The Headmaster Ch. 02

Thanks to rgraham666 who goaded me into writing more about these characters. Thanks to snowflakesarah for editing.

The following Saturday I have broken a sweat before I even make it to the locker room. It was a week ago that the headmaster invited me to be his lover. That seems far away now. But what we did in my apartment a few nights back is uppermost in my mind. The sexuality stings in my blood. It feels like someone poured whiskey in my morning coffee.

I race up the stairs and quickly change into my uniform as always. At the mat, I am dismayed to discover I am not the first one here. I bow, step into the sacred space, and watch without smiling as Jacob Burke walks toward me.

"Hi!" he greets me. Joe Cool here is looking as sleazy as ever. He can't keep his eyes off my 34C's. His reputation precedes him. I nod, but don't bow to him or shake hands, despite his black belt. My lips turn up just enough to be polite and I start to walk past. "Good morning."

He puts his hand on my bicep. He does the look-deep-in-my-eyes thing. "Did I ever tell you about my tongue?" he starts in. He counts on his fingertips. "It's strong, it's long, and it's flexible." Holy Esther, I think. What an ass. Does he really think this behavior is attractive?

I give him the same frosty smile and start jogging laps. "Thanks for letting me know," I call over my shoulder. "Gotta get warmed up," and literally run away from him. He waves as if this is part of some grand plan to draw me in.

After I jog around enough times, completely ignoring Dickhead, I take the prime spot in the corner to stretch my hips and legs. To the east is the window and to the south is the barre. I stick my right ankle in the windowsill and start reaching, as far as I can, thinking sky, horizon, earth. Sky, horizon, earth. Left ankle, barre, same thing. Then bending my chest to my thighs, I place my hands flat on the ground.

I'm so grateful I can still do this. The Goddess gave me flexibility, for reasons of Her own; I'll never know why. I walk my hands around the mat for a bit, then widen my stance, and slowly sink into the splits. I hitch the girdle of my hip joints left, right, and center again. The last time I held this pose, a warm lover was beneath me. "Come here," says vivid memory. I lean forward. I almost kiss the mat.

Painted toenails appear in front of my nose. It's Laura, my stretch buddy. "How's by you!" she says. "You're late!" I tell her. She holds out her hands, thumbs open, to pull me up. Her grin is devil-may-care. "Pish, tush," says my friend. We chortle for the Saturday-morningness of it all.

"Line up!" roars the lead black belt. Thankfully it isn't Jake Burke. We skitter into place. After the opening ritual, the headmaster addresses the class. "I want to remind you to keep your minds in this room today. Focus on the here and now." I realize he's throwing me a rope. He claps his hands sharply. The warm-up begins.

My palms are sweaty. My nerves jangle. I make an obvious mistake. Three meters away, his voice sounds again, "Here and now." Right. I fight my way into concentration. As long as he doesn't come too near, I might get through this.

When it is time to spar, he pairs me with Joey Capitelli. Right away I know I'm being tested. Joey might have had a neck when he was a kid, but somehow I doubt it. Though not much taller than me, he is a barrel of muscle. His Cherokee blood shows in his tanned skin and dark hair. His red belt will certainly be exchanged for black by winter. He has eyes like a shark, merciless and flat. And he's a cop.

I bow, smile and shake hands. "Mr. Capitelli." He grants me a tiny smile but doesn't speak. Thankfully he holds the bag first. I warm up with a few side kicks which are my best. He doesn't budge. "Harder," he encourages. As if, I think. Front snap kick. Back spinning kick. With the last, my ability to consistently strike the same spot is a disappointment.

The instructor shouts for the class to change partners and the real work begins. I brace my stance as well as I can while making sure the way behind me is clear. As expected, his first kick sends me staggering back five feet. Next time I lean into it and don't give as much. The teacher walks by, smiling serenely while I take the pounding.

Partners are exchanged, and class proceeds in a bliss of physical awakening. The yelling and panting noises make a soothing music. There is no tension left. I am calmness incarnate.

Fifteen minutes early, the instructor claps his hands. "Let's line up." Four envelopes appear in his fist. He walks down the ranks, distributing the mail.

"Mr. Capitelli...Mr. Carnes...Miss Crane...Miss Wakefield." Each envelope contains a summons of sorts. The following week, we will be tested. Capitelli must have known his was coming. Red belts are groomed for months in advance.

Mostly for the benefit of the newcomers, the master announces, "No class next week. We will be testing all day. Do attend the test, regardless." He gives the nod to highest ranking student, who barks out the closing ritual.

"Go read your mail," says our teacher. He knows we want to. Every student so chosen finds a place on the mat. Leaning into the windowsill, I tear open the envelope. My marks are not bad. I study the familiar handwriting and take to heart the comments, praise and criticism alike.

There is another piece of paper. It is a map, with an address and a note. In the same handwriting, it reads, 12:30. Don't shower. My stomach tightens. I feel my center start to cream. I glance at the clock and stuff the papers back into the envelope.

"Congratulations, Miss Crane," says a friend. We hug. "Thank you." I grin from ear to ear. In the locker room I hastily brush my teeth and push my street clothes into my bag.

"Aren't you coming to lunch?"

"Laundry," I half-lie. "If I don't get it done I'll have to go naked to work all week." "Well, you wouldn't want that!" laughs Andrea.

"Damn straight. See you Wednesday."

I make a beeline for the front lobby, slip on my coat and find my shoes in the pile. Burke the Jerk takes the place beside me. "So how about it? Your place or mine?"

"You can't be serious."

"I am serious! Come on, at least have lunch with me."

I twist on the sofa to face him. "Jake, no offense, I'm just not interested."

His face clouds. "Who is he?"

I roll my eyes and go back to tying my sneakers. "Why do men always think that?"

His eyes take on a crafty, gleaming expression. "So it's someone from here."

"Not interested, Jake," are my last words as I head for the door. You'd think a guy would get the message when a woman is constantly running the other way.

* * *

I take care to park a couple of blocks away, around a corner from my lover's house. It is worrisome, the thought of being found out. Teachers and students really aren't supposed to be bimmin' & bammin'. I think this is known as a conflict of interest.

The stone doorway is not unfamiliar. I was here once for a barbecue. My finger is aiming for the bell when the door opens.

He gathers me in his arms with a fervor that is almost frightening. With my back against the door, an image flashes into my mind: James Caan and the bridesmaid in The Godfather. Hm, not a bad idea. "Are you hungry?" says my man.

My tummy rumbles at the wonderful aroma wafting through the place. "That's the answer," he chuckles, and puts me down. "I love a woman with a healthy appetite."

He has the table set with sliced chicken, broccoli and wild rice. "This is wonderful. Thank you." It's tempting to wolf, but I eat lightly, and notice he is doing the same. We are thinking the same thing: you don't want to be stuffed with food when you hit the mat.

"Are you nervous about your test?"

"No. You wouldn't send me if I wasn't ready."

He nods in agreement and throws me a curve. "Why didn't you tell me you were a lesbian?"

The redness creeps to my hairline. Since my skin has given me away, there's no use denying my past. I put down my fork and fidget with my napkin. I don't know what to say.

Finally I look up. He is studying my face, taking in all the data, learning. I am reminded again that he is a powerful student of human nature as well as human bodies. I draw a deep breath and let it out. "Is it important?"

"I don't find you repulsive, if that's what you mean." Calmly, he takes a sip of tea. "But I would like to know you better."

"Um, okay." My face is still sunburnt. "There really isn't that much to tell.

"Two years ago, just before I began the arts, I had a neighbor by the name of Rachel." I blush again at the memory. "I had never had any interest in women before I met her.

"She frequently offered to help me with things around the house – she had all these power tools, you know—" I laugh at the cliché, but there it is – "and one night we went to a poetry reading.

"It was kind of my fault, really. I invited her because I was the featured reader, and I read this really hot poem by Kenneth Rexroth, and I guess she was kind of turned on by that."

"Which poem?"

"When We With Sappho," I answer. "You know, Sappho, the Greek poet?"

"I know who she is. Sorry for the interruption. Go on."

"And when she drove me home, she kissed me. It felt like a bolt of lightning. I couldn't even open my door, she had to unlock it for me. I kept dropping my books."

His eyes take on a certain light. "And then?"

"Unfortunately, nothing. It wasn't for lack of trying on my part. I pursued her, I wrote poems for her, I took her out to dinner. But she just... basically wanted to prove something, and she made her point, so she moved on."

"You must have been unhappy," says Rob. He pulls his chair close to mine and strokes my shoulders.

I nod. "And then I dated Lucy for a year, and she got shipped out, and that was that."

This time the teacher doesn't know everything. His jaw drops a little. "The Marine." Lucy was one of his students. "You are a cool one."

"Had to be. Listen," I say intently. "Don't out me. I don't know what would happen in the dojang and I don't want to risk it."

"Your secret is safe with me." He pulls me into his lap. His massive erection presses against my thigh. My heart rate quickens.

I turn to straddle his hips and we become Shiva and Shakti. My hands loop around his neck in the classic pose. I lift my face like a sunflower to his heat. He squeezes my ass and pulls me in tight. He kisses the bloom in my cheeks. I feel safe.

And horny as hell. I lave the spiral of his ear and suck his earlobe. His fingers move under my body and find my perineum. He presses on, probing around my pubic bone. Through the layers of cotton I get wetter.

My hips tilt forward to meet the prodding fingers. I'm breathing pretty hard now. The room smells like sweat, and sex. He pushes the tips of two fingers where they are supposed to go. The fabric caves in. "Unh." He grips one lip between thumb and forefinger. My body jerks at the sweet combination of pleasure and pain.

Desire is throbbing through my body. I am so distracted that I have forgotten to continue touching this man. He doesn't seem to mind though, and stands up. My ankles are crossed at the small of his back. He carries me through the living room where the skylights let in the day.

In his bedroom we strip one another. Our sweaty uniforms fall to the floor. We embrace, fully nude, and let our bodies do the talking. The full length of his phallus presses up past my belly-button. My nipples poke at his chest.

We kiss, sharing the long deep kisses that no one should go without. He unbraids my hair and the dark waves go spilling down my back. His probing fingers slip between my legs and twiddle my folds, giving me a sharp rush. He takes a taste. He looks like a bear enjoying a honey-pot.

But he doesn't lay me down. Instead he leads me to an adjoining room. It's the master bath.

"Wow." I look all around. "You could land a plane in here."

"Nice, isn't it." He grins wolfishly. The oval sunken tub looks designed for four. Steam is coming off the water. Thick white towels are rolled in a woven basket. I turn, taking in the deep green plants, the white-and-chrome fixtures. There is a separate, glassed-in shower stall.

He waits patiently while I survey the spa. Finally I cast him a look of delight. "Come here often?" I quip.

He chuckles and kisses my forehead. "Come here, ma petite." He leads me into the shower.

Hot water rains on our bodies. I grab a cake of soap and lather his chest. "Mmmmm," he rumbles. "Two can play at that game." He works a soapy gel all over my breasts. I shiver as he plays with the sensitive tips. He weighs the twins in his hands. We smile at each other in slippery happiness.

"Turn around." Playfully he spanks my ass with his prick. "Tip your head back." The water sluices through my long hair. He washes my hair and applies conditioner. "Oh, thank you," I breathe. "You are such a thoughtful host."

"And you..." he handles me "are a very good guest." He reaches around, tending my tits with one hand, soaping my bush with the other. "Ah!" My temperature spikes.

His erection is insistent at my behind. His mouth nips the side of my neck.

He bites a little more. His teeth close on my ear. My breathing comes shallow and fast, and my eyes close. I start to transcend. "Don't fall," he says gently.

Slowly, I turn back around. "I'm too short to wash your hair." "I can do it," he says. I wait until his hands are occupied and work up a lather in my own. Then I swirl the soft hot suds all over his cock. His eyes flutter shut and his head rolls back. He makes a sound in his throat.

Up and down I stroke his wonderful hardness. I add more gel and keep the lather foaming. I stroke and cuddle his balls and gently slip one finger just behind them. I give a tentative massage there, carefully watching his face. Again I wonder what it feels like to be male. He doesn't object to this touch, but after three strokes in a fisted grip, he grabs my wrist. "Stephanie. Stop."

Briefly he sucks my lower lip. "Time to rinse off." He lifts the shower nozzle from its hook and starts hosing me down. I close my eyes while he rinses my hair. Then he dials up the pressure and directs a forceful jet at my pussy. I exclaim sharply.

"Turn!" My heart is thudding fast. "Bend over," is his next command. "Spread your legs." The power jet makes a direct hit. "OH!" jolts from my mouth.

Suddenly I have to have this man inside me, I have to. All afternoon I've been content to let the waves of carnal pleasure ebb and flow. Now the pleasure has given way to sharp want. This want cannot, will not be denied.

Quickly I help him rinse off and grab his hand. "I've got to have you," I choke out. "Don't make me wait any more."

He lets me pull him back to the bedroom. "Something you want?" he teases.

"Please, fuck me." I get right to the point.

Ever the gentleman, he agrees. "As you wish."

I make a vertical leap and fling my body backwards on the king-size bed. I land with my legs wide open.

His eyes darken with desire. He kneels between my legs and gazes at the temple of Isis. Two fingers enter the temple.

I thrash and whimper. "More," I beg. "Put in three." His ring finger joins the other two. "Fuck me, please!" I wail again. He finger-fucks me with a vengeance. His thumb spears my clit, making my hips rise. I lift my knees. My nips feel made of stone. I'm just a bitch in heat now. There is no other reality.

Unexpectedly he curls his fingers. A ball of fire engulfs my entire being. I shriek – and go blind.

When I come to, his face is just inches from mine. It's only been a few moments. "What did you do to me?" I murmur, dazed.

"Stroked your g-spot." He looks at the sexual flush in my face. "You seemed ready."

"Yes," I whisper. My eyes dance with affection, gratitude, and lust. That was the strongest orgasm of my life. "How can I ever repay you?"

"I'm sure you'll think of a way," he smiles.

With that strong, reassuring touch that I love, he guides me onto my side. He places my thigh perpendicular to my spine, like a stepping majorette. My sex is exposed. Knowing this makes my juices gush.

He mounts me, watching his mushroom disappear into my body. The position makes for a nice tight fit, as he knew it would. As he planned. The pleasure is evident in his face. The breath catches in my throat. His back arches as he works to wedge himself in more deeply. A slow groan emanates from deep in his chest. Casually he plays with my tits.

Every nerve ending scrambles and pulses as he draws his hips back, and presses in again, pulling my pubic hair with the movement. I moan with sensation. He picks up a rhythm that leaves me weak.

Faster and faster he moves. The sounds reminisce the dojang. He lances deeply into my flesh and his sudden cry is almost like pain. He floods me with his heat.

"I feel you!" I burst out. My own orgasm shocks through all my muscles. Involuntarily my heels sweep back and I land on my stomach. He grabs my hips and rolls with me, keeping our connection. The rough handling makes my body sing. His hips collide with my buttocks. Swiftly he rides to completion.

Then his breathing is hot in my ear. Spatters of his cum decorate my ass and upper thighs. His damp chest hair feels like lamb's wool against my back. "Oh, Miss Crane..." He enfolds me in his arms, so sweetly. "You are so hot."

My lips quirk with satisfaction. "Speak for yourself."