She pulled me back against her so that I couldn’t move. Somehow, for that moment, I managed to suppress the mounting climax though the thought of the exhibition I was giving made me even hornier. But when Lisa released me, thinking enough time had passed, I pumped just once before exploding in Gayle’s hand.
Gayle contrived to catch most of my semen, and when I stopped moving, she held her palm under my nose and had me lick it clean. Then, like a wrestler, she held me in that same submissive posture — ass up, nose in the mattress — while Lisa spanked me, longer and harder than I expected. “That was bad,” she said. “You came without permission. You’ll be punished severely if you lose control when Mistress Charlotte uses you.”
“Better believe it!” Joe put in. “I came here thinking that men take women and that women give themselves, or allow themselves to be taken. With enough pegging and punishment, Mistress managed to teach me that either sex can do the taking, and that it actually works better for both sexes if we men give ourselves and leave control to our women. Their arousal tends to be slower than ours, and they can cum repeatedly while we need time to reload before we can cum again. If the timing is up to us, they are left dissatisfied. If it’s up to them — if it’s understood that their pleasure is the male’s responsibility before we take pleasure for ourselves — they have more fun, and we get more and better fucking.”
Soon after, we said goodnight and went to our separate rooms. Gayle and Joe had school next day, and Lisa had a paper to finish. I wanted to talk more, but the others didn’t want to stay up late. So I found myself alone, still wide awake and thinking how far I’d come, sexually speaking, in just the last few days.
Before my father’s remark at the dinner table, I was a normal young man, 18 year old, with an 18-year-old’s sexual experience. Perhaps I was a little more introspective and book-smart than most, but in general I was a pretty normal kid. I had a girlfriend just my own age. Her parents accepted me. They knew we’d gone on dates and (presumably) groped each in a normal teen-age way. They didn’t know we’d gone all the way a few times. If they knew, they might be angry, but wouldn’t be too surprised. A week ago, that was the sum total of my experience. Now I was in a different ball-park altogether, I thought, — chuckling to myself at the play on words.
It wasn’t that I knew so very much now, or that I’d had so much experience. I’d only had a few days worth. But I’d been exposed to a pornographic encyclopedia of possibilities, and had a smidgen of experience with a few of them. I’d learned how ignorant I was — how much I still had to learn to even begin to compare with the people I’d just met. I’d also come to see my mother in a new way — as the colleague, peer and friend of Mistress Lotte, with the equivalent of a PhD in kinky sex.
I wondered where all this left me with my girlfriend Kendra, and couldn’t begin to guess. I couldn’t even think how I would describe my new friends and current situation to the normal girl I’d been dating. Intelligent and not particularly innocent as she was, I couldn’t see how she’d be anything but shocked.
Thinking along these lines, I knew I had to call her — at least to tell her where I was, and that I hadn’t forgotten her. Then I fell asleep.