, spelling, or punctuation, did you?

"Oops! I'm sorry. I'll re-read it quickly and let you know if you made any errors."

"There's no need. The fact that you didn't notice any errors tells me two things. Firstly, there were no glaring distractions that prevented you from enjoying the story. Secondly, the story was so engrossing that it held your attention enough to keep you from even thinking about such trivial matters. The story is good because you got caught up in it. You truly enjoyed reading about the stripper and her client, didn't you?"

"Well..."

"Confess. You want me to give you more."

I was flustered and didn't know what to say, so I deflected. "I think it is time to switch. I hope I'm ready for you. What did you think aboutmystory?"

"Well, congratulations on being engaged."

"What? I mean, thank you, but how did you know I was engaged?"

"You wrote about a devout daughter of a pastor who gets engaged to the boy next door. Come on, Cindy! There aren't that many people in the world like that anymore. It had to be you. I'm pleased to note that you heeded my advice to write what you know. But..."

Study Buddies Ch. 01

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