The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Um… Where were we, Mark?”

“Passive and active verbs.”

“Riiight, active verbs.” Maybe she needed her brain to remain more active, because she must have zoned out for a second, right in the middle of their lesson. Mark sat cross-legged on his bed, holding his short essay over his lap. Had she even read it? She could remember him holding it out to her at the door. She had taken it, and… and…

Julia glanced around the room, trying to remember. The big bed, this chair beneath her, the desk with the computer and cd rack, the locked door…

They really shouldn’t be conducting these tutoring lessons in Mark’s bedroom. After the fantasies that had danced through her mind last night, it was not only inappropriate, it was downright… dangerous. And tempting, even though Mark was barely seventeen, while she had just completed graduate school. It would be ludicrous for anybody to believe that she would let anything improper happen — or worse, encourage it. Still, the memories of last night’s marathon play session in bed kept haunting her, and she couldn’t help looking at Mark as though measuring him.

A heated shiver erupted between her legs, sending chills all over. It was a small eruption, not like the enveloping liquid earthquakes from last night, not something to be terribly afraid of. Still, it was there, and it really shouldn’t be.

“Mark? I think we should take a minute to set ourselves up in the living room. Something isn’t… This isn’t right somehow. Let’s…”

“But I like doing it here.”

Spoiled kid. Of course he liked doing things here, this room was his private little world inside of his parents’ lavish penthouse. She wondered how she had ever agreed to enter his bedroom in the first place. She would never have considered the possibility with any of her other students, and she shouldn’t have allowed it to happen here.

“Okay, we’ll stay, but only this once,” she sighed. She shouldn’t cave in like that, but she didn’t want to lose the opportunity to work with Mark. All of her students came to her by word of mouth, and this kid’s parents were extremely well connected in Manhattan’s most prominent circles. Big things could come from tutoring this kid. Really big things.

She had five students total — not many, but then she didn’t want or need big numbers when their rich parents were willing to pay two-hundred dollars an hour for her services. She couldn’t really agree with the social Darwinism aspect of this whole deal — it was all about improving the test scores of the already over-privileged, thereby assuring that these trust-fund babies received their proper placing into the “right” schools, usually Harvard or Yale.

No, she didn’t like being a part of this on moral grounds, but the money easily trumped her flimsy morality. It was great work for a young woman with a fresh master’s degree in Shakespearean Studies, a degree that pretty much assured her of a dreadful search for any kind of well-paying job.

Except that she had one now, by some miracle. She really felt as though she’d hit the jackpot with this part-time tutoring work. She wrote at night or in the mornings and was done with her students by six p.m., and she could actually save up money for the first time in her life. She might even be able to complete her long-delayed “great American novel” on a schedule like this, even though the plot and even the nature of her protagonists were in shambles at the moment.

It was funny, how the thing she most wanted to do with her life — write a serious, gripping novel — never showed any signs of coming together. She couldn’t seem to gather her force when she worked at her laptop, sometimes wondering whether it was the idea of writing that intrigued her, rather than the actual writing.

Perhaps that was a trait she would have to battle, an unfortunate and stifling component to her personality. Her “love” relationships were similar — they never really came together either. Did she like the ideas of romance and sexual fulfillment more than the actions neessary to bring an exciting, fulfilling relationship to life? Apparently.

Oh well — perhaps there was some hope in getting her creative juices flowing with this new and beautiful work situation, but the situation would only continue if her tutoring sessions achieved obvious results. She didn’t doubt her abilities — so far she had seen rapid progress with all of her students’ compositions. Mark worried her, though, even after only one complete lesson. From the first moment, he had shown far too much interest in her curvy body, almost salivating over full breasts and narrow waist, while showing little drive to improve his writing skills.

A thought occurred to her: Perhaps his habit of using passive verbs in his essays was something like a psychological red flag. Did it work like that? Could passive language be equated with a generally passive attitude?

“So Miss Grey,” Mark broke the silence. “What did you think of my paper?”

Uh-oh. She pursed her lips and wrinkled her brow, looking past his head as though deep in thought. What a humiliating situation, to have forgotten whether she had even read her student’s assignment just moments ago!

It was the lack of sleep last night. She shouldn’t have stayed up so late, playing with her vagina under her covers. It had been four or five in the morning before she eventually drifted off. Four or five… How many orgasms? More than four or five. Probably close to ten.

God, could it really have been so many? So much excitement in her body, popping up out of nowhere… It shocked her, because she wasn’t what she would classify as an overtly sexual creature. She looked the part, yes, and it wasn’t as though she disliked sex — but waves of lust bubbling out of her vagina like that, her body churning all through the wee hours?

Unprecedented, just like the way her passions continued to build even as her fingers addressed her needs, stroking and probing, dancing and sliding… And coming, and needing to come again. Weird, weird, weird. She couldn’t remember it ever being like that before, that strange cycle where orgasms seemed to make her body feel more needy, rather than sated.

And the thing was, the need was still present, burning like a crackling fire that could turn into a blaze with one wrong move. She felt her hand moving from the arm of the chair, drawn to the hot zone between her legs. God, even with Mark sitting right there, watching her, she wanted to touch herself so badly… It would be so easy, and feel soooo good, just to allow a few subtle touches, one or two stealthy swipes…

No! She could not think that way! Was she going crazy, thinking that she could lightly masturbate in the middle of a tutoring lesson? Wrong place, wrong time, wrong company, wrong, wrong, wrong! Still, all of last night’s masturbatory fantasies had taken place in this very room, on that bed, with Mark, and just being near him made her feel all wet, and distracted, and so ready to cut this energy loose, even if…

“Miss Grey?”

“Hmmm?”

“Are you listening to me?”

“Uh, yes. Yes, of course. G…go on.” Pull yourself out of it!, she thought. Connncennntrate, stop thinking about sex, and horniness, and how she was dying to be touched.

“I worked really hard on the homework essay,” Mark spoke. “The theme you assigned about my future… it really helped me to focus my mind, and think about what I should be doing. It was like… I don’t know, like the writing of the paper and what my goals became the exact same thing. I realized that I’ve been kind of holding back, and not really pursuing my dreams, even when I know I could accomplish some truly incredible things.”

Exactly the point of the assignment! She wanted her students to connect the need for precise writing with their goals and aspirations, rather than merely…

“I spent hours writing my paper after you left,” he continued. “I liked what you said about keeping the language active, and it gave me an idea. I tried my best to make every single letter active, not just the verbs. But am I delusional? I really thought I’d improved everything.”

“N…not delusional, no,” she answered, stalling. What the hell was he talking about, making every letter active? If she could just remember the damned thing… Perhaps she could buy a few minutes of time, enough time for the essay’s contents to come back to her. “You see, Mark… improvement often comes bit by bit, not in one sudden ‘Aha!’ moment. Incremental steps are okay and even the norm.”

Her smoke-screen comment seemed safe and practical enough, but Mark hung his head, his eyes cast down. Had she unfairly criticized his effort? He looked so dejected, almost… But then the thought surfaced that he might not be feeling anything about her comment. Perhaps he was furtively checking out her legs.

Discreetly tugging at the hem of her short skirt, she tried to remember why she’d worn this provocative ensemble to begin with. Being beautiful and sexy undoubtedly helped her to get some of these coveted private tutoring gigs — she wasn’t naïve, she knew that her looks didn’t hurt when it came time for these boys’ fathers to open up their checkbooks. Some of the fathers probably even fantasized about her, which was fine if it kept the money coming in. Her looks were something like a mixed blessing in this line of work — it could only be a plus if her pupils discovered that English studies could be sexy, but she couldn’t expect seventeen year-old boys to concentrate on their work if she wore skirts this short and tight, or wore blouses that provided too good a view of her breasts.

“Miss Grey?”

“Holy Moley!”

“What? What is it?”

What it was, or what they were, rather, were her breasts! What had she been thinking when she dressed this morning? The scooping neckline of her clingy top revealed far too much of her considerable cleavage, and…

“Miss Grey?”

She wasn’t wearing a bra! She had left the house this morning without a bra? She tried to think back. She had awakened with her fingers smelling as though they had been drilling for body-oil all night long, which in a way they had. She remembered showering, and the irresistible urge to finger herself in the shower, and walking naked to her closet…

Getting dressed was almost a total blank. Had she been braless all through the day? Had her breasts bounced all over the place throughout her earlier tutoring sessions? She could swear that she’d been wearing a bra then, but that would mean… Impossible, she would remember removing her bra during the daytime, and why do such a thing? She must have decided in the morning to go through the day braless. Either that or it had just… happened?

“Miss Grey? I think you’re being too hard on my assignment.”

“Too hard?” Everything seemed too hard. Remembering things seemed too hard, almost as hard as her nipples, which felt like they could drill holes through her top without a bra to help blunt their prominence. They had to be almost painfully visible and… She glanced down, heat rushing to her face when she took in the view. Her nipples might as well be beckoning to him, standing up and shouting his name. And Holy Mother of God, they were so hard!

“Miss Grey?”

“Hard? I mean, what? Oh, I… I’m sorry, Mark. I seem to be a little… I, um, I didn’t get enough sleep last night. And please call me Julia, not Miss Grey.”

“Okay, Julia. Not that it’s my business, but what was the problem last night? Bad dreams?”

“No, not that. It was actually my v…” Her heart began pounding as she realized that she’d almost said it out loud, almost said, “My vagina.”

“I had a hard time sleeping last night, too,” Mark sighed. “I was tossing and turning…”

“’I tossed and turned,’” she corrected, trying to get the light bulb to go on about his verb usage.

“Okay, okay. I tossed and turned in my bed for hours, with this sense of anticipation about our lesson today. It made it really hard to get to sleep. I kept thinking about showing you my homework assignment, and how you might react to it. I couldn’t wait for you to see it. I’m pretty certain that I got everything just right.”

Well nuts, because she couldn’t remember one single word of it, even though he’d handed it to her the moment she walked in his door.

Mark obviously felt a great deal of pride concerning his essay — could he actually have the ability to improve his writing skills more quickly than usual? He was obviously bright, perhaps even brilliant, but his high intelligence was not uniform. He was well-spoken enough, but from what she had seen yesterday, his grasp of the English language collapsed once he put his thoughts to paper. He couldn’t seem to gather his thoughts into a logical sequence, and his abuse of verbs nearly drove her crazy. Some people were like that, with highly developed skills in one area, while connections remained unformed or jumbled in others. Julia’s sister, for instance, had perfect pitch and fabulous math skills, but she wouldn’t be able to write a cohesive thesis paper if her life depended on it. She, on the other hand, could write and teach writing with relative ease. She’d also gotten the great figure with the divine breasts, much to her sister’s consternation.

She glanced up and saw that he was staring at them, staring right at her breasts as though he just couldn’t believe how great they were. Yes, they were great, but she really should do something to discourage him from ogling her body so blatantly.

Instead, distracting shivers infused her body and she wondered whether Mark saw her breasts as others saw them, or if they became some kind of complex, rounded pattern in his mind. He was especially gifted in a visual way, to the point that she thought his gifts might be unique. He kept a sort of drawing journal or visual diary, which he had asked her to flip through yesterday. Julia didn’t know any other seventeen year-olds who could create the complex patterns that this kid seemed to be able to conceive and execute with ease. Though just pen and ink, they took abstraction in a direction that she had never seen before, and they were… well, fascinating, absolutely fascinating.

He offered to draw one right on the spot yesterday. She made him wait until their lesson was completed, then sat beside him on his bed, watching his pen move fluidly all over the page of his journal, his hand never faltering, the seemingly random lines and curves gradually coalescing, almost appearing to move of their own accord, the fragments joining into patterns, the patterns linking hands to create a black on white universe that vibrated, and swirled…

She remembered how the drawing began to call to her, as though it contained its own voice, and a deep mystery, a mystery that she had to probe, and contemplate, and somehow… listen to.

“Julia?”

“Hmmm?” She felt like her hot flesh was about to melt her panties, the cotton just evaporating, leaving an open entryway to her quivering vagina. A low moan escaped her lips, a moan that she tried to cover by lightly coughing. This was getting ridiculous — she was getting too horny to teach. Maybe she should cut this session short, even if it meant forgoing the money. She knew it was crazy, but she really needed to go somewhere and get herself off before she exploded.

“Mark, I… I need to make this session a short one. I’m sorry, I won’t make a habit of it.”

“You’re going to leave without even telling me how I did on my paper?”

“Well, I…”

“I get the feeling that you didn’t even read my paper a few minutes ago. Do you even remember it?”

“What? Of course I do, don’t be silly. It’s just that… Listen, let me take another look at it. Perhaps I can quickly point out some of its strengths and weaknesses, some specific examples where you succeeded in making your language more active...”

And then she could run out the door and find the first available place to jam her fingers into her hot vagina. She held out a trembling hand for the essay, but he didn’t offer the folded sheet of paper. Because he had an erection from staring at her breasts? She’d bet a million bucks he did, and he was using the paper to hide it.

The thought of him sitting there, all hard for her… Oh God. She had to get somewhere private, fast. Really, really fast. Maybe the elevator in his building. Maybe even the bathroom she’d passed before coming into his room.

“Julia?”

“Just… h…hand it over, Mark. Please.”

The corners of his mouth quivered. “You’re sure you want to read it again? You might find it kind of… unsettling.”

“I’m quite sure. Now please, hurry!”

He handed it to her, and yes, he did have quite the erection going on in his jeans. She tried like crazy to glance at it only briefly, but her eyes seemed to stick to the spot, and she had to blink several times to get them to move. She unfolded the sheet of paper, and…

What on earth? His essay, as assigned, was entitled, What I Intend To Do With My Life, but what kind of writing was this? He had grouped the words oddly, allowing them to curve and bend all over the page in something like an infinitely swirling pattern. It was beautiful to look at, but to read the bending words, printed so small, she had to bring the text closer to her face, and tilt the paper this way, and then further…

I probably should have be thinking more about this question before now, she read, because I think I am possessing a really special talent. Around six months ago as I was working on a drawing, I’m discover that I have this thing that my designs can do…

It was crazy the way the words seemed to pulse, making her temples pulse… The text suffered from errant verb tenses and awkward phrasing galore, but somehow the words were… vibrating… Everything vibrating, the words vibrating like her privates were vibrating, moving and dancing like they were alive and so… hot… so…

She heard a voice softly resonating in her ear, fueling her fire, the conflagration burning, burning…

“Um… Where were we, Mark?”

“You were telling me that you don’t like it when everything becomes so passive.”

Of course. She had discovered that his use of passive verbs was linked to a generally passive attitude towards women, and a woman’s needs. No wonder he hadn’t seduced her yet, even though they were conducting this lesson right on his bed, their privacy guaranteed for the next several hours. What did he think — that she had no ulterior motive for tutoring an attractive young man in his bedroom? That she actually cared about his diction more than his dick?

She couldn’t remember when the brilliant idea had come to her, to combine private tutoring lessons with her pussy’s almost unnatural needs, but thank God it had!

She chuckled, thinking about the choice of words in her mind. Was it God who had equipped her with a fuckbuddy body like this, with cock-enveloping tits and an especially needy cum-tunnel? The devil, more likely, especially if it was somehow sinful for a teacher to seduce the students under her tender loving care.

Tender, so tender and alive, just like her cunt and clit, still echoing from last night’s imaginary Mark-sucking-fucking-finger-festival. She felt a pre-orgasmic tremor roll through her body just thinking about it, beginning deep within her tunnel, spreading out all through her limbs. Every bit of her, even her toes and fingertips, felt like they were crying out to wrap around some part of this shy young man.

He hadn’t been shy in her masturbatory fantasies. How many times had she exploded in her bed throughout the night, imagining Mark’s cock reaming her cunt, or spreading her lips wide, her jaw happily straining as his jism flooding her mouth? At least eight or nine times, every orgasm searing her nerve-endings, causing intricate spiral patterns to flash on the dark screen of her closed eyelids. She had come, and come again, furiously fingering her pussy and bringing herself to the most exciting series of orgasms she had ever experienced.

All while imagining fucking Mark in every position she knew, his hard tool heating her pussy with liquid friction, jamming her hard and deep, her favorite pupil’s face contorted with lust and amazement, amazement at just how enveloping a pussy could be when a woman is absolutely dying to be fucked, almost praying to be fucked, the fucking fueling a need for more fucking, and even more…

No wonder she had exploded so many times, her imagination whipped into a fury, all the time knowing that tomorrow’s lesson would come, this lesson would come, and she could seduce him, and fuck his imbalanced brains out, turning her cum-dreams into cum-reality.

Although now, with their private tutoring session finally in full swing, Mark didn’t appear to understand what she needed and how desperately she needed it, even though she could see how hard his cock was in his jeans. Why hadn’t he whipped out his pulse-pole and plugged her until she popped? The only way to give out more obvious signals of her burning lust would be to perform a strip-tease standing right over top of him on his bed, her bare pussy dripping nookie-nectar right onto his lips.

“Ohhhh…” she sighed, the idea immediately resonating deep inside. There needed to be a verb for that, didn’t there, a verb describing how a ravenous pussy like hers could call out for hot sex. I slit; you slut; he, she and it sluts…

“Julia?”

She couldn’t believe that he was so dense, that he couldn’t decipher the tone of her voice, or the hardness of her nipples, or her scent as it saturated the room. But then Mark’s high intelligence was not uniform. His visual talents were out of this world, but his inability to write cohesive papers showed a corresponding deficit elsewhere. A classic right-brain/left-brain imbalance? Men tended to use one hemisphere at a time in situations where a woman would think more globally.

“Ohhh…” Globes, her great glorious globes, just itching to feel his cock sliding between them, her tit-flesh wrapping around his hot meat, smothering him and warming him and…

“Julia? Are you okay?”

Of course she wasn’t okay! She was even thinking in passive verbs herself, because the situation was far too passive! Enough of this “I need to be fucked” shit! It was time to fuck! She’d show this poor little rich kid what it meant to become active!

Jump his bones over there on the bed? Shove one of her jumbo juggs in his mouth and hope that she didn’t smother him? Just lower her skirt and finger-fuck her twat as though he wasn’t here, waiting for the pressure to rip him apart?

Suddenly, an idea surfaced, and it surfaced from somewhere other than her head, as though a new wet brain had suddenly come to life within her trembling tunnel.

“Yes, yesss…”

“Julia?”

“I have a brilliant idea, Mark. A way to illustrate the difference between active and passive verbs. A way to… encourage you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

She didn’t hesitate, almost throwing herself down to unzip his jeans. Mark blew out a puff of air in shock or surprise, his open lips unconsciously mirroring the activity to come. His body trembled as she reached in to free his throbbing thruster from his underwear. Oh yes! It was just as she had imagined it last night, just as big and hard and oh-so bonerly beautiful, so lip-lockingly cumaliscious.

“Oh yessss…” he sighed as she bent at the waist, bringing her lips to his warm cock-head. She licked, lightly, dabbing with the tip of her tongue, gently teasing, watching his dick twitch...

“Oh!” he exclaimed. “Oh yeah…”

“Describe… what I’m doing in a sentence, Mark,” she directed between licks. “If you perform well for me… Oh God… Well then, I might be inclined to perform well on you.”

A glance up at his face showed his mouth hanging open, his eyes half-closed. His Adam’s-apple moved as he swallowed, and then he replied: “His gorgeous teacher’s lips were licking the head of his hard dick.”

“Oh Mark!” she protested, her hot pussy screaming in frustration. She withdrew her mouth from his cock, and she couldn’t help pouting when she informed him, “It should be ‘His gorgeous teacher’s lips licked the head of his hard dick.’ Oh Mark! N…no blowjob for you, young man.”

“Or you,” he replied, oddly unfazed.

It was true! And oh God, she needed it so desperately, she needed anything so desperately! Feeling frantic, she brought her hands to her front and allowed them to roam along the deep and full terrain of her huge knockers, squeezing and pinching her stiff nipples through the cotton of her blouse. Hissing from the jolts of pleasure, she arched her back, cupping her monumental mammaries, her pulchritudinous pleasure-pillows…

“D…describe what you s…see… ohhhh… in a sentence, Mark. Please get it right. Please! I… I really want to reward you!”

He appeared to smile as he formulated the sentence in his head. “Her huge breasts, looking like they were ready to burst right through her top, grew more excited by the second, his every word like the touch of a tongue on her engorged nipples…”

“Yes!”

“…the very tone of his voice sending waves of pleasure into her vibrating pussy…”

“Yes! Oh yes!”

“…an orgasm of unbelievable proportions welling within her, building, expanding…”

“Oh God!”

“… the orgasm pausing…”

“Uh!”

“…suspended…”

“Uhh! Oh God, please!”

“…and then it was disappearing as her student messes up his verbs…”

“No! Oh God, please no!”

“…but then it reappeared…”

“Uh! Oh!”

“…his power over the tides within her body absolute…”

“Ohgod, ohgod…”

“…her need so great that she begged him to allow her to explode…”

“Please! Pleeeeaaaase!”

“…and he was moved by her pleas…”

“Oh! No! No!”

“What? It should have been ‘Her pleas moved him?’”

“Yesss! Oh God, Mark! Make me cum!”

“…and then he said, ‘Let there be Orgasm…’”

“”Aaaaaahhhhhh…”

“…and there was Orgasm…”

“…hhhhhhhhhhhh…”

“…and it was Good!”

“…hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…”

“Ubbb…” She removed the object from her mouth. “Where were we, Mark?”

He grunted his reply, his breathing ragged. “That’s… a strange question to ask right about now!”

She blinked, and focused, and saw that the object poised at her lips was… Mark’s cock! What the hell?

Her pussy ignited, not sending her over the edge, but encouraging her, urging her. Yes!, it seemed to scream. Suck! Fuck!

Her tongue reached out, swiping at the underside of his beautiful cockhead, the hot touch reverberating in her wet tunnel, in her stiffened nipples, everywhere. God she needed this cock, she wanted to devour Mark’s hard pole, even though she couldn’t quite remember how she had come to have it in her mouth.

She felt his hands squeezing her tits, almost grinding the fabric of her bra into the abundant flesh…

Wait. She thought she’d left her apartment without a bra today, just so he could salivate over her superb tits. And here it was still covering her tremendous treasures, hiding them from his hands and tongue! Her tits seemed to scream at her, crying out for freedom, crying out for full participation in blowing Mark’s cock and Mark’s mind.

“Oh God!” she cried out, her hands tearing at her bra, spilling free, her soft aching flesh reaching into the hands that squeezed and kneaded.

Her molten cunt sent signals to her confused mind, protesting that it, too, needed to be uncovered, and touched. She felt her moist panties, felt the fabric of her skirt clinging to her thighs. She had to get naked for her lover, and open herself to him, and feel his transforming meat spreading her tunnel wide!

“Fuck me, Mark! Oh God, fucking fuck me!”

“Um, where were we, Mark?”

He sat cross-legged on the bed, her shoulder bag in his lap. He reached in and pulled out a thick volume.

“Do you always carry ‘The Collected Works of William Shakespeare’ around?”

“What are you doing?” she barked, reaching to grab her bag, but missing. Her breasts moved oddly and she looked down.

“Oh my God!” She was naked! Totally naked!

“I’ve read Hamlet,” Mark commented, calm as could be. “It was really cool.”

“What… How…” She turned her head this way and that, spying her clothes scattered upon the floor at the foot of his bed. She dove for them, trying to cover her breasts with one arm.

“What’s… happening?” she almost squealed, a strange familiar taste in her mouth.

“My future is happening,” Mark replied. “I can’t thank you enough for helping me to realize that I need to be more forward-thinking, and willing to go for what I want. We’re going to be doing this a lot from now on. I think I’ll be doing this with a lot of great-looking women like you.”

“What are you talking about? What have we… done?” She tried to put her head through the neck hole of her top without uncovering her breasts, but it was impossible to cover herself without first revealing herself.

“No need to feel shy, Julia. I’ve already seen everything,” he said, flipping through the large book.

“No…”

“Oh yes. And I’ve already touched everything. And you loved it.”

“No! This can’t be happening!” She dropped the clothes and fit the cups of her bra to her breasts, fastening the clasps with trembling fingers. She worked her tight blouse over her head, not even trying to cover herself now. She had to get out of here!

As she stood to step through the openings in her panties, he said, “Just take a whiff of those if you don’t believe how excited you were ten minutes ago. I thought you were going to blow a hole through them, the way you were cumming.”

Can’t be happening, can’t be happening…

But he was right, she could smell her own scent and the insides of her vagina felt as though they’d just been scrambled. Her panties practically reeked of her sex. She reeked of sex, and in her mouth… Oh God, it was semen! The taste was semen!”

“I’m going to…” She stopped herself from saying the rest, from warning him that she would call the police. Just get out of here, get out fast, get out and go somewhere safe, some place where she could gather her thoughts and try to remember what had happened, and how it had happened. Had he slipped her some sort of date-rape drug? Perhaps he had even…

“I always liked the names Shakespeare gave his characters,” Mark said, not exhibiting the least bit of concern or shame. “A whole lot of pleasure can come from a name, if you ask me.”

Julia had her skirt on now. She grabbed her shoes and glanced at the door. It was locked, she remembered him locking it, but the lock was here on the inside, she could get free. Without pausing to put her shoes on, she ran.

“Like Laertes,” she heard his voice behind her. That’s a great name, Laertes. Layer tease…”

“Oh!”

Her body came to a halt as the sensations erupted all over, like thousands or hundreds of thousands of tiny fingers and tongues probing and flicking at her vagina, her clitoris, her nipples.

“Ohhhh! Oh God! Oh, oh, oh…”

“And isn’t Ophelia a great name for a girl? Oh feel ya…”

Her knees buckled, the stimulating sensations exploding everywhere. It felt as though the thousands of miniature strokes were pushing inside her pussy, filling it with wild tremors, searing her cells with the wish to fuck, and be fucked, and fuck and fuck and fuck…

“This one is my favorite,” Mark chuckled. “Horatio. Whore ratio. What would you say your whore ratio is right now, Julia? What is it when all you want is to fuck Mark? One-hundred percent? A thousand percent? Is your whore ratio even calculable when the focus of your entire life will be to fuck Mark?”

Her whore ratio was total, she could feel that and know that even as her pussy went ballistic, even as what she really was inside was swept away by the tsunami of Mark’s cumsational voice. She was FuckMark. The entire world was FuckMark, and all that she really intended to do with her life from now on, loving every minute, was FuckMarkFuckMarkFuckMark…

“Or would you prefer a more romantic atmosphere at the beginning?” he asked, his beautiful FuckMark voice penetrating her total focus on fucking Mark. “Julia is pretty close to Juliet, isn’t it? Maybe we’ll explore the depths of romance for a while and see how that goes.”

She FuckMark saw him stand and come to her, kneeling and positioning his FuckMark essay in front of her FuckMark eyes.

The word patterns coalesced, swirled, wiping her open as his voice spoke softly, reassuringly in her ear…

She couldn’t help breaking into a wide grin as her back settled into the big pillows on her bed, her legs crossed, her laptop appropriately settled on the lap. The computer’s warmth heated the satin of her new negligee, adding to the heat emanating from between her legs. She sipped from a glass of chilled Chardonnay as though to regulate the temperature of her newly active heat zone, then set the glass upon her bedside table.

Her pussy ached, ached just right, ached like she hoped it would ache for the next several years, and she felt energized, incredibly energized in her body and in her mind. Seducing Mark today had been a risky move, especially when he had been so shy. She licked her lips, remembering his wide eyes as she took his essay from his hands and unbuttoned his jeans, fondling him into hardness.

She smiled. She hadn’t known she had it in her, the courage to take a chance and follow her heart like that. She kept getting all of these confused and jumbled memories about the actual trajectory of the seduction… She thought that she had been shy, too, the two of them quite tentative as lovers, at least at the beginning. She got these odd flashes of harsher sex, more frantic sex… Real, or perhaps a dream from last night? Oh well, the results were the main thing, and the results couldn’t have turned out better, for both of them.

Did she love Mark? She probably did, although she could take her time to decide what she really felt. They would have tutoring time, and bed time, and maybe they would even reveal their relationship to the world at some point, going to see movies or taking walks in the park, all between fuck sessions, of course.

Should she feel guilty for seizing the opportunity, and wrapping an unformed young man around her finger with the considerable charms of her body? Maybe, just a little. She was using him, but using him gently, because she really did love him.

There, she’d just answered her question. She loved Mark, otherwise she never would have seduced him in the first place. In fact, it went beyond that — she was in love with Mark, deliriously, deliciously in love. And since she loved him, she wasn’t using him, even though the situation gave her everything she’d always wanted. She wasn’t a seducer, nor a user — she was a lover. She was his lover.

She felt so happy, knowing that she could do so much to please her shy young man. This sexy lingerie, for instance… She hadn’t been able to resist the urge to get something special for him. With the kind of money she was making now, she could buy several new outfits a week, slinky little numbers that showcased her hourglass figure just right, outfits that turned his glorious cock to stone. Perhaps a French maid’s outfit for tomorrow, exploring verbs and cocks in heels and pantyhose, her fabulous tits all compressed together, ready to spill out for him…

She could be so helpful to him, and he could see that already. She thought back to the moment when she finally left his parent’s penthouse, the two of them kissing tenderly in the hallway while she waited for the elevator. Like horny teen-agers. Which he still was, the little sweetie.

“I can’t tell you how grateful I am to you already, Julia,” he’d whispered into her ear. “Without you, I don’t know whether I would have found the inspiration to focus my talents, and use them for the things that I really care about.”

His words of gratitude made her heart overflow, then and now. And, she had to admit, they made her pussy tingle like crazy. Maybe Mark had already been a special help to her, too, by revealing that she did indeed have a romantic, sexy side to her personality.

Romance. In-loveness. God, what a feeling, that mixing of the heart’s longings with the energy between her legs. She could feel it all mixing together inside of her, creating an almost alchemical reaction, and it inspired her.

This is what had been missing. This is the reason she hadn’t been able to write. She had been living life with one hand tied behind her back, never quite allowing herself to leap headfirst into experience. The experience of love, the experience of sex…

And now, with computer in lap, she would leap, leap headlong into the experience of writing. She could see so clearly how she should use her beautiful new relationship with Mark as the model for the protagonists of her stubborn novel. Maybe she would even take today’s multiple successes as inspiration for the title, and call it What I Intend To Do With My Life, in honor of the assignment that had been so inspirational to Mark.

And inspirational to her, as well. What had he said at one point? That the writing of his goals and the goals themselves had become the very same thing.

She would write like that, the plot of her novel and the trajectory of her life one and the same. Gently stroking her pussy with her left hand, just because it felt so good and so right, her right hand began to type out the title: What I Intend To Do With My FUCK MARK

She giggled, and shivered. Where had that come from? Of course she would fuck Mark, she would be counting the minutes until she could fuck him again. But for now it was the novel, and so she began again, her fingers simultaneously typing and teasing, letting the words and the juices flow...