Sensualist

Was she doing this to torment me? Did she know I was watching? Was she trying to drive me insane?

Of course, such thoughts would occur to a self-centered teenager, who would take an inordinate period of time to figure out that it was about her and not him, but I digress.

Needless to say, I continued to gawk at this, for Miss Ginger, brazen exhibition, but was certainly not turning away as a gentleman might. Her hand moved so slowly over those lips that I wanted to shout for her to hurry it up! But I was able to contain myself by resuming my own masturbation, stroking slowly and letting my juices simmer within my testicles while Miss Ginger moved to another stage of play. Still using long, slow, tantalizing movements, it seemed she was touching everything but what mattered, i.e., her cunt.

Then just when I thought I couldn't bear another second of this ineptitude on her part, Miss Ginger spread her pussy lips, and using two fingers, held them open, providing me with my first memorable view of pinkish flesh. Her other fingers appeared to be skimming over the upper portion of her cunt, but as it had nothing to do with "the old in and out" as it were, I couldn't figure out just why she was doing so. I would later come to understand that she was teasing her clitoris, but at that time I really had no idea the delightful clittie even existed.

It was vexing to me. Robbie Flaxton had been certain that girls used their fingers to masturbate. He'd spied on his older sister. He must have bragged about it a dozen or more times. Milford Lambert had confirmed it too, stating that he'd caught his aunt fingering herself. And yet Miss Ginger, here before my very eyes was paying scant attention to the hole I so longed to prong; while she had three fingers rubbing away at what to me was the wrong damn place.

About then it occurred to me that unless Miss Ginger was deliberately deceiving me with this demonstration, I might have matters wrong. I gave this serious thought. She didn't seem to realize I was watching, so she had no reason to deceive me in the first place. Furthermore, it was obvious that she was intent upon pleasuring herself; which meant that she was jerking off woman style, and therefore she did know what she was doing.

In summary, she knew how a woman went about jerking off and I didn't. So why didn't I stop fretting about her getting it wrong and watch, and then figure out just what the hell was happening?

Miss Ginger's climax appeared to coincide with my own conclusion to stop worrying and just watch. It was quite a sight. Her hips raised themselves from the chair, her body spasmed and her legs opened and closed over her flying fingers.

I thought, though I couldn't be sure, that I heard a voice yelling 'yes' over and over. I was mesmerized, unable to look away even if I'd wanted to, and certainly unaware that my right hand was feverishly stoking my cock until it began to erupt for the umpteenth time that day.

When I had recovered enough to resume peeking in on Miss Ginger, I found her slumped in the chair, legs splayed and her hand lying quietly across her stomach. More than satisfied that Miss Ginger was finished with her actions, I eased myself carefully away from the peephole, and lay down on my bed to think about what I had seen.

________________________________________

I didn't get more than an hour's sleep as I continually thought about what had happened the night before. When I slipped out of bed I didn't have an erection for the first time in ... well, since I could remember. But after a second or two, I recalled having jerked off twice more during the night thinking about Miss Ginger rubbing herself to a climax.

I encountered Miss Ginger when she barged out of the bathroom as I was passing by. "Am I to expect you to be hanging around my bathroom now?" She snapped as she opened the door and beckoned me to enter.

"What?" I said, having been caught off guard.

"What now, Donald? Will you be sniffing the toilet seat?"

"Huh? I ... I don't know what ...."

Miss Ginger was about to pass me by and go downstairs to breakfast, but cast a glance at my groin and spat out, "Honestly, Donald, don't you think about anything else?"

"What?" I asked innocently.

"You and your erections ... you're pathetic!" That said, she walked off in a huff to her bedroom, and did not come down for breakfast.

Suddenly I realized that I had the upper hand with Miss Ginger. She must masturbate as much as I do!

Well, that theory was disproven that very night, for I kept my eye to the peephole for hours, waiting for her to do something, but all that happened was Miss Ginger followed her usual bedtime routine. Not even a flash of flesh.

The next few days found Miss Ginger going out of her way to avoid me, or so it seemed. If I met her coming up the stairs, she would act as if she'd forgotten something and turn back down again. And other than our daily lesson time, she'd skirt round me as if I had the plague.

The biggest tell to me was that even during our lessons, she never looked me in the eye, and I made certain that she had every opportunity to see a certain bulge in my slacks several times a day.

But as much as I kept an eye on her---and I did get to see her naked once or twice---she never came close to anything resembling a masturbatory act.

________________________________________

It was on a Tuesday that everything changed. It was by no means planned, but happened naturally.

I arrived for our daily lesson a few minutes early. Miss Ginger was leaning over the study table, setting her lesson plan in order. She was teaching us similar subjects but at somewhat different levels. The idea being that the youngest would move through this material at a faster rate when presented again the following year. Actually it has a great deal of merit. Both Ashley and I greatly benefited. But back to the moment at hand.

I moved silently across the room until I was standing behind Miss Ginger. As usual, I had an erection and I took a deep breath then slowly pressed it against her rear. She responded immediately by pushing her behind back at me ensuring a firmer contact. Rather than pull away, I just stood behind her, my lips an inch from her ear as her firm, round ass continued pressing against me.

In truth, what happened took only seconds. To me, however, it was like a slow-motion movie in which each and every single detail is studied with profound interest.

Admittedly, I was sweating profusely as I gambled everything; knowing she was fully aware of what I was doing, I began humping her backside, there would be no denying what I was doing if she failed to accept my advances.

I was ecstatic when she hung her head and hunched slightly forward over the table causing her ass to press even more firmly into my hardon. At the same time she wriggled that backside against me I heard her gasp. I almost came then, but managed to hold off, and reached around her to grasp each of her bountiful breasts in my young hands.

Either I had gone too far, or she feared discovery by my mother or sister and she attempted to move away from me. But I was too far gone and pulled her tighter against me while squeezing her breasts.

Miss Ginger fought back, trying to get away from my stupid attempt at fornication, and managed to do so, but not before I ejaculated in my pants, wetting both my pant front and the back of her skirt.

"Donald ... I can't believe ...." Was all she said before leaving me standing alone in the study.

________________________________________

I hid away in my room for most of the day. I have no idea what transpired at the lesson if indeed there was one. I heard Ashley leave to go shopping with mother, and feeling more secure, I ventured down to the living room.

I have no idea how long I sat there, but suddenly Miss Ginger appeared. It was the first time we'd been alone since my attack. I forgot all that had happened momentarily, caught up in the way the sunlight looked on the nape of her neck.

Of course, I had the requisite erection to boot.

"Must you always behave so boorishly!" she said challengingly.

I decided to fight back, and replied, "It's not entirely my fault. It just keeps popping up."

"That's what you call what you did? Popping up?"

"What?" I said caught off-guard.

"Well why don't you deal with it on your own? Why bring me into it?"

I think both of us were stunned by what she'd just said.

Flustered by this turn of events, Miss Ginger threw up her hands and told me: "I'm sure you don't need me to tell you that."

She was actually telling me to go jerk off!

As embarrassed as I was, I called what I took to be a bluff on her part and said, "All right, I will," and started getting up. But something told me to stay in the room and I hesitated a moment and then started to leave.

"There's no need to leave on my account," Miss Ginger said in a voice I'd never heard before. It had a nervous quaver to it, and it convinced she wanted me to do it in front of her.

"Let's be sure about this," I said. "You want me to do it right here? In this room?"

"I don't want you to do anything. It makes no difference to me," she said, ostentatiously picking up a magazine and flipping it open then pretending to read.

I knew one thing, I may have been in over my head, but there was no way I was backing down. My right hand dropped to the bulge in my slacks. I let out an involuntary groan at the idea of her watching me and started to stroke my cock through the taut material of the slacks. I couldn't recall ever jacking off with it in my pants, but it felt great, particularly the crown, and in seconds I was ready to cum. My leg shot out of its own volition, enabling me to stoke my shaft's full length.

I couldn't risk looking at Miss Ginger, but just the thought of her watching was sufficient stimulation to bring on that uncontrollable feeling of elation and I grunted as my cock fired salvo after salvo into my boxers and upper thigh.

To say I was uncomfortable after that would be putting it mildly.

"That didn't take long," Miss Ginger said, looking up from her magazine. There was a flush spreading up her neck that indicated she'd been watching. "Well, don't you think you should clean yourself up?"

"I was going to wait for you to do it before leaving the room. Tit for tat, you know," I said, and couldn't believe I had the nerve.

"Don't be ridiculous!" she replied trying to take the initiative, but failing after I came back with: "Oh, hold on now; let's not play the innocent victim here. You do it and I know you do."

As I realized what I'd said, a guilty look came upon me and she knew instantly that I'd seen her masturbate. The where and when was answered easily enough. She'd done it the one time. My room was next to hers. So I'd either had my eye to the keyhole, or---Miss Ginger was out of her chair in a flash and racing up the stairs.

I had no choice but to follow, I didn't want to be late for my own execution.

She was already in her room. I followed. She looked around, selected a point on the wall just a foot or so from the actual peephole, and placed her hand on the wall and ran it over the surface.

It took all of four seconds to locate my peephole.

She tried to look outraged, but it didn't come off. She flopped down in the very chair I watched her masturbate in, and spoke quietly and softly. "Perhaps I do ... what of it?"

I took small satisfaction in the fact that she had admitted it to me. And then she shot me down with: "But at least I have the decency to do it in private, or at least with the expectation of privacy!"

I attempted to salvage something, some shred of respect on my part and offered, "Yes, I invaded your privacy. But I think in some sense you knew I was there, maybe you thought I was listening, I don't know. But when you gave me the opportunity to return the favor as it were, I did, and I have to think you enjoyed every moment of my performance."

"No, it's different. I'm a woman. I have a right to privacy as a guest in your home."

"True enough," I said, "and for that I sincerely apologize." The room was silent for a short time, and then I had this crazy idea, and said, "We could do it together---you know, watching each other. I'd like that."

"Are you crazy? You're a child!" Her face was bright red, and I knew she'd thought about just such a thing herself.

"I'm not a child. At least not in the eyes of the law. I'm eighteen. Come on, let's try it."

"Don't be absurd," she exclaimed. But it didn't carry much conviction.

"Come on, touch yourself. I'll get hard in seconds if you do."

"Don't be disgusting, Donald. It's out of the question. You saw what you saw and that's the end of it."

"Come on," I said hoping it didn't come out whiney, "You know you want too."

When she made no reply, I tried again. "Come on, show me!"

"What do you mean, show you?"

"Lift your skirt up; let me see you touch yourself."

"I have no intention of showing you anything," she said defiantly. "You're just a child. A child who's messed his pants."

I shrugged as if it didn't matter, but she had made her point. Or had she? She was trying to stare me down, but I managed to meet her eyes without blinking, well not for a while anyway. I called it a tie.

To my surprise Miss Ginger sighed. "Okay, but only to keep you quiet, understand?"

Unable to contain my joy, I could only shake my head and sat down and waited.

With what I took to be feigned reluctance, she slid a hand inside the waistband of her skirt. I felt betrayed. I had been sure she'd lift the skirt and show me everything. But that wasn't going to happen. She moved her legs slightly apart and I saw the outline of her hand slide between them.

She closed her eyes.

I could clearly see the hand moving toward her cunt. It moved rapidly and then she gave a little breathless cry. I coughed for no apparent reason. Miss Ginger's eye's fluttered open, and she turned to face me. "Do you want me to do this or not?"

"I'm sorry ... please, continue."

"Don't you go getting any ideas," she said sternly.

It took me a moment to understand the implications behind those words. My heart leapt! It was possible that we might have sex before we were finished.

Then, as if talking to herself, Miss Ginger said: "I can't believe I'm doing this. I must be an idiot." But then her eyes closed and her head tilted up as if she'd just touched a particularly sensitive spot. "Oh, God, I can't..."

Her hips rose and fell in time with her busy fingers.

"Oh, it feels lovely... I can't believe it, but I think... I think I'm going to cum!"

Under her skirt I could see her hand pressing down as if trying to prevent something from escaping.

"Are you all right?" I said, concerned with her actions.

She didn't answer me, but countered with, "Oh, it's happening! I'm cumming! I can't stop it!"

I watched in awe as her pelvis thrust up off the sofa as if trying to swallow her hand and the tendons of her arm stood out as she held her fingers firmly against her sex.

I waited, a gentleman at last.

Perhaps a minute passed before she opened her eyes. "I can't believe I did that. That's the first time I've ever done it in front of anyone."

"There's a first time for everything," I said finally finding my voice again.

'Oh, listen to the man of the world," she replied, but she was smiling. "I must have really been turned on. That was the quickest I've ever cum."

"Really?" I said, impressed that I might have had at least a small role in that event.

But then she stood up and composed herself, making it clear that nothing much had changed. "Well then, we've both had our fun. Now we're done. And I mean done, fini, never again. Understood?"

When I made no reply, she gave me a stern look and said my name. "Donald?"

Telling myself that silence is indeed golden, I kept my lips sealed.

"Let's get something straight between us, I was hired to teach you and not play sex games."

"I'd love to get something straight between us," I blurted before even considering the implications.

"Fuck off, Donald!" she snarled and stormed away. I heard the door to her room slam. And when I finally returned to my room I found the peephole covered by a picture.

________________________________________

Several hours later, after having masturbated twice more, it occurred to me that my eighteenth birthday, had come and gone without so much as a happy birthday from my mother and sister. No cards, no presents, no cake, nothing resembling a celebration of any type. It bothered me, but I let it pass without comment, although I was admittedly puzzled by it.

________________________________________

The following afternoon, a Friday, several momentous things happened. My sister Maureen returned home from Vassar, and everyone made a big fuss over how she'd changed. Actually, she looked the same to me, but mother and Ashley couldn't contain themselves with comments about this and that as having changed her, and I might add, they meant for the better.

Ashley and I sat with Miss Ginger through a rather boring lesson, after which Ashley skipped off to see if she could pry some information about the college boys from Maureen.

Miss Ginger, who had been much more cordial to me since our show and tell the day before, asked me to remain in the dining room for a moment longer. I sat back down and she checked to make sure n one was about to barge in on us.

"Well, Maureen certainly has grown, hasn't she?"

"I guess," I replied, no really interested in my sister. I was staring at Miss Ginger's breasts, which appeared to be heaving, although they really weren't.

"And it won't be long until you go off to university too; will it, Donald?"

"I suppose I'll be going this September, Miss Ginger. Unless you think I'm not adequately prepared to do so."

"You are certainly prepared for it. I expect you to garner top honors, at Harvard. After all, I've striven to be the best tutor you could possibly have."

"I'm going to the University of Georgia, Harvard doesn't appeal to me."

"But why?" Miss Ginger was genuinely puzzled by my response.

"They made the mistake of snubbing Maureen. That aside, I expect to receive the highest honors. In fact, I know I will, thanks to your expert tutoring."

"Well, thank you, Donald. I ... I have a special birthday present for you," she said in a whisper.

Childishly I responded, "You do! How nice, may I have it now?"

"No, it will keep until tomorrow. I'm certain you'll find it memorable. But, let's keep it as our secret, all right?"

I nodded.

"Remember, tell no one, understand?"

I was standing when I said I understood, and more than shocked when Miss Ginger stepped up to me and kissed me on the lips, and then brushed her hand over my usual erection before leaving me standing there with my mouth open.

I stood there for the longest time, savoring the memory of her soft lips pressed against mine, and then I bolted for my room and relived myself.

________________________________________

I went for a walk in the woods the next morning with my mind racing with the possibilities that awaited me and Miss Ginger that night. Thoughts like, Should I even keep calling her Miss Ginger? Was she going to let me touch her, or would she touch me? Then I realized that she had already touched me on brushing her hand over my erection when she kissed me.

It could have been accidental, no; she knew what she was doing. Such an action is deliberate, not accidental.

So walking and pondering such weighty matters caused me to lose my place in the woods. And despite knowing every square foot of the area I got lost and wandered around until stumbling upon a well worn path that led to our house.