Catharsis Ch. 02

"Let's go to sleep," Asad said.

Tony dug his nose into Asad's armpit, and sniffed the teen jock's clean, masculine odor. Breslin savored the scent of sweat, Gillette Arctic Ice, with a hint of Aeropostle cologne that had been on his shirt.

When he was satisfied, he laid his head back on his pillow, keeping his hand on Asad's cock, as if he were afraid it might simply fly away in the night.

Tony stared up at the ceiling for a long time, enough for Asad to begin snoring beside him. Something had to be done about that two-faced, drug dealing prick Coach Henry Jacobs, Tony thought, with the cold, deadly rage of a man whose fair lady's honor had been unforgivably assaulted.

After a while, the seeds of various ideas began to spring to mind, not all of which were legal.

***

Amy Bookman rolled a shopping cart out of the harsh, late afternoon sunlight and into the cool, air conditioned supermarket, feeling older than her twenty-six years. It had been a long, hectic week, and she longed for the feeling of normalcy after moving out of her old home.

As she walked middle-aged women in curlers, and porcine men in sweatpants hunting for bargains amongst wilting produce, she thought back to the start of her troubles.

She had just been put on administrative leave for her rumored affair with Asad Udovicic, and when she came home, she found her husband, Hans, sitting in his office, alone. On his mac book pro's glowing screen was Amy's Facebook page. He had hacked the password, and was reading her messages to Asad.

"You've been a very busy girl haven't you?" was all Hans said, his face smoothly impassive.

"Oh, Hans!"

He rose from his leather chair, and moved to the door.

"Excuse me, I'm going to get myself tested," Hans said, moving past her.

"For what?"

"For EVERYTHING!"

Amy had leapt back, startled by whip fast turn of Hans' head, and the unbridled malice in his voice.

She burst into tears then, and grabbed at the lapels of his jacket, thinking even then, how melodramatic this all was.

"I'm so sorry. I never meant to-"

"Not as sorry as you're going to be. If I even come down with a mild case of the sniffles, I'm going to hire the meanest, nastiest personal injury lawyer in the Gulf Coast, and sue you for everything you're worth-which won't be all that much after the divorce."

He left her then, alone, to brood on her fate. She broke down, falling back against the wall, sliding down until she was sitting.

She let her head hang in her hands, and she had wept.

Mostly, she had cried for herself. She mourned not just the loss of her financial stability, but her inability to make solid choices in life. She cried for Asad, a boy she had grown rather fond of, and even a little for Hans, who deserved better.

Stop it, she thought, looking around the store for the grooming products. Stop thinking about it. You fucked up, okay. Life goes on. Right?

A balding, middle aged man in a faded mechanic's uniform wolf whistled as she walked past a display of lawn furniture. She kept her head down, ignoring it.

When she turned the corner into Aisle 11, she found herself face to face with Asad Udovicic.

There was a jolt of instant recognition in the big jock's eyes. For a few seconds, they stood frozen, rooted to the spot, regarding each other.

Amy looked gorgeous, as usual in a blue cocktail dress; her dark hair tied in flowing bunches that framed her face like bookends.

Looking closely, however, she looked a little tired. She had been out of the sun for too long.

"Well, if it isn't Count Vronsky," Amy said, in a jaunty tone that belied the emotions roiling within her.

"Count Vronsky". That was their own private joke. The semester before Amy and Asad began their affair in earnest, the jock had been struggling through Tolstoy's Anna Karenina in his AP English class. To Asad, the book had more value as a doorstop than as a worthwhile piece of literature.

He had recounted his difficulty writing his report on the book to Amy in bed, one night, and she laughed.

"Too bad we didn't start fucking around earlier. I could have broken it down for you. I'm Anna Karenina, the high society woman who dares to buck the mores of conventional society by engaging in an illicit affair, and you're Count Vronsky, the selfish cad she throws everything away for."

The joke was not so funny now that she had been caught.

Asad struggled to contain the rising wave of emotion inside of him.

"Long time no see," Asad said.

"Indeed."

"Why didn't you answer any of my texts, or phone calls?"

Here we go, Amy thought, yet another confrontation I wanted to avoid proving unavoidable.

"I couldn't, Asad. I was trying to save my sham of a marriage," Amy said.

"Not even a goodbye?" Asad asked.

"I'm sorry," Amy said. There it was. It was true.

Finally, after a few moments, Asad said:

"I'm sorry, too. I guess I'm what you would call a...a home wrecker."

"Don't be. In a way, I'm grateful."

"What?"

"It was bound to happen eventually. Hans is a decent guy, he never beat me, or demanded things from me, or made me feel like anything less than a princess. But our marriage was a commercial for the American dream, nothing more. I took certain vows believing it was a mark of maturity to marry for...financial stability. I thought it would be the perfect environment for kids. It just turned out that neither of us really wanted that, after all. We were like strangers sharing the same house, enacting a series of artificial poses in accordance with societal mores. Our connection never went deeper than that."

"Maybe you guys should have seen a marriage counselor, or tried to spice things up. You know, go on a second honeymoon, or something.

"I don't think so. His idea of fun is collecting early American legal documents," Amy said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

"You were a really good teacher. Nobody could explain that shit better than you. I feel like...like I destroyed your life," Asad said.

"Bullshit. You're absolving me of the power of free will. I did what I did, because I wanted to. I knew the risks, just like you. I'm just glad I didn't end up on the news, and get Scarlet Lettered for something that occurred between consenting adults," Amy said.

Silence for a few moments. A few shoppers began to observe them from a distance, in a way they believed was surreptitious.

"We shouldn't talk here," Asad said.

"Maybe you'd like to come over for dinner?" Amy said.

"Okay," Asad said, smiling.

This was another one of their little jokes. Amy did not cook.

***

Amy's second story apartment in the southwest part of town was tiny, but fastidiously neat, and the décor showed a little taste. The chairs in the dining room were sleek, high backed Charles Rennie Mackintosh knock-offs. Monet's water lilies hung on the wall, above the table. A couple pieces of lalique that Mr. Bookman let her keep gleamed from above the mantle. The place smelled of scented candles, and lemon pledge.

They hadn't been inside for more than five seconds, when Amy had Asad's shirt over his head.

"Wait, aren't you going to give me the grand tour first?" Asad said, teasing her.

"I'll give you a grand tour," Amy said, grinning.

Amy threw her arms around Asad's neck. He leaned in and kissed her. Her mouth tasted of fresh raspberries.

"Come on, to bed," Amy said, pulling away.

Inside her bedroom, she slid easily out of her cocktail dress, and Asad had a chance to look over her body for the first time in weeks.

It was tight, and toned, with a killer ass that looked like it tasted like double scoops of vanilla ice cream.

He unzipped his camo shorts, and let them fall to the ground. Amy grinned at the sight of the enormous bulge in Asad's navy blue Nike Pro boxers.

"Is this what you want, Princess?" Asad said, squeezing the front of his boxers.

She nodded.

Asad started to dig a Trojan out of his wallet, when Amy put a restraining hand on his wrist.

"You won't need that, I just put in my NuvaRing," Amy said.

Oh hell yeah, Asad thought. Like all men (especially boy-men) Asad absolutely detested stuffing his sausage in a latex casing. He wanted his boner mashing up against her spongy clam, wanted to feel flesh against flesh.

They were both naked now.

She noted the profusion of hickeys across Asad's body, and the marks on his ass, but did not feel inclined to comment. She knew Asad liked to have fun.

The Croatian teen grabbed his obscenely huge penis in his hand, and wiggled it at Amy, ringing the dinner bell, as it were.

She dropped to her knees, at once, in front of the teen's erect monster, licking her lips in anticipation.

Udovicic pulled back his penis, until it was flat against his thigh, then let go like a rubber band. It swung in a fast arc, thumping against Amy's cheek.

The older woman jumped a little, startled, excited.

I can't believe this shit, Asad thought. Fucking his teacher felt so wrong, and dirty, and it never lost its thrill. All thoughts of being Coach Jacobs' fuck toy, or messing around with his old buddy Tony were gone from his head now.

Amy licked the head of Asad's shaft, and he shivered with pleasure.

"Your balls are retracting," Amy observed, with interest, "do you remember what that's called?"

"Cremasteric reflex," Asad said.

"Good boy," Amy said.

Amy was a very thorough biology teacher.

Asad decided it was time to switch gears. Enough blowjobs, he thought. He reached down, sliding his hands under her arms to raise her up. She smiled at him...

He threw her on the mattress.

She shrieked with glee as the teen began pecking at her rock hard nipples. He was like an animal, pouncing on his prey.

The jock stud moved south, leaving a trail of kisses down her body, until, without warning, his breath was bearing down fast and hot against her pussy. He proceeded with the delicacy of a man about to unwrap an exquisite gift.

Using his tongue, Asad languorously measured the diameter of her smooth labia, moving it up and down, and across, teasing Amy, slipping the tip between the fleshy outer lips, brushing against her engorged labia minora for the briefest of moments. The art of cunnilingus was an ancient one, like calligraphy, and required as much patience and precision.

He swirled his tongue around and around her clitoris, tapping on the hood, bringing it to life like a snake charmer playing the flute, and soaking up her juices like a sponge.

His head bobbed up and down, between her legs, the stubble on his chin scraping her perineum. She trembled a little.

He moaned, the low sounds vibrating against her pussy, and bringing her close. Asad gorged himself on the older woman's coppery juices, as if it was the most delicious things he'd ever tasted.

"Good boy," Amy repeated.

Asad came up for air, but Amy would have none of it, and shoved his face back down between her legs.

He polished her pearl.

"Mmmmmmmmmm," Amy said.

Asad's tongue began tapping out Morse code on her clit. This was one of their favorite games to play, and one they had worked out through trial and error, ultimately deciding on quick licks to represent dots, and long, slow licks to represent dashes. Amy had to decipher the message if she wanted him to go on. Usually what he tapped was the name of a sex act he wanted to try.

"Venus Butterfly?"

Asad shook his head.

"A Tijuana Triple Lutz?"

Again, no. It was hard to think with the teen tickling the nerve endings in her clit.

"A Bucakroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension?"

Strike three. She could feel his smile down there.

"Shit!"

She had lost.

"Reverse cowgirl," Asad said, head rising from between her legs, mouth and chin smeared with her nectar.

She faced away from him as she straddled him.

Amy rode him hard, grinding on his cock, mashing her clit against the base of his shaft until she was almost close. A long, high-pitched wail escaped her lips. Only being with Asad, the teenage jock stud, could reduce her to a bitch in heat like this.

Asad slapped her ass when he saw Amy was ready to burst, signaling her to stop.

"Lay on the bed. I want to feel my dick between your tits," Asad said, his voice a harsh whisper.

Great, Amy thought, I won't have anything do now. Well, it was still better than the best sex she'd ever had with Hans. Amy reached into her purse, and fished out a small bottle of Johnson's baby oil...

Always prepared, Asad thought, what a perfect girl scout.

The older woman lay back down on the bed, and squeezed her lubed up breasts together, inviting Udovicic to do his worst with a sexy half-grin.

Amy studied the coral colored glans as it lunged up, bumped against her chin, and then slid back down between her tits. It was glistening with pre-cum. She half-hoped Asad ejaculated on her face. It had been too long since she tasted him, and it drove the Croatian jock wild when she swallowed his semen, absolutely out of his mind.

"Oh yeah, just like that, baby!" Amy said, urging him on.

Her lips were shiny and sticky with his spilling pre-cum. She licked them clean.

Abruptly, he stopped. Amy looked up at him, puzzled.

Asad loved the way Amy was smiling, and breathing heavy but he knew it was only an act. Titty-fucking was a one-way street.

Ordinarily, Asad did not bother to consider his partner's pleasure. The teen jock, like all Southern high school boys, was for the most part, only interested in patriarchal sex, with clearly defined dominant and submissive roles, the fucking so rough it skirted right up to the edge of rape, and in which the female's pleasure was incidental. Ninety percent of time he titty-fucked girls, he simply drenched their face with his goo, and called it a night. Hell, he was the star quarterback, they were lucky to be in bed with him, and they knew it. It was part of his legend at Jefferson Davis, that most of the senior girls ("the hot bitches" as the envious JV players referred to them) had been used by him as his personal "cum dumpsters", in one form or another.

But with Amy, he was actually receptive to her desires. He wanted to play her like a piano.

To Asad, there was no point in fucking Amy if she didn't scream bloody murder with every thrust, if she wasn't reduced to a pile of quivering female hormones by the end.

"Let me get inside you," Asad whispered.

"Okay, but first, some music."

She plugged her iphone to her stereo, and pulled up their old playlist. Most of her music consisted of stuff like Jagged Little Pill, Live Through This, and Good Girl Gone Bad. For fucking, she liked to play something a little different.

The sounds of the chopped and screwed swishahouse remix of Lil Jon's "Lovers and Friends" filled the room. It was good, dirty high school love-making music.

The teen's lips curled into a sneer, as he entered her...

She squealed with delight.

"Give it to me, baby, fuck me good," Amy said.

The teen athlete's muscled ass clenched, and unclenched, hips rocking, as he pounded away like a jackhammer.

Oh fuck, he's really digging some tunnels, Amy thought. For a second, the absurd fear that the tip of his hard donkey dick would crack one of her ribs stole away with her mind.

Asad's pelvis ground into Amy's clit in time to the music, fast at first, then slow, then fast, then slow again. Got to make her scream bloody murder, Asad thought.

And at that, he was all too successful.

In seconds, Amy was screaming so loud, Asad's ears were ringing. She would make a terrific soprano, he thought, amused. There was a sudden thump-thump-thump, and the teen realized her downstairs neighbor was pounding on their ceiling with a broom handle.

Asad paid the thumping no mind. He was close now, and nothing could put the brakes on what was about to happen...

Amy smiled. She hadn't lived here long enough to know the lady in the unit below very well, but she knew enough. The woman was in her late sixties, and always carried an expression on her face like she'd just sucked on a lemon. She never said hello, making a point to avoid eye contact when they passed each other in the course of their comings and goings. Amy knew her only as The Mean Old Bitch Who Lives Downstairs, and it pleased her to think of the old bat provoked into a hissy fit by the sounds of their animal fucking.

"Oh shit! Oh fuck! Fuck!" Asad said.

Amy's pelvic muscles began to contract, and her vagina tightened around Asad's hard dick, squeezed, released, squeezed. For a moment, Asad had the wonderful sensation that his member wasn't so much penetrating his former teacher's snatch, as it was being consumed by it.

"HELL FUCKING YES!" Amy shouted, rattling the windows.

He flooded her with his seed and her great river swelled its banks like the Euphrates in the spring.

She was almost weeping with relief.

Asad's erection did not subside for nearly five minutes. Oh to be eighteen again, Amy thought, smiling, loving the feel of it in her hand.

They lay together, not moving, for almost an hour, saying nothing. Nothing needed to be said. It was silent, except for the distant sounds of cars leaving, and entering the apartment complex.

The air conditioning clicked on, and she snuggled with Asad for warmth.

***

Amy brushed her hair back into place, humming, as she moved about the tiny kitchen. She looked radiant; the color had come back into her cheeks.

It was nine o'clock now, and both of them were dressed again.

"Want a beer?" She asked.

"Sure."

She handed Asad a Corona from the fridge.

"So...what have you been up to lately?" Asad asked.

"I'm an assistant manager at the Gap now," Amy said.

"How's that working out for you?"

"Pays better than being a teacher."

"Really?"

"Yeah, that's our educational system for you. How about you, found a job yet?"

"No."

"You oughta do porn," Amy said.

Asad smiled a little. Most of his girlfriends had said that when they first caught sight of his Anaconda.

Eventually, their conversation circled back around to the subject of her abrupt dismal from her position at Jefferson Davis High.

"What did you tell them, anyway?" Asad asked.

"I told the District Superintendent that I would never, ever violate the community's trust that way. Not even if the boy in question dressed sexy, was of legal age, and totally had it coming," she said.

"Did you really, now?"

"Not that last part. What I really wanted to say was, "Haven't any of you guys read up on the lives of the world's greatest novelists? It was in the opinion of Tolstoy's aunt that the formal education of a young man was not complete until he'd skanked around with a few married women," Amy said, smirking.

"No brainy stuff right now, please," Asad said.

His phone rang.

"Who's that?"

It was Anthony Breslin. Asad debated whether or not answer.

"This kid from school. He thinks he's my boyfriend," Asad said, with a sheepish grin.

"Did he leave those marks on your ass?" Amy asked, innocently.

"No," Asad said, shooting her a look.

Amy had often enjoyed feminizing Asad in a hundred amusing little ways, like painting his toenails pink, and buying tight, pastel colored shirts for him that he never wore because they made him look like a gay hustler on the make.

Asad always seemed to be happy to play along, and it encouraged her to test certain waters. It was the last day of Winter Break, when she brought up the subject of Asad's gay admirers. They both enjoyed a good chuckle over the way Anthony Breslin liked to stare at Asad in class, even though Amy could tell Asad felt a little guilty about poking fun at his old friend.

Finally, however, she had asked:

"You ever experimented with other guys, or thought about it?"

It was only fair to ask, she said, since she had driven him wild with the details of her college lesbian experiences.