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The next few days were great at home. Chris was transformed sexually. Whatever I wanted, I got without complaint. A blow job in the shower before she went to school in the morning? No problem. A quick ass fuck between my lessons at the studio? Absolutely. I’m sure Brenda heard Chris moan from that interlude.
I got Chris and the boys off for Chicago the Friday morning before Christmas and packed my bags for Washington. My tuxedo, some work out clothes, my navy pinstripe suit, pajamas, a pair of jeans, a sweater – just the basics.
Emily and Brenda arrived at our house to leave for the contest at 10 AM. We made good time on the 110 mile trip, but you could cut the competitive tension with a knife. A full ride to Georgetown was on the line, and Em was started to feel it. I remembered her crumbling at her lesson a few weeks earlier and shuddered inwardly.
It started snowing as we approached our nation’s capitol. We took the 14th Street Bridge into the government district, drove past the National Christmas Tree and Menorrah, the White House, made a couple of quick turns and found ourselves at the J.W. Marriott Hotel. The original Marriott looked as beautiful as I remembered. But since its primary clientele were business travelers, Brenda had been able to book the rooms for Friday and Saturday night online for a song. Em stared in wide-eyed amazement at the four-star lobby. We checked in, changed for the preliminary round of competition and met back in the lobby. It was still not four o’clock, so I warmed Em up at the piano in the lobby bar. She breezed through her warm-ups, every trill and turn a light, flexible, thing of beauty. The Amazing Em was who I was warming up right now – the sweet kid that lived to sing and did it with a passion.
I leaned back from the piano and looked at my star student. The little girl was gone, and an amazingly beautiful young woman stood before me. She had grown to a nice 5’4″, and weighed an athletic, trim, 125 pounds. The hair that had been a straggly, dishwater blonde mop was now thick, a little curly, and had become a beautiful shade of auburn. She had it swept up behind her graceful neck, and wore her grandmother’s pearl choker for luck. Her eyes were perfectly made up to compliment her deep, brown eyes. The lips had a lovely, not too tart-ish coat of pink lipstick on them, and made them seem even fuller. Her alabaster skin disappeared at her generous 34c cleavage into a beautiful black blouse that fell over a red, satin, tea length skirt. Her arms ended in perfectly manicured French tips with a clear coat on them. What shapely calf I saw ended in a stylish, black, strapped heel that was just the right height for her singer’s posture. Due to the vocal training and Alexander technique posture training I had given her, Emily did not look like a teenager playing dress up like most high school seniors. Instead, she had the look of strength, confidence and ease that most women of 25 would envy.
I awoke from my silent assessment after a moment, swallowed hard and said, “All right, then. You sound great. You look great. Let’s go do this.” We donned our coats and got a cab outside the hotel. We arrived at the performing arts center, went inside and hung up our coats. I found the registration desk and checked Emily in for the competition. We were told that the preliminaries were running a little ahead of schedule, and that Emily would need to be ready to perform in 15 minutes, not the 45 I had anticipated.
I took a few minutes with Em in the warm-up room, with Brenda hovering nervously. I asked Brenda to go find a seat in the auditorium, and that seemed to relax my star significantly. A knock on the door told us it was time and we walked across the hall to the stage door. As I heard the emcee read Emily’s competition resume, I stood behind her rubbing her shoulders. She cracked her neck and bounced a little, not unlike a gymnast before taking the floor. “You’re ready,” I said. “Go have some fun.” She nodded strongly, and I knew it was going to be a nice performance. The emcee came to the conclusion of his introduction. “And now, from Midlothian, Virginia, please welcome Miss Emily Ransom.”
Would the girl or the woman show up right now? After the five note introduction, Emily bounced into her warm-up song of the set, Caldara’s “Che’ Fiero Costume’.” The Italian art song bounced along like a toy boat in the ocean. Her eyes danced, her body swayed, her tone perfect. This was the singer that had been kicking butt all over the Mid-Atlantic for the past year and a half. I grinned, nodded, and chuckled as I heard her breeze through the French “Apres un Reve” and John Alden Carpenter’s haunting “Light, My Light.” When she had finished the last note, there was a hush, then hearty applause. Based on the fact that the only people here were the judges, a few college professors and students and Emily’s competition and their families, I knew she had easily made the final.
Emily floated off the stage and into my waiting Bornova travesti arms. “Way to go, Em. You had fun and gave the audience a performance. You didn’t worry about the score or the competition, and you just performed. I’m so proud of you.” “Thank you,” she whispered into my tie before Brenda scooped in to smother her oldest. “You were AMAZING!” “Thanks, Mom. It was fun. Can we watch some of the others now?” I grimaced inwardly, but said, “Sure, why not?” Why not, indeed?
We entered from the back of the auditorium and listened to seven of the last eight performers. None held a candle to Emily, and we knew it. The last performer was a girl from Bloomington, Indiana, and her resume was the lower Midwest version of Emily’s. The 6 foot tall, thin, pretty blonde was named Katie Souder. I recognized Katie’s teacher, and knew she would be outstanding. Dr. Sherrie Lawhon was a wonderful soprano, and seriously knew her craft as a voice coach. Sherrie had been a doctoral student when I was doing my master’s. She met her husband while we were in the same studio. In fact, I sang at their wedding.
When Katie finished, Emily looked impressed and crushed at the same time. Quickly, I said “Don’t worry. We’ve still got “The Queen of the Night” up our sleeve. You can beat her.” Em shook her head slightly in such a way that made me know she didn’t believe it. Brenda stared at the opera star Barbie in open hatred. “Let’s go get some dinner,” I said.
We hailed a cab and went to Chopsticks, a popular Japanese steak house. We were having fun watching the chef go through his sow and Emily lit up like a firefly. Brenda and I both had a couple of sake’, and we were feeling fine as well. We went outside, and the snow had become a full-fledged shower. We took a cab back to our hotel, and went to our rooms. I was on the tenth floor, while Brenda and Emily were up on the twelfth. It was 8:00 PM, Friday night, and I had NOTHING to do. I changed, went down to the hotel gym, ran on the cross trainer for 45 minutes, went back up to the room, showered, and got into my pajamas. I found a college basketball game to watch on tv and raided the mini-bar. By 11:00, I had finished five of the little bottles of Jack Daniels. I was feeling VERY comfortable, and called my wife in Chicago to say good night. She asked how Em had done and I told her she was in the finals the next evening.
“What do you think of her chances?”
“Well, Sherrie Lawhon is here with one of her students. Em’s going to have to be at her very best to beat her.”
“Well, tell her I hope she does wins.”
“I will dear. Hey, how was….wait there was a knock on the door.”
“Who would knock at this hour?”
“Just the $800 hooker I ordered,” I quipped.
“It better not be,”
I looked through the peep hole and saw Emily standing there in a robe. “It’s just Emily. I better see what she wants. Love you.”
“Love you too!”
I opened the door and looked at Emily. Hair wet, make up gone, in a thick, white robe and barefoot. “Hi, Mr. Michaels. I finished my swim and went back to the room. Mom’s asleep already, and I don’t want to wake her with the tv. Can I hang out here for a few minutes while I wind down?” All kinds of bells and whistles should have been going off inside my head, but the Jack had my better angels silent. “Sure,” I drawled. I have a sofa you can sit on for a while.” “Cool. Do you have an extra towel?” I want to rinse the chlorine off.” “O.K. I’ll give you your privacy in the bathroom and watch the game,” I replied. Em padded off to the shower and started singing “The Queen of the Night.” I knocked on the shower door and said,
“Emily. If you attract the attention of the management with your beautiful voice at this hour, I’m going to have a hard time explaining why I have a 17 year-old girl in my shower.”
“I’m 18 now. Remember, my birthday was last month.” How had THAT day eluded me?
“Still, there are other guests. That might like to sleep.”
“Okay, Mr. Killjoy, I’ll stop. But the acoustics are great in here!”
I went back to my basketball game. I stared at the screen, but my thoughts lingered on my star student in the shower. I though about how beautiful she looked in the red and black outfit earlier, and how adorable she looked in the robe. Against my will, my cock started to grow. I heard the water stop and Emily bounced out of the bathroom in the robe I had just been imagining. “Who’s playing?” she asked. “North Carolina and Tennessee. From Alaska, of all places.”
“Boooooooooring!” She grabbed he remote off the bed beside me, flopped down on the pillow next to mine, and started to flip channels. She landed on a movie that had just started, “Poison Ivy.” “I love this movie. VERY scary.” I nodded and prayed she hadn’t noticed the bulge in my pajama pants.
Em coughed and grabbed the glass out of my hand. She took a drink of my bourbon, widened her eyes and said, “Whew. That’s got a kick to it. Dad only drinks beer, Buca travesti which I hate, and Mom marks her wine bottles so I won’t get in to them.” Em paused, looked into the glass, saw only ice cubes, frowned and continued, “I drank all of yours. Let me get you some more.” Before I could protest, Em had bounced off the bed and gotten another one of the little bottles out of the mini-bar. She poured the brown liquor into the glass and clambered back on to the bed, handing me the drink and leaning on my chest with her still wet auburn tresses. I tried not to look, but her jostling made me keenly aware that she had left her sensible, one piece swim suit in the bathroom to dry. I groaned inside my head.
Emily shifted around until she had made herself comfortable, her bare legs meeting mine below the knee. We sat in silence as we watched a teenage Drew Barrymore befriend fellow high school student Sara Gilbert, work her way into her family’s life and start to plant the seeds of seduction in Gilbert’s wealthy father. Poor Tom Skerrit never stood a chance. I didn’t either.
Emily would occasionally grab the drink from my hand and take a quick sip, then reach across my body to put it back. On a couple of occasions, the soft underside of her forearm grazed my now fully erect, pajama clad cock as she pulled her arm back to herself. The first time, I was sure it was just an innocent mistake. I moaned softly the second time she did it and looked at the mirror across from the bed over the dresser. She had a little grin on her face that made me certain she had NOT done it by accident. Then she stunned me with a question.
“Do you think I’m pretty?” she softly asked. “Oh, Em, of course I do. I’ve watched you grow from just more than a little girl into a beautiful, graceful, young woman.” My voice was low and strained, and Em could tell the tension was getting to me. “Then how come none of the guys at school ask me out?”
“Honestly?” I replied. “You seem much older than your age, and 17 year-old boys are probably scared to death of you.”
“Your sweet to say that, but I think it’s because while I have a nice body, they don’t think I’m sexy. Am I?”
“Are you what?”
“Sexy, you silly man!”
“Of course you’re sexy. You just don’t carry yourself like someone who is interested in sex. That probably doesn’t make any sense. I’ve had a little too much to drink.”
“It makes perfect sense. But I AM interested in sex.” She reached her hand across my body to take the glass from my hand and dragged her whole forearm and the cold, wet glass across my groin, slowly and with pressure this time. “Very interested.”
She took a sip and did it again on the way back across my body, this time leading with glass of ice. Only this time, she didn’t put the glass back in my hand, but reached all the way across my body and put it on the night stand, her robe covered breasts leaning into my cock. On the way back, she paused her head near my cock, blew softly and warmly down the length of the shaft, then turned her head towards my face and smiled widely. “You have a big problem down here. A VERY big problem,” she cooed. “I have a problem too. I’m still a virgin, and I don’t want to be. But the boys at school are right about one thing – I’m not interested in sex with THEM. I need someone who knows what he’s doing to teach me. You’re far and away the best teacher I have. Teach me this.”
“I can’t,” I feebly protested. “You’re my student, you’re too young for me, and you’re mom’s my office manager. Not to mention that I’m married. You know my wife, for crying out loud. Those are all great reasons we should NOT do this.”
“They’re reasons, but nothing I can’t get past. Yes, I do know your wife, but not as well as my Dad knows her. I saw her van at his house Thursday after school. I was supposed to have play practice, but it got cancelled. Dad gave me some money to do a little Christmas shopping since rehearsal was cancelled, but I left it at home. Susan took me by the house to get the money, and I saw Mrs. R’s van in the driveway. Guess I know why rehearsal was cancelled. I went in quietly and got the money off the kitchen counter. I could tell by the noises coming from upstairs that they were having sex. Dad sounded like he was in pure agony.”
I stared at her, dumbfounded at her revelation. “I also looked at dad’s cell phone history when he was working in the yard. Almost every call was to or from a number identical to your cell, except for the last digit. It was a two. My cell is only one number off from my dad’s. Who has the number after yours?” It was at that moment I realized she was telling the truth. “Still worried about the Mrs.? I didn’t think so.”
With that, Emily turned her head back down and gently kissed the underside of my fully erect shaft through my think pajama pants. “Am I doing this right? I don’t know much, just what I’ve seen in the movies or read in some of my mom’s novels.”
“Ohhhhhh, that feels great. Konak travesti More, please,” I begged softly. Her hands unsnapped the fly on my pajamas and she pulled my thick, uncut eight inches out. Then with her French tipped fingernails, she gently scraped the tip and then the underside of the ridge around the tip. My head flared immediately, and a little pre-cum came out. With her index finger, she started at the little drop and pulled her finger down the underside of my fully erect cock, ending at the base of my balls.
“Scrape them with your nails, ever so lightly, then pull them gently between your thumb and forefinger,” I instructed. Em did as I asked and I began to pant slightly. When my balls released through her fingers, my head snapped and I groaned in blissful agony. That elicited a smile from Emily and she reached up with her fingers to do it again, this time taking the thick head of my cock between her lips. And pulling up with her head as she pulled down with her fingers. The “pop” was simultaneous, and more pre cum came out of my cock. She repeated the process, taking a little more of me in her mouth and increasing the pressure of her fingers with each repetition. Finally, she increased the pressure to the point that she could not easily pull my balls through the circle of her thumb and forefinger. She kept pulling my balls taut with her right hand and scraped the taut sack with the fingernails of her left hand, my shaft, buried deep in her pretty little mouth. When she finally pulled all the way off, still holding my boys tightly with one hand and scraping them with the nails of the other, she said, “Kind of salty, but tasty. Is that all that comes out?”
“Nooooo, that is most definitely not all that comes out. When I cum, there will be a lot more, and it will be thick and milky white,” I answered.
“Why isn’t it coming out now?”
“Partially because I’m trying not to cum yet, and partially because you’ve just been teasing it so far. If you set your mind to it, you could probably get all of it out of me fairly quickly.”
“How would I do that?” Emily asked sort of lazily.
“Increasing the speed and pressure with which you suck or stroke usually leads to the man finishing faster. And by stroke, I mean either inside or outside your body. I have to warn you, I don’t have any condoms, so I’m not going to put my cock inside you.”
“Aw man, how will I have an orgasm then?”
“You will. I promise.”
“I want to see the white stuff.”
“Then you have some work to do.”
“What do I need to do?”
“Go back to what you were doing with your mouth and keep up what you’re doing with your hands. It’ll come out soon enough.”
Emily went back to work happily. I encouraged her by telling her how amazing it felt, and coached her on how to not go to the same depth and pressure each stroke, and to twist her head as she came off my cock. After a good 10 minutes of this, she stopped again and asked why I hadn’t cum yet.
“You haven’t asked or told me to come yet.”
She stared down at my cock and said, “Please, cum for me.” Nothing.
She sucked a little more and said the words again with my dick in her mouth. I moaned in ecstasy at the sensation, but still didn’t oblige. She pulled off and removed the scraping hand from my balls and shook her finger at my cock, and reprimanded it, “Bad boy! I told you to cum!” With that she spanked my still taut sack three times hard. Now I was the one who would attract the management.
“I said, cum!” She removed her other dainty hand from around my balls and started pumping my dick with her fist while spanking my balls with the other hand. Cum started gushing from my body. She showed no mercy, and kept pumping it until no more semen came forth.
“That looks messy. What does it taste like?”
“Lick what’s on your fingers.”
Emily complied, a little gob of cum sticking on the outside of her unmade lips. “Yummy. VERY salty. Is it bad for me?”
“No, just all protein. I need to get cleaned up,” I said as I started to get up and go to the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”
Emily pushed my back by my chest and said, “No, I’ll clean it up. I could use the extra protein.” She started licking my shaved balls from the bottom and continued the tongue bath all the way up to the tip of my cock. Then she took the head in her mouth and sucked what was left out of the tip. I was SPOTLESS.
“So how do I get to have an orgasm?”
“Come up her and let me help.”
Slowly, I started kissing her lips deeply. I cradled her face with one and roamed her exquisite body with the other. I slipped my hand inside her still belted robe and circled the outermost flesh of her left breast with my index finger. She shuddered at the near miss of a sensitive area and I grinned. I moved my hand over to the other breast and repeated the process. I lightly ran my fingertips down her taut stomach till I hit the belt in her robe. I slowly untied it and pulled the belt off the terry cloth robe.
My hand slid further down and found her fresh, virgin mound. I moved around a bit and rubbed her beautiful, young legs. I reached her ankles and gently pulled her down to where her feet where near the side edge of the bed.
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