My final week of community college passed by like a dream. It felt as if my life was a roller coaster, reaching a new plateau that was equal parts exhilarating and terrifying . And at the helm was Miss Amber. In spite of, or perhaps because of her extreme measures, I was utterly entranced by her. She was only just beginning to fulfill my fantasies, and it was all I could think about. It was a miracle I passed any of my classes.
But it was also more than that. In the short time that I’d known her she had exposed me, coaxed me into doing things I had never done before, and I was starting to become aware of the effect these experiences were having on me.
While I was still nervous about giving my speech, the heavy cloud of existential dread that normally hung over me was noticeably subdued. I certainly wouldn’t say I was looking forward to it, but I decided I would follow Miss Amber’s advice and make a conscious effort to prepare. I treated it for what it was: something that I didn’t want to do, but had to. And whenever I started to doubt myself, which happened often, I thought back to that moment where she was touching me, her voice inches away from my ear, telling me what I needed to hear.
The morning of my final speech was abnormally hot and humid, as if reality itself was mocking the slow cooking anxiety within me. My stomach was rolling, sapping away my normally healthy appetite, but I forced myself to eat breakfast, knowing I would need the energy. All of my attention was spent practicing, going over the speech in my head, my focus only interrupted by periodic thoughts of Miss Amber to encourage me.
Just as I was getting in my car to leave, my phone alerted me to an incoming text, and just as I’d hoped, it was from Miss Amber.
“Good luck Jake! I know you can do it. We’ll celebrate later tonight 😉 – Miss A.
Reading this made my heart rate double. Obviously the promise of more private time with Miss Amber got me excited, but I also appreciated that she was cheering me on. It was so simple, but that single text invigorated me and made a world of difference in how I carried myself that day.
Later, sitting in my desk, butterflies fluttering in my stomach as the teacher asked for volunteers, I realized that I wanted this day to be over. I thought back to Miss Amber and her text, and how much I wanted to be with her. Without thinking I threw my hand in the air, and seconds later I was facing the entire class, their disinterested, tired eyes facing back, and for fifteen minutes, with the aid of a power point I had carefully assembled days earlier, I blathered on about the environment and global warming. To my surprise I held myself better than I thought I would, and suddenly it was over as quickly as it had begun. The class rewarded my efforts with a polite obligatory applause, and as I sat back down in my desk, and the teacher called for a next willing victim, I pulled my phone out to take another quick look at Miss Amber’s text, relief washing over me.
I was practically skipping my way into the library that afternoon, the searing midday heat an afterthought to my newfound peace of mind. I felt weightless, almost like a feather. And with a planned night with Miss Amber to look forward to, I was in especially high spirits. And she could tell.
“Well look who survived,” said Miss Amber as I plopped down next to her at the desk. “I take it your speech went well?”
“Well enough,” I said. “I’m just happy it’s over.”
“See, it wasn’t so bad was it?”
“I guess. I was surprised how fast it went by.”
She rested a hand on my knee. “I knew you had it in you,” she said, smiling.
Miss Amber’s touch ignited a memory, transporting me to days earlier, when a hapless patron unknowingly witnessed her pleasure me right there in that very spot, and suddenly an epiphany crossed my mind.
“Yeah,” I said suspiciously, “it’s almost as if being jerked off in front of a stranger makes talking in front of them seem tame in comparison.”
Miss Amber’s smile turned sly. “You catch on quick,” she said, lightly tapping me on the nose.
“So that’s what you were doing? Some sorta twisted trial by fire?”
“Extreme cases call for extreme measures,” she said, a devilish gleam in her eyes.
For a few seconds we sat in silence, just looking at each other, getting a feel for where this revelation would take us next. She was dressed very casually, wearing a plain grey long sleeve with dark blue jeans, her hair up in a messy low bun. She looked enchanting in a homely sort of way.
As much as I enjoyed looking though, that was no longer enough. Being so close to Miss Amber so consistently made me want to touch her, to feel her, but up until this point she had always made the first move.
In that moment though I decided it was time for that to change.
I let my intentions be known, glancing down to her hands sitting nonchalantly in her lap, and her eyes followed, and when I looked back ankara escort up she was there, inviting me with a smile, signaling me to reach out and take what she was offering.
“Thank you,” I said as I held her, caressing her hands, taking in the feel of her smooth skin. She touched me back, and for a moment we sat in solitude, separated from the rest of the world, our fingers entangled.
But then she pulled away.
“Jake, you have no reason to thank me just yet,” Miss Amber said suggestively.
“Is that so?” I replied back, trying to hide my disappointment with the brevity of our connection.
She stroked a finger across my cheek. “Sweetie, you have no idea.”
“I have a few.”
“Well look at you,” she said half mockingly, “getting a little cocky already are we?”
This dirty talk was getting me hard, and she knew it. Her eyes glanced down to the growing bulge in my pants. “Don’t get too excited now. You wouldn’t wanna disappoint me tonight, would you?”
“Never,” I blurted out confidently.
I don’t know what came over me. For the briefest moment there were no doubts, no anxiety. It was the most assured of myself I had ever been in as long as I could remember, and it felt good.
A look of pleasant surprise flashed across Miss Amber’s face, followed by that familiar hunger of hers. Without saying a word, she opened a drawer, pulled out a piece of scrap paper, and began writing something down. My heart was racing as she folded the paper neatly three times, pulled me in closer, and brushed her hand up my thigh before carefully placing it into my left jean pocket.
“Seven o’clock. My place. Got it?”
“Yes ma’am,” I said, barely able to hold in my excitement.
“Good,” she said. “That’s all I need you for today. You can go shelve for the rest of your shift.”
I sat there for a couple of seconds as Miss Amber began typing on her computer, no longer acknowledging my presence.
“Uh, ok, sure,” I said as I got up to leave.
Before exiting children’s I looked back and thought about saying something. I was confused, unsure of what to make of her sudden coldness, especially with how close we had felt just moments prior. However I stopped myself, figuring she had her reasons, reasons of which I would only come to realize much later into our relationship.
A little shaken by Miss Amber’s abrupt denial of my company, I walked back to circulation to grab an adult cart, during which I pulled out the piece of paper from my pocket and unfolded it. It was her address, written out in the most elegant cursive I had ever seen. It was practically a work of art, and for a while I just stood there, admiring it with the goofiest grin on my face.
The rest of the day passed by at a glacial pace, during which Miss Amber dominated my thoughts. For five agonizing hours I worked, religiously glancing at my phone every ten minutes, wanting nothing more than to fast forward to seven o’clock. This night was going to be the first time we would be alone with no one to catch us, and I was beyond excited. I kept coming back to what she had said to me. I’m just getting started with you. My mind raced with the possibilities of what that could mean, and I couldn’t help but imagine myself engaged in an assortment of beautifully depraved acts with her.
I spent the rest of my time after work lying on my bed, waiting, anxiously counting down the minutes. Despite the unbearably muggy weather, my dad was refusing to turn on the air conditioner, so the house was sweltering, making the wait all the more miserable. As I laid there covered in sweat, Miss Amber dancing in my mind, it suddenly dawned on me that I should probably freshen up for our night together. I was grateful for this realization, as it gave me something to preoccupy my time with. The lead up was tortuous and I was more than happy for the distraction, however brief it was.
I hopped in the shower and scrubbed every inch of myself clean, all the while still continuing to think about Miss Amber. It was extremely tempting to masturbate right there, the conditions were perfect, so in an effort to stop myself I switched to cold water, which jump started me out real fast.
Feeling fresh and rejuvenated, I took a quick look at my phone and saw that I had received another welcomed text from Miss Amber.
“The door will be unlocked, just head in :)”
Direct and to the point. Her instructions made things simple, and I liked that.
I spent the next half hour obsessing over what to wear, which was unusual for me, and in doing so I realized my choice in clothing was severely lacking. It was plain tees and jeans as far as the eye could see. God, no wonder I don’t attract girls, I thought. I’m so plain. Eventually I decided on a solid black well fit t-shirt with grey cargo shorts. It was nothing special, but I thought I looked decent in it.
I left an hour early to make sure I wasn’t late. My dad, not used to me going out, asked where I was going, ankara escort bayan and I told him I was meeting up with a friend to celebrate the end of finals week. He was a little surprised, but didn’t pry any further. He was never one to get too involved in my social life, or lack thereof. I think he was just glad to see me out of the house.
Sitting in my car, which had become an oven in the late afternoon heat, I pulled out Miss Amber’s address and entered it into the GPS on my phone. I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly. This is it, I thought. Turning the key in the ignition felt like turning the key to a new chapter in my life.
I ended up arriving at Miss Amber’s place half an hour early. I wanted to head inside right away, but I feared if I did I would be overstepping my bounds, so I parked alongside the curb and waited, during which I took stock of her house and surrounding neighborhood. It was modestly sized and painted a harmless shade of blue, with a single car detached garage off to the side. The yard looked freshly mowed and pristine, a contrast to the actual house, which was covered with an assorted mess of quirky decorations. It stood out amidst all the other houses, giving off a quaint, endearingly old-fashioned vibe, as if it should belong to a kindly old lady with one too many cats, not the sexpot I was coming to know.
Finally seven o’clock rolled around, after which I started my car back up and pulled into Miss Amber’s driveway. I turned off the ignition, took another couple deep breaths, and stepped out of the car. As I was walking up to the house, a slight breeze came through, a brief reprieve from the sticky wetness that clung to the air.
For a few seconds I stood in front of the door, psyching myself up for the night ahead. You got this, I told myself. Just do whatever she says. Another breeze blew through, activating the collection of wind chimes ornamenting the porch. It was as if the house itself was hailing my arrival, beckoning me to enter. Emboldened, I turned the knob, and sure enough it was unlocked.
I was greeted by a soothing, low-key music echoing throughout the house. I closed the door and took the opportunity to study this new environment. I was standing in what appeared to be the laundry room, small and tightly packed, but clean and orderly. A mat for shoes sat on the floor next to the door, and a washer and dryer sat in the far right corner, above which hung a washing line stretching across from wall to wall, a few innocuous garments hanging off to dry.
I took my shoes off and popped my head in through the cased opening to my left, my eye drawn to the dining table sitting in the middle of the kitchen.
“Miss Amber?” I called out.
“In here Jake,” I heard her say from another room. She sounded close by.
I followed her voice through the kitchen, taking quick glances at the decor. It was small and cozy in a sort of house mom kind of way, which I was not expecting, and as I turned the corner into what appeared to be a living room, suddenly there she was, bent down all the way to her toes, her ass directly facing me. I was not expecting to be greeted by this sight, as pleasant as it was, so it was like walking straight into a brick wall. I practically tripped over my dropped jaw, which must have been funny because Miss Amber giggled like a school girl.
“Hey Jake, nice of you to stop by,” she said cheekily through her legs.
The comical nature of the situation was inescapable, and I couldn’t help but laugh in return.
“Hey Miss Amber,” I said, gathering myself. “Whatcha doing?”
Miss Amber erected herself and turned to face me. She was wearing a dark purple sports bra with pink yoga pants, both of which fit snug on her body, and her red hair was up in a pony tail.
“Oh, just a little end of the day yoga,” she said in between controlled breaths.
“Cool, I didn’t know you did yoga,” I said inquisitively.
She looked amused. “Why would you?”
“I don’t know, but it makes a lot of sense now.”
“Oh?” She tilted her head, curious as to where I was going with this.
“I mean, I’m just saying, you have a great figure, so it makes sense you do yoga,” I said, instinctively rubbing the back of my head out of nervousness. I wasn’t sure how she’d take that.
Miss Amber smiled and gestured towards the couch sitting against the back wall. “I’m just finishing up. Sit down and wait.”
That sounded like a demand, not an offer, so I did as she told.
For ten minutes I sat there on the couch, watching Miss Amber do yoga, switching from one provocative pose to another. Every time she’d switch to a new form, she’d let out the faintest of sighs and shoot me a quick look, a subtle smile cracked across her face. She was very clearly teasing me, enjoying how she could manipulate my arousal. And I wasn’t complaining. Watching her allowed me to soak up every angle of her form and appreciate the contours of her body, amplified by those tight, form fitting yoga pants. It was more escort ankara of her than I had seen up until that point, and in no time I was as hard as a rock, and even more excited for what was to come.
Her flexibility and endurance was impressive to witness. One pose had her lying on her stomach, her chest arched up, her legs bent back towards her ass so she could grab her heels with her hands. She held herself that way for thirty seconds, and the whole time I just watched, observing her sweat-glistened bosom rising and falling with her controlled breathing. It practically had me sweating too. That, and the eighty degree heat of course.
I felt a combination of relief and disappointment when Miss Amber finally stood up, grabbed her phone off the coffee table, and sank herself on the couch like a stone, her body stretched out across its entirety. She swiped across her phone a couple times and the music stopped, after which she closed her eyes and rested her feet across my lap, her toes brushing against my erection.
As Miss Amber laid there collecting her breath, my eyes were drawn to her exposed midriff. Her stomach was exquisitely toned, flat and defined and sparkling with sweat. It was pristine, untouched except for the most innocuous belly button piercing you could imagine.
“I like your piercing,” I complimented.
She opened her eyes and looked at me, tracing her finger to her belly. “I know, it’s cute right?”
“Yeah, it looks good on you.”
That was no lie. I was drawn to the way it shined against her pale skin.
“Thanks, I’m glad you like it,” she said.
“I like a lot of things about you.”
“Oh yeah?” she said, adjusting her feet, provoking my cock some more.
“Yeah,” I replied as I rested my left hand on her ankle. I traced myself up her leg, lost in the feel of her, taking in her form against my palm, and just as I reached past her knee, she placed her hand on mine, stopping me.
“Calm down there tiger. Not just yet.”
I obeyed, pulling my hand away as Miss Amber sat up right on the couch and began fanning herself with her hand.
“Jake, could you get me a glass of ice water,” she asked, “I’m steaming.”
“Sure, of course,” I said.
“Glasses are in the cupboard above the sink. Ice is in the freezer.”
I stood up and made my way to the kitchen. I grabbed a large plastic glass from the cupboard, opened the freezer, and threw in a handful of ice, and while standing at the sink letting it fill with water, I thought about how young Miss Amber seemed despite her age. At face value she was a contradiction, a formidable mixture of mature temperament and youthful impulsivity. She was insanely attractive, and I wanted to know more about her.
Miss Amber was leaning back with her eyes closed when I handed her the glass.
“Here you go Miss Amber.”
She opened her eyes and grabbed it from me in one swift motion, our fingers touching.
“Thanks Jake,” she said.
I sat back down on the couch and watched as she eagerly downed the glass in mere seconds, her throat expanding with each passing gulp. A small amount of water escaped her lips, dribbling out of the corner of her mouth and down her chin, splashing onto her collar bone. She paid it no mind.
“Ahhh,” she exclaimed, smacking her lips, “that hits the spot.”
She fished out a single ice cube with her fingers and pressed it on her forehead, drawing the ice over her face and down her neck. The moisture trickled and clung to her skin, leaving trails all across her cheeks, nose, and forehead. It captivated me. She shot me a quick glance, and once again it was clear that she was doing it on purpose.
“You really are something, you know that Miss Amber?” I said, letting her know I was well aware of her tricks by now.
“Why Jake,” she replied coyly, “whatever do you mean?”
“I mean that you’re a huge tease and it’s driving me crazy,” I boldly admitted.
“Good,” was all she said before dropping the ice cube back into the glass. She set it down on the coffee table, leaned back, and turned her full attention to me. For a few seconds we sat there in silence, all the while feeling like she was waiting for me to say something, but I was drawing blanks.
“What’s going on in that head of yours Jake?” Miss Amber pried affectionately.
I could only tell her the truth. “To be honest, I can’t think of anything to say.”
“I…I don’t know. I wanna talk, to know you better, but I feel frozen.”
Miss Amber sighed, maneuvered herself closer, and grabbed my hands.
“Jake, right now you are inside a woman’s house. My house,” she said, gently clutching me. “There is evidence of who I am all around you. You wanna get to know me? Just get outta your head and look. What do you see?”
As hard as it was, I turned myself away from her and scanned the living room. The first thing I noticed was a bookcase in the corner, next to a sliding glass door, neatly packed with a variety of books. Obviously she’s an avid reader, I figured. That didn’t surprise me. The walls, a light yellow, were decorated with a few pieces of obscure and interesting works of art. Ok, so she’s an art collector, I thought.