Page 11 of Caught A Vibe

“So, Professor Maxwell, let me see if I have this right. If I stimulate your clitoris from the inside and outside at the same time, you go through the roof?”

At least he was listening. And he might have a teacher kink? I guess I can play along for a little while, but if it gets weird, I’m pulling the plug.

“Excellent summary, Mr. Hall. A+. As for method, there are many ways to achieve dual stimulation. Can you think of any?”

He exhales deeply.

“So many… Fingers and fingers, fingers and hand, cock and hand, fingers and tongue, fingers and toy, toy and tongue…” His eyes glaze over, and he swallows hard. “Fuck, Penny. I want to try them all. Do you have a favorite?”

“MiO is the best, hands down, so to speak, but I enjoy having my G-spot stroked while I get eaten out when I’m with a partner.”

A pensive look replaces the lusty one he had on his face a moment ago. He slides his hand from my breast to my belly, following the path of his eyes with his hand. “I have a stupid question,” he admits quietly.

“There are no stupid questions when it comes to sex. Ignorance is the enemy.”

He nods, but doesn’t look up. “So, that’s different from what we just did because of your G-spot… How… Where… Do I…?” He stumbles over the question and I melt, my earlier suspicion gone. He’s just so damn earnest and eager to please me.

I want that too, so I explain. “My G-spot is about two knuckles in on the front wall of my vagina. Go slow with these two fingers until you feel a spongy walnut. And then firm, consistent stroking feels good.”

I expect another crack at that description, but he’s looking at me so intently it’s like he’s memorizing everything I’m saying. I hold up my hand to demonstrate the position, and he mirrors me, and then looks at my belly like he has X-ray vision or something. Maybe he does now that those Clark Kent glasses are off. It’s really fucking cute.

“One more thing.”

His eyes flash back to mine. “Anything, Penny.”

“If I say, ‘Just like that,’ you keep going. Just. Like. That.” I punctuate my statement with pokes to his chest, and he laughs as he nods.

“Yes, ma’am.”

With every intelligent question about speed and technique, asked with the banked heat in his eyes of an erection denied, I trust him a little more. All of those skills that make him a good reporter—a keen mind, a sharp sense of observation, and a facility with words—are being put to use for my delight. And I am here for it.

He slides back up until we are face-to-face, bits to bits.

“Thank you, Penny.” I cannot deny the look on his face, and those words in his mouth give me a surge of feminine power.

“You’re welcome,” I reply, knowing that this is indeed a gift that will keep on giving for his future partners.

He kisses me then, obliterating any lingering thoughts with his skilled tongue. I can still taste hints of my last orgasm on his lips, and I want to skip to the good part, but he doesn’t let me rush. I cede control, and he insists on building me back up slowly. This man can kiss. I can’t remember the last time I’ve gotten so turned on from making out.

He keeps kissing me until I am lost and floating again, before tethering me back to my body with a sly finger gliding over my sensitive clit. I shudder and squeeze my legs tightly, his touch too light. I can feel him try to pull back, and I can’t have that. I grip his wrist and pin him with my stare.

“Firmer is better right now. Not too light or it tickles.”

Relief floods his face, sweet and satisfying. He immediately cups my pussy firmly and I relax, sliding back into pleasure.

It has been so long since my last hookup I’d almost forgotten how it feels to be the center of someone’s attention. He doesn’t need a single thing from me, except pleasure in this bed. And maybe again later in the shower. I can turn everything else off and just be me.

His beautiful fingers explore between my legs, and I spread my thighs wider. He does not take the invitation to come on in, and continues to tease. Two can play that game. I reach my free hand down to cup an impressive erection.

He groans and his hand stutters to a halt. “Fuck, Penny. Don’t do that. Not yet. I’m trying to focus.”

“You’re thinking too much. I want you to lose control, get a little wild.”

“All that and more in round three, I promise.”

Oh, fuck me.Round three? I love a man with a plan. Visions of what that might entail distract me, and he moves his hips out of reach. I pout at the loss, but he keeps sliding lower and lower, getting in position for our experiment, and I am instantly refocused on my plan, enjoying round two before we worry about three.

His focus is intense, like he’s getting lost in his game plan. I want to tell him to relax and just have fun. I open my mouth, but he looks up and the emotion in his eyes dries up any flippant words I’d found.

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